I know how you feel,

Like a grandmother's old broach

That no one wants but everyone keeps.

A son wearing his father's retired, plaid work shirt,

Hanging loose, fitting him in all the wrong places.

A mouse that runs as fast as it can

But is still caught by the hawk.

A young, troubled, child,

Forced from foster home to foster home.

The fourth straight day of rain after a drought,

Once wanted, now rejected.

The stars in the sky,

After all the city lights have turned off.

I get it. I've felt it too.

It's the little drop of Vaseline on your finger,

No matter how many times you try to wash it off,

It lingers. Repelling everything that might try to break the barriers.

It's the feeling of being too much and never enough,

It's knowing everything and knowing nothing.

It's trying harder than ever before, and still failing.

It's trying to find yourself and only finding

Others.

how do I describe this?

this, where I'm sitting in your sweatshirt,

eating ice cream and listening to Brandi Carlile

and writing poetry.

Alone.

not that you'd care

you think I'm risky

you distance yourself from me

you never did like to read the poems the way I loved to

you've moved on now.

if you knew that I was here,

wearing nothing but your clothes

— your sweatshirt, your necklace, your socks (that's all) —

and clutching the bear you gave me,

would you care?

I know you felt this at one point but

I doubt you remember what it's like.

it's been so long and you have someone new now.

we've probably passed each other,

whether on the street, at the mall,

online, in the newspaper,

on the interstate, in a restaurant,

at church, in the park,

at the beach, on a plane.

maybe multiple times,

maybe only once.

maybe I'll recognize your face when we first meet,

maybe I won't.

New Orleans is a small city

(if that's even where you are).

but maybe we haven't passed each other

maybe we've just merely co-existed

one of us leaves too early,

one of us enters too late;

almost passing each other,

almost encountering one another.

or maybe we've never encountered another.

maybe we're not even close to each other.

maybe we're always on the wrong street,

in the wrong city, in the wrong state,

the wrong country, the wrong hemisphere,

always taking the wrong step.

maybe we're co-existing in a different way;

never in the same area, never in passing

but right as I'm writing this poem,

you're thinking about the day we'll meet.

maybe we're both praying at the same time,

both watching our same favorite shows.

when my eyelashes seem to be the most stubborn part of me,

maybe it's because you're being haunted by nightmares.

maybe when I'm feeling anxious and don't know why,

it's because you're about to embark on a new journey.

maybe when I'm happy, for a split second, for no reason,

it's because somewhere, you're happy too. and you're laughing.

or maybe you don't even think of me.

maybe, you're falling asleep in someone else's arms,

sharing parts of you with her, that should be saved for me.

she's the one who can calm your anxiety,

the one who gives you her all,

the one you think of when you imagine the future.

Right here, right now,

There are parts of me.

Parts, that when I was still small enough

To fit my whole body and world into a bathtub,

My mom labeled as my "private parts."

But those aren't the private parts of me anymore.

Now, it's other, more public locations of myself.

My left hipbone.

The area between my neck and my chest.

My right forearm.

These may change, but who knows?

Secrets change all the time.

I've begun to notice that people often aren't who they claim to be. Like calm, clear waters that turn out to be shark-infested. I guess I've started to think that maybe we should all come with warnings.

Warning: doesn't follow the rules

Warning: quick stop

Warning: loves the unknown

Warning: on the run

The first love of my life loved to explore. He'd steal a cheap bottle of liquor, and we'd run off into the unknown, laughing and kissing and stumbling in and around the trees.

Warning: likes to take control

Warning: breaks promises too easily

Warning: chronic liar

Warning: weeble-wobble

He'd walk like a toddler taking his first steps, slowly and pensively, until we were so lost we didn't know right from left. This is when the fighting would start.

Warning: likes to learn with the eyes

Warning: tongue too fierce

Warning: sensitive ears

Warning: touch too strong

He usually drank more than me, meaning that he usually forgot what would happen between those trees. That's probably how he was able to forgive himself each time.

