and how many times
do i have to tell you
that i do not want to hear it
you can no longer gossip
as if i am not invested
because i am invested
you can no longer flirt and joke
and act as if i will not care
because i will care
you seem not to see the wall
i am building
or maybe you just ignore it
but i'm pushed up against
it
breathing hard
the sweat pouring
down my temples
and i will not let you in
and i will not let you in

i want to be different
i see the girls behind you
fingers grasping your
toes
hair left on your shoulder
are these the words they
said to you?
are these the words you
said to them?
extract me from these times
don't hang me on the wall
i do not want to be
linearized into a two dimensional
memory that you only think of
when it rains

the tree was taller than her.
and she knew that
when it hugged her in
its branches
there would be no
return.

they call her maple
now
because that is the tree
that sucked her up
the june day
when she could no longer
bear to take her place
among the living.

when the green leaves covered her hair
they evaporated the tangles
and her arms
and legs
twisted and turned and
suddenly her limbs were
heavy with the bearing
of fruit
with each full moon
her eyes
would close as knot holes
and ripe with
bursting
the spheres would fall
at her feet

her roots are buried deep
into the ground
each toe a network of
connectivity
disconnectivity
deleted vitality
she sleeps better
in the night
when there are no sounds to distract
her
and she can open her eyes
and
see in the dark

we try to dance around the subject
and i will tell you we are spot on
at evading
the nature of our cries
it is our specialty
beyond the stretch of our toes
and the way your eyes linger
on the door

secrets

is it possible to love the distance
that separates you from what you love?
i was thinking today
(as i rummaged through the bathroom cabinets)
about the conversation we had
in dunkin donuts that time
(when we stayed for hours, the first
time we really talked) and how you
said to love someone
you would have to be prepared
to die for them.
(i am embarrassed to say)
that, knees on the blue tiles,
i thought
if (when) if? you say i love you
to me
it will mean so much
more
(than those whisper
text wisps
elementary in nature
middle in thought)
can i even imagine it all?
(by this time i was rubbing
the floor with a
sponge)
the physicality?
the words?
recently
i have felt like i am slipping
like your interest is something
i need to earn
to be loved
(could you love
would you love
me
?
(would i love
you?))
to be in love.
as if it is a place on a map
that you can pinpoint
with a blistered
finger
that you could stand on
palpably
and state
i am here

with my fingers to my lips
i will watch you
protect myself
protect yourself
the wind whispers
i am scared to surrender myself to the world
so i will tuck a hair behind
my ear instead
tuck away my fear
the possibility
roll my tongue around in my mouth
brewing trouble
between my teeth

try the end of my fingers
to see if you can reach my heart
i am a level
and you must beat
every single part of me
you must prove yourself
(though victory is but a
passing joy)
i will not be conquered
(though i may lie)
or subdued.
try to push me down
and you will fall
t
u
m
b
l
i
n
g
down.
i will not collect
your pieces

(work in progress--continuation of the architect's daughter?)

Her eyes flew open with the beeping in her ears. She did not always awake to beeping. She knew this. But in her half conscious, unconscious, subconscious state it was hard to wrestle with any realization and the clearer solution was to roll over and sigh.

She did so.

Through her thin walls she heard Alex groan and toss sideways. Her door blew open a crack and she could see him on the couch with his hand dangling down, hanging. Each finger the weight of the world. His eyes were closed and in her heightened drowsy state she could pick out each little vein on his eyelids as if she could trace them with her fingers; with her eyes closed.

Shivering, she arose and pulled her white blouse closer. Maybe if she pulled tighter it would envelope her and she would poof off somewhere distant. Somewhere warmer would be nice. Greece always sounded appealing. Especially with the souvlaki on her tongue and the baklava on her plate. Her fingers tightened.

“Morning,” she whispered. But it was not for her own enjoyment. Or the benefit of anyone else. She just felt an urge to breach the silent. Let her letters print black lines in the white noise, the empty soundscape.

