To be fair…

I didn’t mean to go looking for you. You just sort of appeared, like you always did, I suppose.

A newsfeed friend of a friend, adventures captured picturesque…Curiosity is a dangerously beautiful thing.

And there you were, looking just as you did before. I almost didn’t recognize you. All I could think was, oh, you still exist…How odd.

How…anticlimactic. That my breath didn’t even catch.

And then you were gone. And I felt almost nothing.

I suppose,

Facebook stalking isn’t nearly as intoxicating as it was. 



I’m inching my way back to the borders of Switzerland
crawling back from the endless fight
between loving and hating you.

Most days…
I go to bed with anger
and wake up wrapped up in the limbs of missing you

it’s so hard to disentangle
without making a sound
sliding my arms out from underneath
the pressure of your stare
flexing the sleepiness out of my fingers and toes
without shifting the entire dreaming world
on its axis.

And the debate of contacting you
keeps being sent to committee
to rage conversation
on all the things I never knew I wanted to say
and reckless charges
against the stolen moments
when I still entertain the memories
as future possibilities.

So I resign myself to silence,
quiet solitude
instead of drafting you into this war
and as I’m losing every battle
with thoughts and feelings
hitting me with everything they’ve got

I refuse to crawl my way back to you
with just the scars and apologies I’ve collected
on the field
so I’m pulling myself through the mud
to get to Switzerland
maybe then–

I won’t feel like such a traitor


Legs tangled, cold feet under warm covers
missing subtitles because all I can think of is
his hand playing with my hair
him pulling me, pushing me–repositioning me.
asking if I was more comfortable,

like he cared.

ravaging the slightest of my senses
the closest we ever got to making love off the dance floor

I wanted to kiss him
but I didn’t.

I wanted to do lots of things
but I didn’t.

Because we were just friends.

And I remember thinking,
he’ll never hurt me

how naive of me…

because he already had.

What You’ve Made of Me

I am all the things you’ve made me
all the crippling self-doubt,
the impatient
the terrified dreamer
the reckless lover
the late night confession
the non believer
the early morning regrets

I bear all these proudly.

I do not turn away from the past,
I do not yield to what you’ve done
I do not pretend I am someone
other than the person you helped me become.

I will own my sins
casually mention them in conversation
like they are just a story of legends
because they have no power over me anymore

I am all the things you’ve made me
all the careless words I said
the anxious heart
the sympathetic touch
the passionate downfall
the inadequate friend
the caution
the hope of far flung hopes

I display them openly.

I do not hide away in anguish
I do not push them aside
I do not overlook
the temper of such devastation

I will own my sins and yours
but I will not give into them
like they are everything that I am
or will ever be.

I am more than what you made me out to be.

December 12, 2009

A scavenger hunt is finished. Pizza is eaten.

Blue dancing too.

And then we walked home, pausing to lie down in the grass and stargaze.

You asked me to come say goodnight. And we didn’t talk about all the things we should have.

Because you were tired.



That’s what you called our first hug.

And then you asked if I wanted to spend the night with you. To be honest, I wanted to say yes, but I think I knew, even then, that that would only lead to heartbreak.