Warning: skin inclined towards bruising

Warning: heart too fragile

Warning: lungs too hollow

Warning: eyelashes too stubborn

There was this one time when it got so bad that I grabbed the poison from him and downed the rest of it. That was the last I remember of that night.

Warning: hand-me-down

Warning: broken

Warning: naive

Warning: easy target

The next morning, I woke up with cuts and scrapes.

I still pretend that they were from falling and tripping when I was drunk.

Warning: don't love me

I'll take advantage of you.

I occupy your empty space with pillows,

Clean laundry, sketchbooks, novels.

It helps me keep to my side.

I fill your missing presence with Netflix,

Sewing, running, cooking, writing,

Defeat. 

The loneliness follows me like my shadow,

The lights dim and shadows grow,

Until I'm completely surrounded by myself.

Now it's not so much a queen sized bed,

As it is a twin-sized bed with a comfortable table attached.

After you left, I'd always forget to buy milk when I ran out.

Now I just drink my coffee black.

I take showers instead of baths.

It's faster now.

I forget my keys too often.

I had to hide one under the front step.

The other day I was hit by the door of the subway.

It left me with a bruised hipbone.

This morning I jumped in a pile of clothes fresh from the drier.

It still wasn't as powerful as your warmth.

I didn't feel like cooking last night.

I ate a whole meal of celery.

I sleep with the fan on.

I wake up freezing every morning.

I've accepted that the street lights shine brighter than the stars.

It makes the sky seem even darker than it used to be.

I fall asleep in the middle of the bed,

But somehow always end up on the left side.

I keep forgetting to close the windows.

Now, it's always cold in my room.

"For in much wisdom is much grief, and increase of knowledge is increase of sorrow."

    - Ecclesiastes 1:18

When I was little, I was scared of monsters under my bed and darkness.

Now, I'm still scared of monsters, just not the kind under my bed.

And I'm still scared of darkness, but only when it's because I'm walking back to my car alone.

The longer I live, the more scared I become of what this world, these people are going to be.

The more I experience, the more sorrow sits on my chest.

The more people I talk to, the more I grieve for generations to come.

It's not something you can order from Amazon,

But it's delivered to you when you least expect it.

It will never arrive on your doorstep alone,

They're a package deal, tied together with clear tape, topped with a morbid bow,

And it can never be sent back.

Superman doesn't exist anymore. Fairytales are no longer realistic.

And the Laughing Man, well, he's dead.

There was this place we went to junior and senior year.

Following a bumpy two-hour bus ride,

Dead cell phones, early morning exhaustion.

Once we arrived, the first thing we noticed was the air,

Too pungent, too clean

For our city lungs to comprehend.

There were giant trees and falling leaves,

Spiders the size of our hands, plants as foreign as coconut trees,

True blue, country sky.

There was clean rain, pure enough to drink,

Puddles contaminated only by the pure earth

Lightning storms like we'd never seen before.

There were constellations and shooting stars,

Bright enough to make up for the lack of shining lights,

Stars too bright, sky too clear, for these uptown eyes to handle.

We embraced it— climbing the mile-high trees,

Rolling down the hill, getting lost in the forest,

Splashing one another with our rain boots in the lake.

There are certain things you can't learn in the city—

The warmth of a campfire, surrounded by the people you love;

The sounds of losing your path and leaves crunching beneath your feet;

Lying on blankets in a huge, barren field

While watching the stars and playing "Would You Rather;"

The serenity of nature.

I miss it sometimes— at night, when I'm all alone,

Wrapped in blankets, the traffic lights illuminating the bedroom.

"Look at those phony stars, blinking their way into dawn."

you only need two things to kill hundreds of trees:

a wooded area that experienced a drought,

and a match.

you only need two things to kill me:

a cement heart,

and my trust.

I don't know which is worse, but maybe you can find out.

You've already accomplished one,

So go to California with a matchbox.