Feet thudding on the ground she rose mutedly, sidestepping so the door wouldn’t creak. Tiptoe. Tiptoe. Tiptoe. Tiptoe. Heel toe. Heel toe. Heel toe. Heel toe. She stopped in front of Alex. He looked so tired. Her arm suddenly emerged from her sleeve, fingers wavering, trembling. Would she touch him? She brought herself closer.

There was no pressure when he slept. She was in complete control. Complete control. She was in complete control. Her eyelids fluttered and she wished she were braver.

Greece, wouldn’t that be nice. Swirling white sleeves. Beeping for days.

A vibration from the other room sent her scattering and she snatched her phone, edging past. When she got to the apartment door, she looked back. 

Blue white seas. Eyelid river deltas. Hanging fingers.

Alex emanated another groan.

She hurriedly unlocked the door, a metal rectangle of paper memories, and clicked the frame shut behind her.

you honestly are not worth my time anymore

this is the conclusion i have come to

because i do not get

how you can not understand

how you can pretend to forgive

but still so blatantly do not understand

i will run my fingertips over my bare stomach

and you will laugh and tease me but i will sense

your bitterness and i will not surrender

to the carefree

i will distract and i will taunt and i will evade

and pull down my shirt hurriedly

lets go get ice cream

as if everything is alright

as if everything is not alright

and still you can not understand

i will never expose myself to you again

and i will not reach out.

when you reach out it seems

your hand hits gel

and reverberates

like ice cubes

in a plastic ziplock

when you feel the wetness

feel the cold

and pull your hands away

and they are dry

that is how we are now
(and you cannot understand)

i hope it all goes well
is it possible to cross all your fingers?
and all your toes?
i am not superstitious
but i am a little
stitious
and i will wish every 11:11
and i will close my eyes and hope
and dream with my eyes open
with my mouth open
with my mind open
i will try
i will try
i will try for you

cloudless (one word)

a cloudless sky
is hard to come by
a darkened sky
that holds all lies
between its black and
gaping teeth
it seems exposed
but look beneath
the clouds are not the only things that hide
below the stars and
wind that glides
it holds all whispers
that softly-speak
it whisks it all
away
and seeks

i reach to turn the fan off
before i realize
i want to be cold
because in each frost
bite of my tan skin
i can revel in the pain
and base my anger on
the foundation of each prick
my fury at you

why can you not understand
that i do not want to be opened up
and i do not want to be examined
and you do not have a right to my personal
innermost
thoughts
to the happenings of my days
i have not
signed a
contract leasing you
my memories
to gossip over like a story
to taint and twist and disfigure
until i can hardly recognize them
as they stagger out between your teeth

i am a private person
i will not tell you
i do not want to know
(this is my utmost policy)
but you do not understand
how could i not want to know?
oh dear, please world
how could anyone not want to
know everything about all the things
that make anyone that happened anywhere
anytime and what everyone was thinking
and feeling and what all of us are thinking and
feeling
so we can all be masterminds and pull together
all the pieces?
you act as if you hate it and maybe thats why
it digs my nails into my skin
because i know you don't

i am a private person
i will not tell you
i am a private person
i do not want to know

she grabs her stomach
and it crumbles beneath
her fingers like
sand
help her.
she is bare
help her.
she is open and the gaping
hole is an eraser mark that she cannot
fill in with her eyes.
her hands are still reaching
and the look on her face is stretching
out her lips in a way that i never imagined
and still there is nothing between her palms
but breeze
help her.
she is void of all
help her.
she is trying
help her
she is crying and i promise
you,
she is scared

tidbits

(flattening
fattening
my fear of my own fingers
is something hard
to explain)

he holds up his hands like
they are weapons
like he is tainted by their
presence
(does he know what they are capable of?
does he know what they will do?)

