Poem Every Day in July 1: Leaving My Therapist’s Office


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my photo

The moon is always
an entire orb, although
you trusted descriptions like “sliver”
and “the sky’s bright scythe”
to give you the whole picture

until Mrs. Griffin’s third-grade depictions
of the well-fed face’s phases
created a radical shift
in your notions of the heavens.

From then on, your eyes
sought the circle complete,
and you learned to see
the gossamer of geometry
that sits like a feather
on a dark lake,

proving that the existence of craters
and curves
cannot be smothered
by any lack of light.

You changed your paradigm,
but to the world
it was an old truth:
the heavy, hovering thing
has been floating there all along,
tucked, at times, into the back pocket
of the night sky,

but never gone.

Even when the moon, for all its ashy glory,
is eschewed from view,
its magnificence is present
and astounding.


Almost: A Poem (or, rather, Lyrics for which I May Never Write Music)

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Crooked-tooth beauty, your wide smile curved
I saw you were everything I almost deserved
Head on your collarbone, I didn’t feel so alone
Affectionate words, unreserved

Your eyes, crinkled pastries all happy like that
Your toes, autumn-awkward on the welcome mat
You shone perfect pink, let your long lashes blink
Then lifted me up, swift, strong acrobat

Crooked-tooth beauty, you spun me around
Like a hot-air balloon peeled up from the ground
My giggles went pealing; swear I touched the ceiling
And back in your arms, warm and safe, I was found

What bright stroke of luck had granted me you?
What guardian angel did I have? Or who
Would read my bent mind and then be so kind
As to hand me the best thing the heavens can do?

Tumultuous beauty, I held you to me
Light met your green eyes like sunsets on the sea
Sweet fragile foam, you became my home
Now my boat is lost and I am so alone.

phototropism: A Poem


crying is a freedom. so are
the legend-of-pop stadium shows
I host in the bathroom mirror.
today (it’s been
too long) I rolled my window down
and let the wind ruin me.
I came home calm.
I snipped an inch
of brunette cumulonimbus
from my head–an inch
he may once have loved,
held, smoothed. can it only be
twenty-four hours ago that I
caged myself with him,
awful chaos contained?
a dandelion
spits her seeds into the breeze.
I’ll do the same with mine.
a flurry of idiosyncrasy,
watch the sunlight on my petals, now.
watch me turn to it
and grow.
this is what I am meant to do.

The Ultimate Summer Playlist: A Poem

tumblr_meawskv1GL1r30mgpo1_500 It made her feel like the sun,

baked sand and happy blisters,

hot but worth it.

It made her feel like a can of something sweet,

snapped open on the beach;

like cicadas,

whispering secrets under the moon;

like watermelon

and strawberries

and lemonade

and iced tea

and hot dogs fresh off the grill.

It made her feel like holding hands,

something she had never tried;

like kissing and blushing

and all the confusion that follows.

It made her feel like a blissful rain,

breaking the sky in two to kiss the Earth,

watching all of its inhabitants skip and glide,

laughing, breathless,

for umbrellas and shelter.

It made her feel like crop tops

and short shorts

and everything she was too timid to touch.

It was just a bunch of songs, maybe,

but especially arranged to create the perfect,


vicarious love

that she could never attempt herself.

A Young and Sleepy Syrup: A Poem

couple-memories-sleeping-together-favim-com-341888our remote visibility is like the universe
never turning nor deceiving
only sparkling as love and knowledge

every skin moment brushes patiently
his breath like the dew in the grass
my own like the moon and the stars
and the sky of sweeping royalty
never so monumental as the drops

may day never break for us

our brief span of time is like eternity
expanding and inhaling
knowing only what needs to be known

the purple endlessness of everything
drips like paint on the canvas of us
his only movements meet my sides
concise to hold together the connection
which has wrought of me a blanket

may day never break for us

the strength of hands is like gravity
willpower can easily remove you from
but here it is rare to be found

as i lie and hear the hums of other rooms
at the waking of the tides of the planet
and feel him stir, feel the world stir
for the first time, for the first time,
i only pray to god

may day never break for us

The Ghost and the Spirit: A Poem

You are not the ghost standing
in mirrors in yellow-lit bathrooms
You are not the ghost materializing
in and out of this goddamn world
You are not the ghost holding breath
at the end of a razor
that ghost does not define you

You are the Spirit in white dancing
with sunflowers in the sunlight
You are the spirit reflected
(that others hope to reflect)
You are the spirit walking
with confident stride

You have known Sadness and
your relationship may be as intimate as ever but

the fact that you came into this world
does not make your birth any less of a miracle

You are not a ghost

You are a Spirit

and the Sadness was never your creator