with you
we can never cruise
we are consistently bumping around
jostling
turbulence and sine wave curves
are not as round and lulling as they seem
these are stock market exchange peaks
and dips
sharp edges that poke holes in your back and make
sure you are never comfortable

it makes me worry we will not make it until the end when we snap shut our briefcases
it makes me wonder if the stocks were this volatile when we were rookies

through the nightfalling snowflakes
i reach my smog fingered hands out to your lips
"breathe"
my voice the passing buses lingers
the subway hisses as it pulls away the
streetlight turns
"breathe" they whisper "breathe"

an echo of the last old poem, december 9th, 2012

i want you to stop.
i want you to stop and think right now.
does this matter?
does this really matter?
when you die will this matter? when you feel oceanic
and understand that things like traffic lights and pink rubber erasers
are superfluous will this matter?

retract soledad
retract into your self
retract into solitude

do you want to be happy?
do you want to look up when you walk down the sidewalk?
You have nothing
to be shameful for.
it as easy as understanding
as a separation
as rising up

let the cold air sink
and the hot air rise

remember what it is
that you love

I had a weird dream yesterday
so many faces resurfaced to the pool of my mind
smoking lips and murky arms, people who have never smiled at me
people who I don't want to, you,
people holding hands, others yelling, crossing streets,
sitting in a circle indian style, dreaming of a new email
in my inbox, or a new feeling in my chest

bad day

i cried for half an hour
and you told me that
when i go to college i will make friends
and i will be okay
and you told me that
you believed in me
and there would be cute boys
and i said ew
and you said you would give me permission
and i said maybe i would give you permission
too and you laughed

i feel sick

facebook rant (literally just a rant)

i don't know why it bothers me so much
but i hate it
it makes me feel awful about myself
it makes me feel terrible about other people
it makes me feel paranoid
it is so socially unhealthy
literally evil

that is all

i have their stories crawling
all over my skin i want these stories
to be crawling all over your skin
i want their dreams to be your dreams
and their nightmares to haunt your
bloodshot eyes i want the hatred that
is thrown at them when they speak up
to be like lycra on your skin, you pull
it off but it snaps back, black and sticky

i want you to hear their cries when they
spend so many tears over you over this over
the way you have tarnished their lives irreversibly
and most of all i want you to share in this fear
this culture of fear you have created
that wraps its misty forked tongue
around me slowly
i want it to wrap itself around you

go on
that is something you can kiss
without asking

irrational irrational irrational
am i really so crazy
you hate it when i use the word psycho
a like on a picture 12 days ago
but then she knew
i don't understand why people cannot just
completely back off completely back off
step away from the computer
step away from my boy

it makes me feel like i owe it to us
to write something grand
something huge
the end all of all end all end all all ending
so that we can be remembered
so that others can understand what they missed
the greatness in their midst

(shot down in litmag, emailed a peace offering)

my ego is bruised
slightly barely
look at the purple and black
marks lining its edges
see how your apologies just poke more
fun just make
the black holes deeper
call attention to them

of course i am fine
it is just uncomfortable

sometimes i am reminded that i am simply one of many
a peak in the monotonous voluptuous skyline
there were peaks and valleys before me
and there will be ones after
the depressions of a curved stomach
breasts like skin mountains

it is just that i am the only one henceforth
that you have loved

she may not know the
inner workings of my soul
or the cogs that turn and click
to make it tick

but she knows to tell me when
my plate is empty
and she boasts proudly of my
college pursuits
of my music of my thin
belly that no amount of
concon morro mangu
pernil pastelon
can fill up
and i am one of the names
on her christmas lists one
of the praised singing
grandaughters
when she bends her head
in prayer
i am one of her
names.

lost and found

i found my sweater in the lost and found
i wish i could find my heart
i wish i could find my happiness and my innocence
curled up inside someone's black patagonia raincoat
all the tears i have shed in these halls kissing the waterproof
skin, show me my lightness trapped in-between the zipper
of a plush hoodie, my carefree curved inside
the smelly gym bag
then i'll dig down to the bottom
and find these four years of my life huddled in each plastic corner

give me them back

i am not sorry (rough)

lets all be passive aggressive (oh excuse me i am so so sorry) and
tell each other that we are (not) fine and that wow your skirt does
look so good on you did you lose any weight (because yes you were fat before) and
respond to each others biting criticisms curtly, when told wow your replies really make
me feel like you want to talk to me we can answer wow just like all the conversations
you (do not) have, instead of apologizing we can say
wow how wonderful, that was an entire sentence that came out of your mouth to criticize me was it not, is that a record? (you see because usually you are the one who shuts down conversations)
lets say i am (not) sorry
lets reply to its okay with again
i am (not) sorry
and when we hear oh its fine
or better yet---its ok

i am not sorry

accountable (oneword)

i cannot be held accountable
for my actions
they flow from me
they fly from me
like sparrows on the trees
i release them like breadcrumbs
and they are gone

do not trace them back to me
like a spinning top
spouting off arms and legs
and limbs
i do not hold the answers
i do not hold the truth

do not hold me (accountable)

bad taste

you say it leaves a bad taste in your mouth
i wonder if it tastes like milk thats expired
or celery
like the bittersweet kick of a red cranberry
that overtakes you slowly

i want you to rinse your mouth with listerine
i want you to do it right now
i want you to swirl to rinse to spit
i don't want this to linger anymore

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

how can i be so offensive
without meaning to be at all?
what did i say to you
that was truly
so horrible?

