i havent seen him look that way in a while and he hasnt seen me smile like that ever. i let my heart run away sometimes and get overwhelmed and wonder what youre doing. what song you just listened to or what kind of beer youre drinking tonight. if you ever think of me as i do of you. and these always seem like mini love letters to you but always, never, without, replies///i always hoped you would fall in love with me, i always hoped that there was something you could love about me. like my long hair, or my blue eyes, that mole by my right breast or the one right underneath my eye, the way i would sometimes look at you while we danced, or maybe the fact that i always remember when your birthday is without being reminded. you told me once to never have chipped nail polish, and just because you broke my heart i cut my long hair and always, always wait till my nail color fades///

not every living creature has to die alone

i imagined how this would be. me hurting you for the last time and you leaving. never talking to me again except maybe a phone call on christmas, your favorite holiday, not mine. we would eventually get over one another and move on, you would buy antony and the johnsons on vinyl for a new girl and i would buy another grown man his first tea kettle, hoping that he would let me smoke cigarettes inside his house during the winter while i drank the tea he made. she would take over my tradition of buying you a new christmas ornament for your tree each year but they would never mean as much to you, there would never be as much thought put into it. she would always trust you and never go through your notebooks or your phone. but you would lie to her when she asked if you ever thought of me, if you ever missed me. and you did both of those things and you always would. i would find someone who wanted to marry me and i would eventually call you up and tell you the good news, asking you for advice, "do you think i can actually love the same man.. forever?"  you'd be in your late forties, trying to hold on to what youth you still had. she'd actually be your age though this time. You would hear the excitement in my voice, the smile. you would never put a ring on anyone's finger. The closest I got to that was a ring with a moon stone that you gave me on some holiday or birthday. I would still wear it, switching it from finger to finger, making room for the ones he would buy me. You both would sit in the same apartment, you finally giving in and letting her move in with you. You at your desk writing, her bored and wondering what her old friends were up to or reading marie claire or some other trash magazine wondering when the next touch would come. and i wish i could tell her that it won't ever show up, that things dont change with people. they stay the same they just get older and more set in their ways. and when i invite the both of you to the wedding she silently cries in the shower because she knows that she is stuck unless she leaves, unless she breaks your heart, unless she becomes brave. she doesnt know what being brave is so she breaks your heart instead, the only way she knows how to get out, the only way anyone knows how to get out. this is what i imagine, sitting with you, watching some horrible television show that we've both already seen. this is what i think about while i fall asleep on the couch and you crawl off to my bed not waking me, not putting an arm around me at night, not kissing me or touching me. and i always imagined this is how it would be.

sometimes it is just about having them there. about letting them see what your room looks like. or that arm on your chest or your back, your thigh. sometimes i just want someone breathing in my ear. or someone else's cell phone alarm to go off in the morning. i wanna know what beer and cigarette breathe smells like. i wanna have to get up to find that sock that you cant seem to find. sometimes i actually do want to know what you wanna do with your life, what you imagined you would do when you were little. i wanna hear what your voice sounds like when youre not around your friends, what your laugh sounds like. its not always about fucking.

childhood secrets

his eyelashes were like golden foils placed delicately above and below his eyes. He had a boyish lust and after i had gotten over him, or the idea of him, he wasnt as handsome as he use to be. His crooked teeth no longer seemed cute. His dirty nails were just that and i had no time for his hands anymore. no longer wished them on my body. He had returned finally to that place in time where he was just another boy that i continued to overlook, bypass. He no longer made my heart flutter like a million monarch butterflies, no longer made me replay silly, simple sentences over in my head in fear they would come out all jumbled and stuttered through a body full of nerves. My friends always wondered and questioned what it was that i saw in him and i would gush and words would come spilling out of my mouth too quickly, proclaiming how beautiful he was, and always ending it with "you really dont think so?!" and i guess now i understand why they had said it. They knew he had my heart, I had given it to him too easily on a silver platter, including silverware to destroy it, eat it, and spit it out at me. i only miss his eyelashes though. and maybe his laugh and the way he would ask me if i was sleepy, and take my hand and lead me to his room. It always made me feel special. That hand in mine, it made me feel like i was right on the cusp of being a child and also an adult, but with a secret. It was like whispering a secret into a childhood friends ear and knowing they would keep it forever. That hand. and those eyelashes. those are really the only things i miss.

Je n'avais aucun homme en juillet

i once was told, that the most beautiful thing
a man saw
was a cat sun bathing outside on the
pavement.

i just wanted to be a rebel, baby
wanted to be the other women for once
but once i had the opportunity for this,
i ran and hid, avoided phone calls and emails
im not much of a rebel and clearly perhaps a pacifist-
but only when it comes to love.
and there are those moments
when time stops
but i've only expeirenced the ones involving death and sex
hospitals and beds
and it all seems trivial now
when you try to picture those memories in your head but you
cant see his face but you know that she still pictures yours.

summer of love

i've got sunglasses lying around my apartment

red ones and black ones,

yellow and white- 

five or six pairs.

and

you would think that i was trying

to hide from the sun or something.