Between You and I

It's not just the sound of your voice that I love. Your accent reminds me of  my best friend's, and sometimes when you speak I can hear her. Sometimes, I don't want to. 

I left home when I was eighteen. All of my possessions fit into a few small boxes, but not the chip on my shoulder or the baggage my parents left me with. I've struggled to carry them both around for years. I've had no success thus far. 

I am a professional pretender. I'll tell you that it didn't hurt when she left me, it doesn't matter that my parents never saw me play, she wouldn't have stayed if she had known, and it was ok... I didn't like that color anyway. When I do, don't believe me. 

If you continue to treat me this way I'll fall for you, guaranteed. Probably far too quickly. It's going to scare the shit out of me when I do, so I would appreciate it if you could refrain from running just long enough for me to learn to stand on knees made of jello.

I miss the way that your fingers feel when locked with my own. The deepest conversation I've ever had was between your eyes and mine, and I meant every word I wrote in that letter. I think. 

Never in my life have I believed that I was broken. Not even when they insisted I should, but at night I find myself searching through line ups and missing persons, praying that none of them will be there; those thirty something tiny faces I grew up with.

You are beautiful. Time is my most valued possession, and I can't wait to give it all to you. What we are doing terrifies me, but I like the way it makes my heart skip a beat. Honestly, you are everything I've ever wanted. 

The Confession

I will not turn my back on you, no matter how many shadows

you cast between the sunlight and me. Your hands shake

often, You promise me that it is just the cold air nipping at your 

fingertips. They tremble even when I shelter them in my own,

In that moment, I notice the crumb trail of lies you’ve left behind for me to follow.

I used to think you spoke slowly for the sake of clarity. I would elongate my syllables, 

emphasizing each letter, knowing you’d  "ah-pre-she-ate" the gesture. Not until 

I was running out of time, mouth full, did I realize that’s what you were buying.

It’s difficult to believe that all of this was for nothing. Pain can’t be quantified

and distrust comes with a strict no return policy. The old man at the gas station 

tells me for the thousandth time that I look just like you did when you were younger. 

So, I thank him politely like I’m supposed to, silently vowing never to return. I no longer 

wish to be like you. You swore that my grandfather would have loved me had he

ever met me, then told me with the same breath that he never would 

have understood “my preference.” As if sexuality was something that you chose

off the shelf between ignorance and happiness. I tell you that he would have

loved me anyway.  After all, I have his strong jaw line and his unwavering 

sense of justice.  You stare at me puzzled, for I’ve contradicted everything 

you’ve said. I stare out the window over the fields of waving grass wondering 

how many straws I’d have to pluck before I could leave this place.

My Love

She said “It’s ok to cry, love. It doesn’t mean you’re not whole.  

Tears are the heart’s way of cleansing the soul.”

And when these butterflies dance all over the room I know that she's near me.

Because she's the safe haven where everyone wants to be.

She's the light that keeps me lifted. She tells me I’m her everything.

I forgot what real love felt like when it came so easily.

“Baby please don’t go.” She whispers into the phone.

She’s been asleep for hours, but she swears she can’t sleep alone.

If she’s the calm, you can bet that I’m the storm.

Until her, a seven year curse never lifted with a happy ending before.

She’s my kind of crazy, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Because she’s all that I imagined, far more, and everything between.

In the mornings light she wraps her arms around my waist.

Her nose to mine, she leaves sweet kisses on my face.

And I would drown inside those eyes if she ever let me go.

But I know that she won’t…

She says I “make it difficult to not let that word fall out.

The one you can’t take back that tastes like iron in your mouth.

It’s only gets sweeter when you learn to say it back.”

Heaven knows, I love to love a woman like that. 

Heartbeat Bandit

Heartbeat Bandit, you stood on my chest plucking beat after beat

like wildflowers in the springtime. Never before had I known someone

with the ability to destroy and create simultaneously, but there I was short of breath;

in awe of the garden of emotions your nimble fingers were capable of producing. 

The Age of Honesty

The sun broke over the tree line as my eyelids fluttered open.

It was rare in a home of ten for one to spend the day alone;

but I learned early on that I had rather weather the forest

than the family. My fingers clumsily brushed teeth and tied laces

And I retreated to the trees; my living sanctuary. The crisp air

bit at my lungs as I crunched step by step into the darkness.