Mi Amor, Soy La Llorona (poem from poetry class--written 11/15)

Take me

sobbing softly

I will lead you to the river

red ruffled dress

with marigolds in my hair

my face will be wan

my face will be white

Hold me

mourning loudly

I will guide you in the ruby waves

do not look down as we wade,

old souls around our ankles

like oysters without shells

Watch me

weeping wailing

I will sink into the water

la llorona

boys will whisper

as they look on from the rocks

la llorona

girls will gossip

pulling yellow skirt waists tighter

la llorona

you will cry

as I drown

my tears

are soft.

can you smell their scents on my neck?
these other boys with whom today i conversed
though i am yours

you tell me not to worry about anything
i find it simultaneously difficult and easy

as i walk i pluck a yellow flower and twirl it in my fingers
the air is cold but i begin to feel it working
slowly but surely, a release

a rainbow

red pills
are the ones
that stick in
your saliva
like strawberries
sickly sweet--
you know--the ones that
slide down your throat like
snowday morning sleds

orange ones
open like the sun
curvy, round, you swallow
them whole,
unpeeled

yellow ones
yank open your stomach
they demand a yes
acidic lemons

green ones
like wheatgrass shots
a lawnmower emptying itself into your
throat (as you choke slightly, your face disfigures)

blue ones
these dissolve
gel capped tears they pop open
on your tongue like zits, out gushes
starburst jelly
and ocean snow

purple pills
are black like night
they take the darkness
safe
and unlock it inside you
they paint your innards
black

you cap your water bottle slowly and
your adam's apple bobs

mirame
sin todo
mira mi vida
y mi alma
en tus
manos

i love my love
and my love loves me
and all the things that come between us
like sweeping subway cars
and white plastered walls
or girls with made-up faces
and boys who claw their nails
into our pasts
none of these can come
between
our love

sometimes i have an urge to throw it all away
to spit on my life like i spit on the side of the
street when no one is looking to take my
report cards and burn them
to take my records and
burn them
to take our letters and burn
them

to disappear into the morning night
just take my student metro card and jump the turnstile
when it doesn't work
take the last subway car train down to
coney island and start swimming
scream
yell
SHOUT
on the empty yellow beach

look around and feel completely
alone

cut pieces of paper and glue them together
and feel completely
alone

ch op my wor ds u p i n t o li tt le pie ces a nd
f e e l c o m p l e t e l y a                                                                     lone

i don't want to go to sleep
i don't want to go to school
i don't want to see a single human
soul
again.

eeee-yuck

so you'll think i'm a bitch
i think i can live with that
bitches are snitches and i don't really care, call
me controlling but i'll sit in the hallway
and deny it by smiling at everyone who passes
and saying hello and i'll leave you wondering if its really true
or just a lie he made up, not to talk to you

derailed (one word)

her hair was disheveled
and her teeth were cooked
and she walked curved
in circular river motions
veering left and right
as she shook

pennies falling out of her pocket
pencils falling out of her coat
she made it halfway across the street
then turned sharply
on the zebra crossing
and went left

writing is like a
simple escape, a way to put
the song you are listening to on your
green
headphones
                                       into syllables
                  to create
               the feeling
of  movement
    of happiness
of skill

                    it is not something we should think about too hard
                                                      as it flows from our minds
  even the dribbles on our chin,
like milk,
   have meaning.

orange and grey

last week i dreamt i called you out
we were walking down the street
and i turned and yelled at you for
the way you are
you looked at me and told me that you understood
but you would not change because
it worked

i closed my eyes and seethed and when i turned back you were a goldfish
swimming in circles in a glass tank
perched atop the rail of a brownstone's steps

my hand reached out
and slapped the bowl to the floor
it shattered on the sidewalk
splintered glass and leaking water

i left you floundering
on the concrete

the leaves fall recklessly
in front of this roaring highway
and i sit on a bench
far too close to the fumes

i cannot see the river
i cannot see the hills
i cannot see the beauty

if this is supposed to be this school's magical place,

it sucks.

unfinished

do i seem unhappy to you love?
are you even looking?

