Unrequited

Months ago

you burned

my hopes

up in smoke

with five words

it took

eighteen years

to say,

"It's not you,
it's me,"

and one phone call,

one hour later

all is forgotten. 

I am exactly right for you,
don't you see?

Of course you do.

But it's me,
not you,
who's blinded
by a dream
of what will never be.

Because
I love you too much
to ask you
to settle
for me,
no matter how good
I would be
to
for
with
you.

Loss

You split me open

and scooped out

the good stuff - 

everything worth knowing,

everything you loved. 

Then you stuffed me

full of paper

and stitched me back up

so that no one would notice

you took more

than your cut. 

Why is all of me

still not enough? 

It's like eating

the pie filling

but never the crust.

Nothing good is left

except the crumbling flour dust. 

I fall apart

without my heart

to pump

the blood

to my hands

my head

my feet

my knees

and I can't breathe.

I am hollow

to the bone,

a shell

of the being
you used to know.

You took it all
and never thought twice
about the lack of life
you left behind.

I could name you enemy
or thief,
but what's the point?

It won't change
how easy
it was for you
to leave
or make you
come back
to the nothing
that is left of me.

Settle In

I feel the urge to take root

as if I am a potted plant

trying to bust through

the plastic or ceramic

and dig into the dirt

with my fingers and toes

until they are buried deep

in the earth. 

Each day the yearning

grows and I know

it is for the dirt here,

not back home

where all the memories

of you 

are interwoven

into the trees,

the ground, the grass

and everything

in between. 

I need space

that is my own,

where I can spread out

my roots, 

my branches

and leaves, 

where I can let loose,

where you 

aren't a part

of the landscape

except for where I
(and only I)
choose.

The space here
is an infinite breath
I inhale and never release.
It is magnanimous
and full of relief
all at once,
with the sun forever lingering
upon a horizon
too far out of reach.

My heart is as wide
as the open land
around me
and I have never felt
more free.
I stretch out my arms
like plant limbs
and wait for my roots
to set in.

Observer

You turn up at the places
I wanted to go
with you
and take pictures
with her
because she's your person
and I'm the substitute
waiting in the wings.

I'm on standby
for a flight
that always seems
one passenger too many
so I wait.

I just keep waiting
because waiting
is better than admitting
there's nothing to wait for.

You seem happy
and I'm glad
but I wish just a little
that it was me
who made you smile
like that
when the camera blinked
its shutter
over and over
at all the places
I wanted to go with you.

Turn Out the Lights

Seventy-one days
of sun
and the only thing
I want is rain.

It's hard on the eyes -
all that sun.

It dries up your soul
and makes you feel
thirsty for a life
that  doesn't exist
in December.
But Christmas
doesn't exist in July -
so which would you
rather have?

I like the rain.
I like the overcast
and the grey.
I like the cool chill
of winter
kissing my neck
and whispering
frosty words
in my ear.

The sun seems to stay
too long
this time of year.

The light burns
across the sky
before even the Lark
can sing its tune
to the dawn
and the sky
stays lit
until even the owl
begs for night.

The day
prolongs itself
like an unwanted
houseguest
and I just want
it to leave.

Go now
and take the sun
with you.

Defiance (Love Conquers All. Even 8th Grade Bullies)

Sweaty palm
to sweaty palm,
I tightly held
his hand
by my side,
away
from prying eyes.

No one needed
to know he
was mine
and I was his -
for just a moment
of teenage bliss.

But then the whispers
started;
and words
like "whore", "slut",
and "traitor"
were spoken
in the same space
as my name.

He held my hand
tighter,
unafraid and unashamed.
She'd let him go
for another
like he was just another bull
in her boyfriend rodeo.

I hid my face
in his shoulder
as the whispers
grew louder.
We sank below
the horizon of the seats
and hoped
everyone would leave
us alone.

They didn't know.
They didn't care.
They heard one side
and never bothered
to ask mine.

One word of a lie
became two words
of the truth,
me against you
and words said
you
can never take back.

The windows
on the bus
fogged over
as we all rode
quietly
into the dark.

And then came
the light.

Blind for a moment
until gasps
and focus
revealed
your whispers
had become
writing
on the windows
for everyone
to read,
to laugh at me,
a friend
you so easily
made an enemy.

Whore.
Slut.
Traitor.

I let his hand go
and gave you
what you wanted,
but it was never
enough.

You always wanted
more,
to somehow prove
you were more
than I ever could be.
But what you never saw
was that he didn't want more,
he just wanted me.

I reached for his hand
and held it tight.
Sweaty palm
to sweaty palm,
we were ready for you,
your words,
your followers -
anything.

Because words
on windows
wash away,
but his hand print
on mine
will last forever.

Death and Skittles

All the colors of the rainbow
couldn't save you
from the color of your skin
or a bullet
aimed at your heart
by a hand
shaking with fear
and anger
at "people like you".

The law
may be in tact
but your life
is not. It ended
where you dropped
to the earth's floor --
stopped short
at seventeen
with Skittles in hand
and a hoodie
that won't keep you warm
anymore.

You were a stranger
in the dark
and now you're gone --
a childhood ended
one February night
because one man
couldn't just stay
in his car
and leave you alone.

We are a nation
wild with unrest
that negligence
is somehow still
innocent.

But the law
says something
different
and we all have to
live with it
or change it.

But not you.
Never you.

Your life stopped
before you
ever really got to live.

You'll never vote
for a president
or have a say
in the law
that offered you
no justice.

You'll never go
to college
or buy your first car.
You'll never own a home
or get married.
You'll never witness
the birth of your children
or bury your parents.

Your life ended
before it really began
with one gunshot
to the chest
as a pack of skittles
fell from your hand.
We'll never know
what happened
but one thing
will always ring true:
not guilty
does not mean
not responsible.