I ventured towards the places where sunlight never reached, and couldn’t

help but notice a resemblance to whatever was building inside of me.

Some things shouldn’t be carried by a twelve year old, but it was

a weight that everyone expected me to bare. Mother raised us to

smile through the pain, and they used to say mine could light up a room.

I’d stand there in the middle smiling, praying that someone might see me,

but no one ever did. Apparently, It’s difficult to see scars that are on the inside.

Quietly, I wrapped them in promises and dreams, and waited for them to heal.

I left town with everything I owned, searching the big city for the journey

of a lifetime. Instead, I found three more broken hearts and distrust

towards anyone expressing genuine kindness or concern for me.

The best-worst decision I ever made was confronting that asshole

who tried to slip me her therapists business card. She almost kicked

my ass, but today she’s my best friend. You know that love is real

when someone gives it to you when it's not required. It took me three years,

nine months, and twenty three days to accept it when you left. And even now

I’m not sure I could say no to you if you walked through that door. What I do

know is it was cold in the shadows, and I never want to die there again.

Masterpiece

Her hand finds mine somewhere amidst the remote

and a cup of coffee. She intertwines her fingers

seamlessly into the space between mine, and despite the

growing distance between hands and mouths - my breath is lost.

I wake abruptly to find a cold, empty pillow

surrounded by darkness. She is not here.

She’s never been. I turn my face towards the wall

In an effort to forget that I am still alone.

But my thoughts are vivid, and my imagination wild.

In my mind, I create scenes that have yet to unfold

of mountain hikes and Sunday brunches, yoga in the sand

and fifth year anniversaries.

A woman like that is the reason books are left dog-eared

and half-read. The stories she writes with you are far more epic

than any classic with a spine. She is a unicorn. A rare breed made of

honesty combined with class and intrigue. She is permanent.

She is beautiful.

A chance encounter has left me spinning in reverse,

Grasping for every moment she gave me. I collect them

Like seashells and hang them from the ceiling of my mind;

A celestial anomaly, a masterpiece, a reflection of her captivating soul.

"It"

There‘s a certain kind of pain you feel like you can‘t overcome.

The kind that makes your chest tighten.

It causes your throat to close

and tears burn down your cheeks.

Feeling that kind of pain makes you think you

just. might. die.

And sometimes it makes you wish that you would.

I‘ve felt that pain before.

“You just have to push through.” Said the woman

standing in front of me

without ever asking what was wrong.

“You find it somewhere

deep inside of you, and you push through.“

I had no idea what it was.

Where does it hide?

How did you find it.

I felt like everything was crashing down around me.

And all I could do was curl into a ball and protect myself. 

Now this woman wanted me to push through?

Survive until I thrive?

What kind of group meeting bullshit…

I was skeptical, but I began looking.

It seemed more reasonable than sulking

and taking no action at all.

I had never felt this way before.

I didn‘t know how to let it go.

My heart was heavy.

I couldn‘t find my smile.

Even my friends began to shape shift into dark clouds of

Nagging and guilt.

But I was the one who had changed.

I had given up on myself.

I allowed myself to give up on being happy.

And I‘ll be damned if those aren‘t the two things

that are most important.

I didn‘t want to feel that way anymore…

The it that she spoke of was the will to survive.

It's the desire to make it for whatever reason

That thing that you can‘t live without,

And you can‘t leave alone.

It‘s what keeps you going when all you want to do is quit.

I searched in every crevice.

Every heart. Every lover.

I would build a home inside their chests

With my accomplishments and fears.

Gluing them together with promises and expectations…

Then I‘d fall in love with a tornado.

Or flee at the first sign of winter.

I was never going to find it inside of someone else.

Not until I found it in myself first.

And no one was ever going to save me

I started with a deep breath.

that turned into a long walk.

It became a lazy day,

And a weeklong vacation.

I had more dinners with friends,

And fewer drinks with acquaintances.

Hiking and running became a thing I did for fun.

I listened more closely during conversations

And experienced more in a few hours than I had in weeks.

I concentrated on the good;

processed the bad.

Appreciated the kind words of strangers,

And disregarded the rude comments made by assholes.

I did it with a group, I learned to do it alone,

And I did it all on purpose.

I learned to love myself again. 