i want you like salt
needs pepper like
a cone needs ice cream like
my shoes need laces
to fit together to make us full

i wish i could need you like
a bike needs wheels like a walker
needs good sneakers like a new
yorker needs their metro card
to let us move to greater heights

i am bogged down in oceans of cry gunk
and heavy emotions like weights on my shoulders

i hate this

every time
its like a bomb

you're like a bomb
waiting to explode

and i used to always say
that about him

except he would explode
in sickening sweetness

and you explode
in depression and despair

dear love 

imagine me and you
in the blue
waves between our limbs
fingers touching skin
warm beams and sun
gleams and salty
hair  

oh love

imagine us
on a bus to everywhere
our feet curled up entwined
our arms our toes our mind
looking out the window playing i spy
as the objects that we chose flashed
by

my love

imagine where we are
when we can see the stars
and it is dark and cold
we feel as we get old
together we lie here
the sky it feels so near

and love 

imagine this
a soft a wisp a kiss
your bellybutton round
your curve of neck i’ve found
your thigh your lips sweet mist
the inches that i’ve kissed

i love

what if i am not made to fit into this life?

what if my edges need sanding? my limbs shaved
down to white bone snow flakes
so i can fit
inside this square

people walk by talking on their phones wearing college
t-shirts with bowls of sickly colored cereal
people sit at tables and talk to each other about vodka and
not knowing where they are and how all nighters work at least
once out of every three times

and i wonder if i can melt into a puddle on the floor
slip down the edges of this cafeteria down to
the perfectly manicured bathroom below,
and slide down the drain
white tiles bright mirrors

slowly.

i want to go home

in two days we will leave
roll up our sleeping bags
and go home
relinquish this unreality
of cereal at a push of a button
ingredients laid out perfectly
for you to put together
red tomatoes green lettuce
white cream cheese

in a few months
we will unroll our sleeping bags
and unpack our suitcases
take out our toothbrushes
our black socks our notebooks
the letters from our best friends
and we will not
go home

This street to
me is magic
the leaves
falling down
softly like snow
feathery brush
lip kisses
swirling in
crimson gold
sunset

ascending these
stairs carved
out of the
sidewalk I
feel as if I
am walking
up into another
world

Riverside
Church looks
down on me
like a castle
and I, a mere girl from brooklyn
drop to
my
knees
and
pray

I am perched on
this stoop waiting
for you eagerly hoping
to pick you out of the sidewalk
passerbyers
blonde dark tall thin
fat young red cold
they carry backpacks and
babies and fizzy water
cellphones and hands
and clarinet cases
their lips blue from blowing
I look only for your figure
carrying my heart

A crowded 2 train
and your hipbones
cup mine
and your fingertips
linger on the space
to the right
of my belly button
warm
you look into my
upturned face
white snow and
apologize
for the tracks you
see, footsteps you
think you've left there
I blink
and they are cleared
they were never there

has our relationship devolved into
recited polite lines in conversation of
how we feel and how our feelings were hurt
where we must thank each other
for sharing our feelings and say i feeeeeellll this way
and know that when one feels a certain way of course
they cannot be contradicted

why can't good enough
be good enough
i feel as if we have fallen
into a vicious cycle a dry rinse wash
if you will, with too much soap and
not enough bubbles: as soon our clothes
begin to look shiny begin to smell clean we
throw in more dirt
we can never be happy with our laundry
unless it is grey

walking home in the rain
i feel happy
little yellow leaves mingle with
the tears of the sky
and i stop and i smile
and i think maybe i will write you an email
and i like my freedom
walking home in the rain
without an umbrella
without somewhere to be
and i like these yellow leaves
drifting over me

four years

do you remember
when we first walked these hallowed
halls, you and i together
our words floating like music
in the yellow tiled echo

my syllables have found their
space on this internet paper
dissipating disappearing at the
push of a refresh button

i've sat in my room and i've spun out
my feelings
and now i can see them lying here
on my pages

out in the world
yet still in my fingers

i can read how i was in years past
and i am thankful

For the Q train at 7 am on Election Day

When you've left your Eggos on the counter
and your heart is feeling sore
Shut your eyes
When you can smell the chocolate melting
When you can taste the heavenly aroma that wraps
itself around you
Tell your stomach sweeter lies
Tell it that it should stop growling
Feed it sighs

turbulence

you take me and shake me up and down
and out comes salt and pepper
black and white and sad
all my insides are bobbing up and down within my chest
blood spurting all up and down my esophagus
because you look at me with stormy eyes
and tell me that you do not want to talk about it

waiting

i want you to be the
pause before he speaks
before he spits the word no out onto the sidewalk
like tobacco

the hesitation rife with possibility
the echo between a nod and a scowl
the insecure girl

waiting wanting feeling
his arms wrapped around her
longing for him to say yes

i do not like you

i do not like the way you talk to him
i do not like the way that you are cute
why are girls so cute always so cute
like lily with her puffy hair and black eyeliner
and b-cup bra and the way she drew little doodles
and laughed softly and acted unintelligent as if the spelling of words was so elusive
that she could not find the letters in the space between her bangs