the only thing worse than not
getting what you want
is getting what you want
and being unsure
if its what you wanted
i am scared to put these words
on paper because i'm afraid
it will make them more true
(as if in silence they are bred
into nothingness; nothing
breeds lack-existence)

the chase is so much
better than the prize
because in the chase you can lose
and you can quit
and in the prize
i feel so locked in
i feel so defined
i want natural
i want wave
i want smooth
do not confine me in a pressure
cooker
because i promise i will run
i promise i will run

the saddest thing
is these are things i cannot say to you
because i don't know if they are true
or if they are fabricated
in the dark folds of my mind
where all my insecurities and fears
lie and meet and laugh at my failures
and my false success

why are you so perfect
why can i not see
why do i not feel
and yet i do
my lack of understanding
drives me crazy
and yet i continue on
as if i'm not staggering.
is this normal?
am i
supposed
to be this way?
i find myself
thinking
thoughts
that i am embarrassed
of
i am supposed to be nice
not a monster
i am supposed to be nice
not a monster
and yet you see me as nice
but inside
i am monstrous
yes inside
i am monstrous

pull me apart for yourself

jumbled cries

you don't have to do all the work
i will do work
i'm happy to do work
i tried to let you in
but you let the opportunity pass by
did you not see it?
or did you see it and overthink?
did you see it and dodge?
i gave you time
i gave you space
i gave you looks

there is no more time for speculation
but i'm too afraid to act
what is going on inside your head
i cannot tell

i needed to write poetry
that night
but i didn't

we run away so quickly from what we want
as if our life is a circle
as if we are running towards it
why do we run away?
why am i so afraid?

don't get that close to me
don't get too close to me
or i will push you away
or i will push you away

i've done it before
and regretted it
i'll do it again
and regret it once more

i don't know if i should tell you this
but sometimes when i'm tired i don't even brush my teeth
i know you probably think its disgusting
and my dentist reprimands me
but my bed looks so inviting
and i am willing to loose a cavity
for a dream

i don't know if i should tell you this
but when i asked you if you played guitar
i already knew the answer
it was pretense just you see
polite fluff to muffle my interest
i didn't want to scare you away

i don't know if i should tell you this
but i'm a tad bit scared of you
because i have what you might call
a fear of proximity and sometimes
when my fingers get too close together
i scream

i don't know if i should tell you this
but i really like you
and i think you like me too
but i'm afraid
do you hear?
i'm afraid

i don't know if i should tell you this
but sometimes when i write emails
i edit them and look up at the clock
and see that half an hour has passed by
in the time that it has taken me to delete
and retype and i haven't even noticed
too preoccupied in nailing the right words down for you

i don't know if i should tell you this
but every time i get a good response back
my heart flies out of my ribs
and i have to stop my smile from hitting
the top of my skull because
i do not want to get overexcited
because overexcitement leads to disappointment
and disappointment to tears

i don't know if i should tell you this
but i wish that i could see you
i don't know if i should tell you this
but i'm afraid of what you think of me
i don't know if i should tell you this
but i sense you on a radar
i don't know if i should tell you this
but i want you to know
i don't know if i should tell you this
but you already know
i don't know if i should tell you this
but i'm frightened that you know
i don't know if i should tell you this
but you know already, don't you?

if you dug a hole under each word i wrote
to you
i think you would find yourself tumbling
through the center of the earth.
out through the ear of the sky
you'd skid between the stars
the rounding of your lips
astonished at the depth

each one is like a pithole,
the ground beneath
is endless

do you step carefully?
do you tiptoe? skirting
is and yous
not to mention ours.
do you avoid ours?
and what about soons?
and knows?
especially knows?
most surely likes?
as if one footstep
could plunge you under
in a breath

the joy of the way
the pitter patter rain
drops spell out your
name on the window pane
is something i have
never quite been able to
muster up in words

the fire in the back
and forth of lines
alighting on your tongue
as if (fledglings) you
could swallow them
but they just up and fly

the slowness in the taste
of bitter down to socks
when the room between
your toes is big
enough to pin your happiness
and your eyes can't see
past your nose
for the fog

the zinger at the close
that falls flat in desiring
though stretched up
to the height of
all its strength