Piece by piece,

I turned them until they fit inside comfortably,

And I shed the few that I no longer needed.

Because sometimes it makes sense to let go.

I found it.

It was everywhere.

Everything.

Inside of me.

On the sidewalk.

In a book.

Beside the ocean.

 It was life and every bit of it was beautiful.

To Tell Of Maine

Perhaps I was a bit naïve

For thinking that blanket of trees in Maine

Would hide us from reality.

Beneath their limbs, we forgot

That summer wouldn't last forever.

I stood out on the deck,

My head in the clouds, waiting

For a girl like you. And you stood there,

Not knowing the line of fire

would match your every move.

It wasn't without hesitation that your secrets

found my ears, and my fingers found your hands.

I wrapped myself inside of them,

Searching madly for a rip cord.

Something I could pull to bring you out.

For you were a mover, and myself, a shaker.

It was an intensity you hadn't felt before.

When it came to your heart, I took no prisoners.

And you took no chances when it came to mine.

With no intention, you divided my attention

between the past and the future,

Leaving the present to slip away like

the morning fog as it rolled off Echo lake.

I saw your reflection in the water,

Your eyes, the deepest un-sailed vessel.

You saw mine in the mirror and fled.

Sometimes, the truth can be overwhelming.

And I believe there are moments in life

When we’re not quite ready to be loved.

A month and a half felt like a lifetime,

Until seven years passed.

And now I find this novel idea,

So charming in its simplicity.

There isn't a single part of me that

Hasn't changed, and there’s not a thing

About you that I haven’t missed.

Some tales grow old with people,

And some people age without any to tell.

I’d rather be among the first few

With something beautiful to talk about

Beneath tree tops and blankets. 

The Best Of Me

You've got the history of generations in your eyes.
I'm the kind of train wreck that you want to survive.
We keep saying it's only a matter of time,
Until you'll get the best of me.

I'm a rolling stone, you're a crashing wave.
We're a classic tale set in modern day.
Love like that doesn't get to stay,
Unless you have the best of me.

Distance builds a bridge for miles and miles,
I'll get over it as we climb higher.
Because we've never listened to a word of the wiser.
Still, you want the best of me.

So I'll tear down these walls built up,
I'll bring you in and with any luck
You'll love me like my love is enough.
And you'll find the best of me.

Because you showed me how to love again,
How to release the pain - and let love in.
I've fallen in love with my best friend.
I'm giving you the best of me.

SHE

He was mad as hell. 
He wanted so badly to be the straw that broke her. 
He wanted to see the agony creep across her face as 
She clocked that she could never escape him. 

But instead she stood straighter. 
She held her head high in the air.
And spoke not to him, but around him.

"I am the strength of my own power.
I am the source of my own love. I am whole.
I am not a part of you or anyone.
I am a woman; blood, sweat and emotion,
And I will tear through your influence like the razor blade promises you cut me with."

He was speechless.
She was afraid no more.

I Hope That She Knows

I hope she knows that we see her. 

We, the masses, standing two steps to the left, but evenly by her side,
 Out of the corner of our eye, we see her. 

And we understand that she is learning, as we all are, 
She is trying to fill her life with meaning.

There's no meaning otherwise.

And I know that she cries when she feels broken, 
Tries to hold it in unspoken, but we hear her.

Because a heart like that beats loudly. 

It drowns out the sounds of sadness, 
And screams out into the the air of missed opportunities.

"Just try me" it says.

A heart like that beats 90 to nothing 
- stopping at nothing short of greatness.

All she wants is a taste of how forever feels.

I hope that she knows that she's the light when the night rolls in. 

The voice that we hear when we're unsure of our fears and our dreams.  

She's the one who shows us the goals that we want to reach, 
and each one of us is grateful. 

And even in the silence, when no one bats an eyelid, 
We know we're not alone, because her soul is far too strong.

And she is love - we know this.

If only she knew. 

The Victim

She is a fucking warrior -

This girl with rope burns around her wrists.

She’s been constrained for twenty-two years,

And tonight she will sever the ties.

She will not walk away empty handed

For the tension in the room

Could be knifed out, scooped up, and pocketed.

His broken promises have left splinters on her tongue

And his fists gave bruises to her cheeks.

She knows she deserves better,

But she will thank him anyway.