(then i went home with her
and saw all the maps on her walls all the stars
all the space inside her chest)

when you see us you act cute, you smile
when we joke about your unimportance
(you are not a part of this)
you laugh as if you are hurt

then say that you hope our happiness fades
(laugh)
that you hope our love dies
(smile)
you are joking but it is bitter

i hear the undertone in your words yelled from the concrete
maroon sweater wind sun he is blissfully unaware but
i want to turn around and yell back at you

i hope your happiness fades
i hope your love dies
slowly and loudly
without any smiles

admit it (a decomposed journal entry)

i feel sick
i feel sick to my stomach
when i see the email in my inbox
hitting me going straight through me
like a punch in the gut i crumple around its
fisted fingers like a white sheet
no resistance

how can i continue to exist knowing the future

how can i go to that meeting
how can i not go to that meeting

i don't want to leave you in the hands
of all the other people who may want to go there
because maybe if i wanted to maybe if i had an inkling
i can stop it it i can
stop this moving
train
i can stop it
i can stop it
step in front of it with my arms spread wide open and
that will be enough

how will i ever know?

i have a clothes pin in my hair
its latching my braid clothes

i wonder if in a make believe world
it would hurt to be hung from this line

if i were paper thin it would not hurt

and i could whisper in the wind
and waver softly

Happy Sad Angry (or An Outburst of Jealousy)

just because she is good at Tetris
doesn't mean she is good at sucking dick
or late night calls
it doesn't mean that she would wake up early
to go buy you cupcakes even if it turns out that they only have the ones that
you don't like or write you small notes
and slip them in your locker
and just because she touches you on
your shoulder and acts cute and
when she says are you going on the
Rome trip she says you not you guys
and that you should totally come does not mean
that she would spend dozens of mornings going
to the places you first went together taking
pictures and collaging you in or
that you would be able to find her
under her kitchen lamp the night before your birthday
late
sewing up a small yellow book
(because she knows because she cares)
just because she exclaims in a high pitched voice and has
a good sense of humor doesn't mean
she would make the hour long trek to Queens
continually continually continually
doesn't mean she would give up her bed for you
to float in her scent and crawl under her covers
doesn't mean that she would cry cry cry cry so much so much
over you for you because of you happy sad angry
doesn't mean that she would say i love you
and mean it
and want to scream it
and want to sing it
and say it over and over again
spinning in woozy circles
her bones jutting in dangerously
as she crumpled
to the floor.

Vapid

your shiny hair
hides all the air
beneath

i wonder if it is possible to pop you

why am i so tired? i feel my mind melting
like a candlestick down my arms and my fingers
the hot wax cools
the flame flickers
then dies

a lament for love that has died

she sits in class with her
black pen cocked at an angle
and he is wearing a necklace

the curve of her face compliments
his furrowed brow
and i can imagine a worn photograph
of floral print dresses and
cocky slanted smiles

can you remember when their names came together in trains?
i remember when i imagined them smiling and young
crammed into the venue's dingy bathroom
kissing

and though they seem completely fine
her bun has only lost a few hairs
his shirt is only slightly frayed

i feel sad

displacement

we can only hold so many people in our minds.
invariably superfluous skeletons slip out fractures
in our skulls. leaking

slender bodies from our ears and from our nostrils,
we open up our lips and limbs slide slowly through our teeth.

ceramic skin full of watery souls,
the trails of beings drip like bread crumbs back behind
the forgotten strewn like snow salt
drying footsteps


and you will never be one of those figures,
the ones lying by the wayside.
and you will never be one of those figures,
the ones cracked under my toes.

i kiss you pressed up against
your middle school's back doors

this is not a mistake

i think its maybe because even after a year
i am still slightly unnerved by how you once were

this kiss is a sense of dominance
this kiss is a dog peeing a circle of territory
and it tastes like strawberries

it tastes warm and blurry like
a small bottle of gin shared
on the steepest slope of riverside park
in the cold

oh my god
how can you be
so immature

i don't understand
i don't understand
i don't understand
i don't understand
i don't understand
i don't understand

just because you are mad at me
you cannot victimize me

these petty things draw curses on my skin
draw tears from my eyes
this subtle meanness this hatred

and i don't understand

i need to write an essay
i'd rather write poetry

i'd rather think about the turning
glass organs within my body
that shatter and pierce my innards
as they please and yet the cold
smooth curve of glass against my cheek
gives me relief

i'd rather think about emma lee's poem in which
a person unclothed became clothed and how i lived
what she wondered about and tried to understand if it
was as strange as she thought

i'd rather imagine you in your patriots sweatshirt
on the bench hugging me and telling me that this is what you'd miss
your eyelashes in my ear my cheek awkwardly angled against your shoulder

i'd rather imagine myself lying in this bed a year ago
at a loss for words to describe the first intimate touches of skin

i'd rather just be

a spell to be anywhere but here (from poetryclass)

