World Poetry Day

21 March is World Poetry Day, and today's poem is you driving two hours, us sitting in your car, me never going to get used to your eyes -- those eyes, your hands, that voice that sounds like music and feels like home -- and I've only been with you for five minutes but already my week has been made.

my favorite memory

is of the baristas cleaning up the coffee shop, 1 in the morning, you singing along to an Adam Levine song I usually hate, but this time I'll make an exception, me acting coy when I catch you staring but good god do I love it, watch me melt into a puddle of nothing and everything, nothing spoken but everything said, I just hope my eyes don't give me away because yours sure as hell do (not that it's a bad thing) and how badly I want to tell you that after years of worshipping John Lennon, I might just have found a new favorite Beatle.

24th of January

Today is the 24th of January. I am laying in bed listening to my roommate play songs on her ukulele. It is twelve noon and I lay here thinking how I managed to get drunk for the third time in four days, last night. I have laundry and paperwork waiting for me, and I lay here swimming in my thoughts of you, thinking of how I'd much rather be resting my head on your shoulder and how I had the best sleep I've had in years when sleep meant passing out on the sofa and waking up to the sight of you playing video games next to me, and how my thoughts are of you and of no one or nothing else.

Ceres

since I have met you
there have been a dozen
drafts
on my dashboard
letters i can't finish
thoughts i can't put into words
words i can't ever speak

Premature

Over the years I realized that I have a propensity for falling in love in dramatic ways -- swiftly, recklessly, in impossible circumstances -- this last one being no exception. I warned you against this, you know, but when I did, it was too late for me as well. My heart had climbed out of my ribcage, through bone, muscle, and skin, and it had sunken to the ground, through layers of concrete and dirt, into the earth's mantle and core, to sit comfortably next to you, where you are -- where I wish I were.

5 am thoughts

i can't remember the last time
a boy has looked at me like that --
you, grinning like a weirdo
me, wishing i were there with you
us, oceans apart
you, 5920 miles away
me, awake at 5 fucking am

My Heart is an Old Place

Upkeep is getting quite expensive
I read yesterday's paper
and look for rooms for rent.

For almost half a year
My clothes have been in boxes by the door
But they never seem make it out.