response time

i can’t tell you i’m jealous
because you know,

you know how badly
i want to be him,
or her,

how badly i want to be
the one you went hiking with today,
or watched a movie with last night,

you know how badly
i wish things were different.

i’m slow to answer your texts
to pretend i’m busy.
maybe i went hiking today too!
but you know i lied in bed.

i can’t tell you i’m jealous
because you know,

and because you know me.

when we meet again

i’ll hold your hand some day-

not again,
but for the first time

and when i look in your eyes
and tell you i love you,

know i mean it

because i have been waiting a lifetime
to tell you
what you are to me:

that you are no replacement,
no substitute,
for anyone i’ve known before

that you are vibrant,
and dependable,
and kind

and once i can hold you,
i promise i won’t let you go

untitled #28

“you should”s, however well-intentioned
the shadows that dance along the floor,
visible and intangible,
not quite so easy to read
as the writing on the wall.

i’m trying to build a life
of the pieces i’ve been given

i’m trying to build a tower
of the cards i’ve been dealt

i’m not content to let others decide
how to play cards they haven’t seen.
i know, inside
good advice is hard to find
and much, much harder to recognize


who’s the girl in the mirror
and what’s she got to do with me?

i am just an ego and soul,

an arm itches and it annoys me.

the girl in the mirror
scratches the arm.

what’s that got to do with me?


you’re bundled up
and sweating-
cold, clammy,
choking on stale air

outside is much the same:
hot, sticky
humidity that kills

for the first time,
summer festers in your calendar,
creeps under your doors
like a fungus,
stays on your skin
after you shower,

summer tastes like
pond scum,
black mold,

you’d think it would be impossible
not to think of last summer:
of adventure, nice weather,
swimming pools and strawberries
but none of that comes to you just now-

the fan in your kitchen
only makes you hotter,
and you sweat,
colder, hotter, colder
and summer keeps on.

missing pieces

there will always be holes
in the fabric of the life you build,

but so, so necessary.

you see yourself
in the gaps,

remind yourself
how you got here.

there will always be holes
and always be hurt

and there will always be love
and always be hope

maybe it’s not okay

my destruction
is the retroactive withdrawal of
the unintentional consequence of saying
“i deserve better”

i am gentle until i convince myself
of my power,

and the two cannot coexist.

third dimension dreams

i am no one

i am a thousand angles
to the thousand people i have met.

i am a thousand adjectives
and a thousand actions,

i am a thousand faces
in a thousand photos,

i am a thousand dreams waiting
for a single chance.

i am one person
and so many other things.


everything beautiful
lasts only a moment:

good songs played at the right time,
the perfect breeze.

you’re too slow to photograph
his smile-
and the moment is gone again,

and the camera is too heavy
for your hands
to hold all the time.

let life give,
and give,
and take away, because

everything beautiful
lasts only a moment

lasts only a moment

lasts a lifetime

shaky hands

the desire to create art
is our innate desire for entropy,

to feel like we are assembling
when we are deconstructing,

to feel like we are making a whole
while ignoring the rising cloud of dust

putting things together
while all falls apart.