"take my arms off this table oh gentle wind

i see you tickling the trees, the leaves' soft underbellies

hairy, warm and yellow, run your fingers over me and braid my tears into a river

rushing roaring loud into my eardrums like airplane sounds and crowded highways

and the ocean noise of the late night B train when my ear is pressed hard against the rattling window

snatch me up between your gusts, hurl me violently

so that i am pitched far forward and fly over the burning sun.

scorch my eyebrows!

burn my eyelashes down to ashes!

i will no longer cry with eyes like morning dew

over clovers with three petals

then, let me land in a fisherwoman's boat

blue-painted sharp and chipping scratchy wood

weave splinters into my bare palms so i will not forget

and let me sit in solace there

in peace under the rising moon so hulking large

that i am scared

and i tremble

oh kind oh dear oh skillful wind

take my arms from this table make my fingers quake and

shake the fragile nature out of me! so when i shatter i reveal.

and stretch me thinly 'cross the sky

before you press your violet lips unto my heart

and puff one breath

send me

falling

paper-feathers-dust-mote speed

it matters not where i will land

as long as it is far from here

and i no longer where i stand"

yellow car

i can already see you driving
away in your yellow car

your tracks leave scars on the tan snow
open and swollen
crying red wine tears.
your exhaust coughs
toxic smoke into my mouth,
ferments my inner cheeks

in your shiny rearview mirror
i stumble over saffron toes,
drawing myself tearstained paths 
to follow in spirals

i hate spanish

i don't care if it is my
native tongue

tongues are gross anyway

i don't care if it is supposed
to slip out of my mouth effortlessly
while my tin spoon rattles against
my cafe con leche cup
and i tap my painted nails on the domino
table considering my options

i hate it

shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit

my eyes are red and itchy

and i wanted you to come to the movie

but you didn't

i don't even have allergies

what the fuck

An Ode to Aaron (my love)

run your fingers over me lightly

like water

over smooth grey stone

i want your hands

on my

thighs

my legs 

my arms

rinsed with your touch

in my mind

i hear the trickle 

   sounds of 

your voice

reflect

your face

on pale

    blue surfaces

      flushed

skinny dipping

in the pools

   i stare

        back

Church of the Most Holy Redeemer

we are walking down second street
and talking in the two pm afternoon sun
when we notice that the doors are open

we could go in you know

you say and we
almost walk past
but we can't resist
the beckoning of silence

remember me sitting in a pew counting the number of times the holy ghost was said in the girls communion pamphlet remember easter sunday eating chocolate sticky wash my hands with holy water remember the meaning of my name remember that this culture belongs to someone remember that once the earth did not exist remember the way candles look in the darkness flickering remember when we sat by the river and talked about souls remember how i tried to fold one thousand paper cranes and the principal of my elementary school told me to write a letter instead remember how they all looked crumpled together in a paper bag in the closet remember that moonlight is like sunlight but cold remember that you are cold--

remember this right now me in
my white converse, toes pointed towards the altar
stepping

--remember it as you walk down into the train and don't look back and the closing doors are loud so fucking loud remember it when we apologize for the inconvenience but after an earlier incident this train is running with delays because of a track fire, we will (never) be moving shortly (ever again) remember this when you finally get home and its dark outside its nighttime and the cars are honking at you as you jaywalk because its not your light but this light's broken anyways and you just can't bring yourself to care remember this when its so black in your room that you stick your hand out in front of you and it dissipates remember this when your brother's firetruck goes off at one in the morning and you wish you took the batteries out or at least put it on the highest shelf above the refrigerator

remember this

silence

my best friend emma tells me
that you are not worth a dime
of my time
not a nickel a penny on the sidewalk
a golden star sticker
of my energy

it takes a certain type of person to be
able to force with words
to draw out emotions so
cunningly

i knew you so well that you did it sometimes
without even trying
stuck in a rut of manipulation
voice chords programmed to pull my strings

nine o clock on a sunday night

sometimes i think that you think
that you can erase everything
with movie scenes
its like you want to cut yourself out of your life here
and insert yourself into
books magazines
full screen cinema pictures

your words are too sappy for real life

i dont feel bad when you're an idea

but scrolling down your facebook page
i feel a little bad
seeing that you are a full fledged person

with friends

and remembering that when i see a picture of you
i can remember your mannerisms

then i feel a slight tug at the heart strings
imagine you peeking into my house
with yellow windows
outside in the darkness
imagine you peeking into my life
with yellow windows
outside in the darkness

and thinking that wow you are maybe still so
deluded as to think that you loved me
you must hate me now
and that makes me sad

but it shouldn't

everything i write is about you
(how can everything i write be about you?)
its a way of putting these moments
(these feelings)
how i feel right now
writing thinking about
you how i feel always thinking about
young love
and you and me and the way you look at me
sometimes when
we start to simultaneously cry
or gasp or wither angrily slightly
barely
a last attempt to drape these words
into a tapestry of
timelessness in internet existence
i have amassed a stronghold
of outbursts

