Expect tears, and heartfelt empty dedications to never-loving-again.

I set you to rest against a blank wall
In order to paint different backgrounds around your body’s frame-
to see where you belonged in my life.

Tan was too neutral,
Red reminded you too much of your past,
and Purple gave you too much glory.

So I tired to match the blue in your eyes,
but they peered around the room too quickly for me to find the right shade.
I love your childlike view,
the energy that drives you
but I couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes would ever slow down to focus on me.

So I let you go
Staring at the white ghost of you against my canvas of indecision

You offered to cover it up with leftover paint you found from a memory that stained the empty parts of yourself.

I would rather leave it blank.
As a reminder
That your eyes changed colors in each direction they drifted.

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I sing about the Carolina mountains like I’ve seen them or I talk about that boy like he’s mine

We wrote our promises to each other on brown paper sacks
and used them as life support.

Breathing in your handwriting until all I could taste were your misspellings.

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When We Grow-

I saw it in your shoulders.
I knew you weren’t in love
but i keep patting your back
in hopes to find your knots of insecurity
in hopes to push them out.

When i said we couldn’t touch
I didn’t mean forever.
When i said i knew you too well
I didn’t ask you to change.

I can see it in your shoulders
the way your heart slumps them down
Your in love-

I certainly hope I was wrong.

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You Say Masochist-I Say Free Will

He is an earthquake of a boy-
too sudden to be appreciated
and marred with a reputation of destruction.

Which is why I chose him-

I am waiting for him to destroy me.
So I can search through the remains
Find old pictures of myself

and remember how beautiful I was with short hair.

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Lament #1.5

I wonder what God thinks of a girl like me
wanting to carve his name around my neck
as a permanent reminder.

I think he’s disappointed,
but I can’t tell anymore.

I blame it on the lack of sleep
he blames it on my lack of honesty

But honestly,

All I know is that I carry a black and white photo of my dead father in my wallet.
I like to see him.
I’ve forgotten what his voice sounds like,
so memorizing the arches of his nose and cheek bones while I pay for cheep liquor
has become my most sacred of silent conversations.

I wonder what my Dad thinks of me now?

His golden child.
His beloved.
Spending her nights battling with the sins he already saved her from.

I think he’s disappointed,
but I can’t tell anymore,
because I can’t remember the sound of his voice,

and I’m too afraid to fall asleep.
I’m too afraid to hear what he has to say.

So I write notes to God across my chest,
under the still eyes of my father’s photo.
I read them out loud,
because the silence is killing me.

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Bridges Are Made For Mouths, and Mouths Are Made For Water

I am
and will always be
the piece of meatloaf wedged between your molars.
You will try and force me out,
but your tongue is too weak to tell me to leave,
and you’re afraid that washing me out with wine will only forgive me of my sins.
So you let me sit,
but I don’t mind the view.
From here
I am able to see the things that make you part your mouth in awe.

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XVII

I found you inside your head
counting the different ways to spell God’s name.

You were able to see him better than me,
and I was able to say his name out loud.

I built a bridge between your head and your heart
and in return you made me dinner.

The most sincere of exchanges.

The night the floods came was the same night you told me the future.
In God’s words-not yours

And I don’t know if it was the leak in the roof,
the rattle of the thunder,
or the whisper in your voice,
but your words, or God’s words, were too loud for me.

So in a sleepwalkers stupor
I parted the red dirt seas
with my bare feet embellished by chipped toe nail polish.
praying that God would save me
and at the same time wash me away.

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