October II

I can smell October rain on your skin
 And its disgusting
There is a bomb shell in your ribcage and god damn if I don’t find a way to set it off…
Your mother taught you how to slow dance in the living room the night before our senior prom
And the scuffs your marshalls black dress shoes left on the floor remind me of your hollow lungs
Of the way you fell asleep in church once and the way you fall like
October rain…how I fucking hate
 October rain.
And I wish I hadn’t yelled at you
With my tongue flapping between my teeth like Medieval war flags
and I wish you had yelled back
 Told me to sleep at my mothers or told me to take a walk
But you didn’t
And i do not forgive you for that

dandelions to weeds

Inevitable things. 
Summer leaving
 October returning.
 Love lost. 
Broken fingernails.
 Dandelions to weeds.
 And Goodbyes.
 The good and the bad kind. At one point we sat down and we learn to look past our sad stories and just sit in the quiet remembering we made a place filled with inevitable things. 
Summer leaving.
 October returning.
 Just like it promised. No secret. 
We’d whisper loud enough for our parents to know because in a world so filled with inevitable things, we secretly wanted to make sure wed never get lost. Or in too much trouble. 
Or at least enough trouble to say we made all these days worth it.
 Love lost.
 Broken fingernails. 
Two things you never regretted sharing with your mother because she told you so. In at least two languages one that involved yelling. 
And remembering. 
How we thought crossing bike tracks meant we were married and pinky swears were blood oaths and how being scared only lasted seconds just like now..
where we learned we can only hold our breath long enough for the monsters to disappear, then all we have left are our own ghosts to be afraid of. 
How October would always end up returning.
 Sometimes too late, when we were already gritting our teeth preparing for the cold when really we were just too scared to say something that might mess this up.
 Like I miss you. 
And when august would roll in with frostbite and goodbyes we’d unlock our bike chains
 and never look back.
 Because it wasn’t worth it. 
Because we might’ve messed it up. Inevitable things. Like goodbyes. 
Like growing up

Dirty House

This house is dirty, but it is comfortable
 Love me biblically with messy church buried in bed sheets.
 And don’t remind me I’m crazy
 Even when I am kitchen knives to the holes in the wall
 Even when I am scissors chopping locks at the dining room table screaming, “make me new!”
 hoping you’ll tuck me inside yourself until I’m good again.
 Inherit my breath
 Know I am a rough draft
Ugly poetry, you scrawled in lipstick across the mirror
 Unfinished poetry, the kind you use to get into girls bedrooms
 This house, we built, is filled with closed windows and broken bible verses because we knew neither of us could keep up with that shit.
 It is comfortable
 like watching the world fall apart from skyscraper walking stilts.
And you don’t remind me that I am crazy because I am so afraid of being all spit fire and bruise… and also a little afraid of Kama Sutra.
Heard that we can make ghosts from the doorway
 Heard we can make bedsprings turn into symphonies
 Heard that age doesn’t make us less great-I want you to know, that your heart is much like my palms, always searching and always shaking.
Shake me awake in this house, that we built.
 Dirty and comfortable.
 And don’t remind me I’m crazy-just that my souls too big for this body- and that you're more than happy to leave some extra room.