Yellow

We had an egg
and named it yellow

sat in the white crisscross goal like
fishnet stockings
and drew with a red marker

slowly our egg
gained some hair
and a smile
a wavering hand
left a triangle nose
(hopefully not to be erased
later on)

slowly my greyness
receded between
the rays of your enthusiasm
as we listed all the names
we could think of
Pace
you suggested
then remembered
that you didn't really like it that much
Milo?
received a resounding no
we searched for girls
names but to no avail

moved on to other things
the color of the room
was quickly decided
we looked down looked up
yellow
simultaneously

one decision we could make in unison
scrambling for a piece of wood to knock on

later on
when i caught you after fifth period
you unzipped a compartment of
your backpack slowly
guilt ridden eyes searching
my expression for a sign of
anger ebbing and flowing
beneath my skin

i shouted with mock horror
as i saw the splintered shell
realized the fate
of our third period project
then kissed you softly
and you knew you were forgiven

(our skin
is harder than
our egg cased child
fractures less easily
even as we are thrown
and fail to be
caught)

these silver spheres
are not for me
hard topped pitter patter
under my wavering hands

the cool curve of the
snare
rips my ear drums violently
and i want it to do it again and again and again

when you finally look up at me
and tell me to break
my ears are ringing

they do not stop when we sit and talk
they do not stop when we go upstairs

we lay down listen to music
and by the time the shaking has stopped
i am hungry for more

i can't explain
how much i love
reading other people's
poems

(poetry as a blanket that
we wrap around ourselves
that drapes our
lives in fog)

the joy
i
feel

in the revelation of others

makes me see everyone
in a better light

"I'm not going to lose you over something this stupid"

i come back
and squeeze you
so hard that you
comment

this time apart
has given me perspective

an hour doodling our memories
in a bright bustling coffee shop
brings me back into
the world

the things that make me happy
are so simple

we are so afraid of the worlds that other
people have when we have lost
our own

despair in one moment
glee in another

today you sat across from me
and i wanted to believe your words
and i wanted to see our futures
as we placed ourselves
in the years that come together

we could do it you know

and i feel my back hard against this marble

its not advisable
but we could do it

the pink in your face is so beautiful and your shirt
and your eyes so eager and your skin
so much skin and i try to remember why 24 hours
ago i was trying to list the reasons and justify to myself
why we should be apart when the answer
is in this beautiful garden next to the hudson river
and suddenly my head is full of all these gnat
explanations i have told myself
and i am a good liar

yet here you are holding out a brightly tinted
dream here in your hands

and i know it shouldn't be able to work
to catch our eye so easily
and i know we should be harder
and i know i should be stronger
but it plays with the light so tenderly
and turns such beautiful colors
that i cannot help but invest my love
in its space

and i want these 1152 square inches to be my world

nonsense

i have not written poetry in quite a while

at least not like this
emptying myself out
like a lunchbox
a purple
backpack full of
crayons a jar full of
water and
old petals that
needs to be
washed

pouring myself out (into
a glass/i popped my first
champagne bottle the other day
and pressed my palm
against the cork
told to brace for pressure
waiting for the pop
and when it
came a shocked look
on my face/into a river
will i flow among the
souls of others, where will
you be?)

the only precious thing I own
my beating heart within my chest.
that keeps my blood alive and red
to which my life I do invest.
without I would be just a shell
a noiseless body without core,
no measured thumps to keep the beat
no life's breath in me anymore

a haikus on friendship from w+t

i.
if i was a fly
i would be solitary
i would buzz alone

on the grass (messy)

You lay with your eyes looking
up and I looked down at you

I don't know if I will get better

you say quietly
and I feel the helplessness
the uncertainty of the future
cracking our faces slightly
breaking us apart

after a pause
I speak

mindset is everything
I think
I say hesitantly
I do not like my words to step
where it is not my place

in not knowing
positive and negative become equal
which would you
choose?

Yellow Nails

I look as if I am a five-year-old
I sit on the cold grey seat
of this L turned J
train and laugh
at the telltale smudges
along my fingers

simultaneously I am
embarrassed and endeared
by myself

when I held my hands up
to your face you grunted
faint approval
but when i chastised your
lack of enthusiasm and
threatened removal
you became adamant
that I should not give up
so easily

there is something comforting
in knowing that I can walk
into this school with preschool hands
and still be a senior

my yellow tipped fingers
cannot steal my years away

i have to find a frame of mind
to put this in
one in which i will be able
to stand it

it is the only way

disappearing into nothing
or this
is the only way

truthfully

in a handful of months
i will become a story

delinearize the complex
masses of strings that intertwine our lives
so close so tangled
intangible

into five lazy words
where did she go again?