A man must be compassionate to stop when he is begged.

Her heart is black with dust.

He has left it sitting there on the counter-top

Since the day that she forgot to iron

His Navy button-down.

Her knees are dry from kneeling before him

In apology.

But one foot in front of the other –

She will walk away from this.

She will attempt to belie the affect that he has had on her.

Claiming that his reaches are not never-ending.

She will wake up one day,

Without his fingers wrapped around her throat.

Using a voice that is hers, and hers only. 

Even “Goodbye” sounds better with freedom.

And when she goes,

She will find her way back to me –

The thump-thump-thump of my heart

Beating out the path for her to follow.

Because I never left.

And I never will.

I will apply bandages to the things that are broken.

I’ll apply pressure to open wounds,

But none to her decisions.

I’ll allow her to find herself in open space.

Watch as she collapses

For the fiftieth time.

And will use my heart to soften the blow.

I will love her, as she has loved him.

I will hold her in my heart, as she has held him.

And I shall long for her, just as she has always longed for him.

Entirely and without return.

A servant to the heart.

A victim to the fall.  

Midnight Serenade

She was a novel.

A well-written tragedy.

She had been used.

Her pages had begun to curl at the edges,

But what remained was still captivating –

Even after all these years.

I was in love with the sound of her voice.

There was a rumbling in its depth

That carried all of her afflictions,

And I was swept up in the echo –

Hoping to drown in the wave.

It was through loving her

That I first learned to love myself.

Heart to soul.

Finger to cheek.

Lip to neck.

Tongue to clavicle.

Layer by layer she unwrapped my insecurities

And found me lying bare-chested

In the moonlight.

It wasn’t until after she left

My secrets strewn across the bed

That I realized

I’d have to tuck them all neatly in again.

I tried to analyze my parents. 

Story by story I would break down

their decisions and reactions and

I would try to compare them to my own

Hoping to find clarity in my mistakes.

But I am not my father’s quick-step

Nor my mother’s bleeding heart.

I am flesh and bone.

Foul mouth and crude humor.

I am a lady.

I am also a tramp. 

I am the definition of a fixer upper.

And I wear it proudly.

Because sometimes when the moonlight

floods in through the windows

I hear her deep whisper,

“It’s ok to feel broken.
It’s alright to survive.”

Just So You Know

I spent part of twenty-two living in a Harry Potter sized closet.

My father left us when my mother was in labor.

I guess I consider both tight places to be in.

He came back when I was two.

And then again at twenty-two.

I enjoy having him in my life so much now that it hurts.

I never forgot the years that he was gone,

But greatly appreciate the years he’s been present.

I prefer black socks to white.

It blurs the lines of my ankles.

Which I will always compare to cankles

Thanks to a girl in the fifth grade

Who had a complex given to her by her older brother.

Speaking of, mine:

Trust is something that shouldn’t be given away.

And neither should forgiveness.

Not to those who tear out parts of your inner child

And display them for the world’s most broken to ponder over.

Attending a women’s college the best decision I ever made.

The worst was Palm Springs.

When I was sixteen I passed out in the middle of a beauty pageant.

I woke up long before they realized, but was too embarrassed to admit it.

Because my high school sweetheart was in the crowd.

My mother and I aren’t as close as we used to be.

It’s unlikely that she will ever read this poem.

But I’ll say it anyway - I am disappointed

That she never held herself to the same expectations she set for me.

I am sensitive… But I love that about myself.

I watch Disney movies when I’m sick.

And a very deep part of me still wants to be a Princess.

I think about wearing a simple white dress every other day.

I don’t know how to tell you to disappear.

It hurts when you’re around,

But I love you so much I had rather save your heart than mine.

So I agree to call you on Thursday.

In my fridge I have California Pizza Kitchen, red wine, hummus,

and a soup that I infused with way too much garlic, but I am learning.

And this practice will make something perfect.

Or it will make someone really, really sick. 

My favorite poem is “The Type” by Sarah Kay.

It reminds me of you.

Someday, they will hold out their hand - offer seventy five percent -

And ask “Is that not enough?”

But know that it isn’t.

Because you each have two hands. 

And they should all bring something to the table.  

Missy Higgins just came on

And my heart wavers.

I am convincing when I say that everything is fine

But what I mean is

-       I will never give up