as if where i am
will become who i am
and who i have been
will fade

we are victims of convenience all of us
don't try to tell me otherwise
the infiniteness of these moments
is limited by these brick walls

when we escaped the bright classrooms
of childhood
we were going off to better brighter things
going back now feels wrong
a puzzle piece that used to fit
warped by rain

at least we were still near
we kept our new worlds within reaching distance
if we had wanted to stick out a trembling hand
we could've
a safety net a safety blanket

the darker halls of (im)maturity
with bells governing our life warped even faster
yielded only hazy smoke
within the moments of being handed a diploma
it was clear that we no longer had a place here
(schools like these are factories they churn in they churn out
there is no lingering in the hallways after the bell rings)

so please let me know what happens now?

i get handed a diploma twice
but the space between is small
and the space after is gigantic
not long enough to throw myself
around its legs and refuse to let it
budge

i feel as if the moment i glide down those steps
i will no longer fit into this life
i have created for myself
a life i happen to like
(or maybe i will warp slowly
from the inside
out)

we are all victims of convenience
don't try to tell me otherwise
casualties of the infinite pulsing push of time
aggressive harsh and unable to be stopped
by a sixteen year old girl
crying quietly eyes flashing
(wanting to punch something
wanting to for goodness sake do something!)
in her messy room

tonight i want to exist
separate from you
by myself

independent and alone

without the worries or your strife

goodbye

we rush our goodbyes cram them

into the space between the closing doors

or the moment right before a taxi pulls up at the curb

to whisk one of us away

before that moment our time stretches luxuriously

we tip our caps and push out the edges of each others company

one of us with our hands pressed up against the start and the other

the reproachable end until we encompass the seconds after sunrise

and the moments before dusk's departure and sometimes further

(into night)

until the train schedules cut us short

in some ways we are smart

we sat in the park and when i tried to put pep on

to wear it like a mask to press it into my skin so i could feel it

one wise word from you and i was naught

proof of my inability

to put on faces with you

proof of your ability to see beneath,

above anyone else

we rushed to the train

(you had to use the bathroom)

and missed one

sat in a dingy subway station slowly

contemplating the gravity of distance and time

thoughts impossible to feel leaning

against you closely with the possibility of a kiss

and a touch

and a look

when the train came

we grabbed hands
rattled along in the underbelly

of the beast

it came to my stop and you

planned to switch cars

we disconnected corpora

and spun out through metal frames

jumping together

our cars were pushed on--apart--

by the force of that moment

tailending off the tracks

spinning at the junction 

it was sudden

shocking and sweet

closer

Over time

I feel myself getting closer

I begin to understand the way you 

speak the way you

walk small secrets of your being

entrance me key me

into how lucky I am to be so

near make me want to bare my skin

my thoughts my mind to you 

Looking at you play guitar your face changes and I 
splay myself across the bed and listen as your plucks rise  to the ceiling

Even in the distance there is closeness

snapped (oneword)

she snapped
under the lights
the two beams formed knives
that split her right down the middle

she had been thinking
of life
of college
of love
of lust
of how she could possibly consider
all the things that she needed to ever consider

there was joy in the cracking

she finally learnt what lay beneath her skin

Whenever I question my unhappiness
the sudden swings down into gloom
i list your presence as a reason
to retrace my steps

lift up the dark façade

dying birds in the toolshed

she holds him in her hands
looks up at me and
says: even with the order (of
nature, of time, of souls, i understand)
i can't understand how
you can let a life
go

pleasing others

i know it is a fault
to please all but yourself
but what if pleasing
all is what
pleases me?

mirror reflections
of my image
projected in people's minds
make up my holographic skin

goodnight

goodnight moon

goodnight *****

goodnight light sky illuminati(i)e blue green grass dirt tunnel subway whoosh jump rope skip turn left right write light night

goodnight light

softly sleeping wispy whispers whittle wavering trembling tremolos traversing my entrancéd ears heaving heavy heights onto open messy hearts

missing you

letting the pitter patter

flow train of my thoughts

down on paper because 

coherency is too far away to reach right now

write now

and the glow of missing the flow of missing

the yearn for touching the yearn for kissing

is real and ever present

much more so than subjects and verbs and p e r i o d s 

thinking about you aching

like mouth

thinking about you aching

like my chest

remembering all our moments

and feeling my skin crawl carefully

slowly intakes of air

you make me gasp

from miles away you make

me gasp without even thinking maybe

you are just talking

reading a book drinking

some water

and here i am thinking of 

you

and maybe i am just looking

at something reading my book going

on the computer

and you are stopping and thinking

of me

the land between us may

stretch wide

farther than the Q and R train traverse

unpassable even by the B and the M

train on weekdays

but if i close up my

fingers and dim all my lights

i’ll convince myself

that you’re beside me

breathing

and if i close the space

closely and bend

mother time

it’s not long

until you’re in 

my arms

tears salty

on my cheek.

tears salty

on your cheek.

my tears

almost

sitting in bed

the fan over my head is blowing

air around and around this room

and all the moments spin

slowly with each rotation

you lying in bed next to me with your hands

on my skin

the way you breathe deeply when your heart

is thumping

soft eyes looking down at me

as i sit on my sheets and look up

lying side by side on the floor

and reveling in the power of touch

sitting in the dark light

and writing poetry for you

i can almost feel your arms around me

in and out

i'm trying to wrap my head around how we become
those girls in photographs and how the
girls around us become those girls in photographs
and how our best friends have boyfriends
and how our boyfriends become our best friends
and how we travel around the city late at night
and text each other and get rides home with twenty year old drivers
and have the power to command children
and get bank statements in the mail
and take showers whenever we please and wash our hair and schedule our own appointments and cook our own meals and cross the streets by ourselves and have conversations with strangers and buy food with our own money and sit in our own space and breathe in and out by ourselves

by ourselves

i'm trying to wrap my head around how we breathe in and out by ourselves

A city has expectations

Unspoken morning rules that

mix in with the slight swirling smoke

From the construction workers coffee cups

That work their way in between the cars and the jaywalking commuters darting across on their spindly legs bags tucked at their sides like wings

In a metropolis of people

The buses learn to expect

The baby stroller parades and the old man with a cane and a loss in his eyes

His mutterings blend in with the bus' hum

As change clatters for a fare

thank god for nice bus drivers
for window on trains
for sun-dappled benches
for rivers
for rain

for the way your voice
sounds when you
whisper
my name
and the way i glance back
with my pupils
aflame

disconnected afternoon sun

lying on the grass
my toes are in the sun
your words buzz in my ears
and i think of everything
removed from itself

i remove myself from my skin
i think of the future without
all of the shackles
the chains i cherish
it seems lighter

i rush out to catch a leaf
as you twitter in my ear constantly
(and i see your slight annoyance
but it is the sun i am enjoying
more than your company)

friendships are hard
they are malleable
and fickle
and so often one-sided

when i look up at you
i try to impart meaning in my eyes
but you just curve your back
(dark curls cascading on white skin)
look past me
and laugh

watching
the slight breath
almost imperceptible
movement

and yet
i perceive

the soft     e
             s    
         i
      r

and

  fa
     l
       l

of your back

i cannot see your closed eyelids
and i wait for the shudders
to begin
the jolting indications
that tentatively disturb the stillness
and indicate
your
drift away from
me

to sleep

relief

rushing down my arms in rivulets
pouring out of my mouth and my ears
and my eyes down to my toes

i feel a complete exhale
and relax all the muscles
i did not realize i had been tensing

the longest day of the year

in the morning
the sun stretches itself over the
day like saran wrap
curling against the edges
of glassy rimmed
time

i bought a football
because i could not bear
to make a fool of myself in front of you
though you were likely too into being the
designated punter to care
about my inconsistent throws
i always felt your eyes on me
your voice when you were near
and wanted nothing more
than to impress you
nothing more than
to make you drop your guard

is looking back
always as good
as looking forward

part of being in the now
is not regretting the past
or fearing the future

i read on the back of a kombucha
bottle in the park during
one of these
sweltering summer picnics
the ultimate source of wisdom
a glass
cylinder
lopsided on the green grass

June 21st

i feel blue

drown me in the oceans
against the sandy sea bottom
leave me
weaving seaweed in my hair
and filling the air inside conch shells
with my secrets
the last bubbles of oxygen
i can spare

octave (one word)

i stretch an octave
splayed out across this couch
play the lettered keys under me
in time

my eyes are closed
and my skin is bare
all the tones of tan of olive
green of cobalt blue and canary
yellow that my painting teacher
swore to us lurked
within the creases

you are everything to me

it is hard for me to realize this

and then when i do i am
left

smiling
dumbfounded

local (oneword)

locally grown
in my home
i was birthed on this
paisley couch
that i drape my limbs
on lazily in the summer

(that we lay on breathing heavily
secrets into each other's skin
wrapped in our own understandings
and desire)

i cannot stray too far
from this living room
as your arms entrap
my sides

filled to the brim with everything

i cannot understand

to brightly look upon the world
is a gift
that can not be undervalued
a gift
that can not be paid for

siblings

when i start to cry
on the blue geometric rug
i hear you listening

a choked sob
works its way in-between
the jagged edges
and your arms are on my back

your fingers soften and
you look at me so gently
and hug me sweetly
asking me what is wrong

you are wise beyond your years
in your orange t-shirt
and i suddenly am so embarrassed
that i have ever been that bratty older sister

he'll forget it
you tell me
sometimes i am mad at you
but i get over it
you tell me

drawing words of wisdom
from your nine years of life

and i know you are right
and it makes me so happy
to see you like this

i hate the boys that bully you at school
that talk about your sneakers nastily
and tell you they are not your style
whatever suits you is your style

you sitting on this rug with me is your style

i wish i could hold you in my hands
and blow you softly onto the world
letting you glide like a paper airplane
until you found your home