this is a poem about how fixing people
is not romantic.
we’re not meant to be somebody’s answer,
we’re not meant to make someone feel alive again.
this is a poem about why you shouldn’t kiss him
because he’s broken
because you want to save him.
save yourself first.
kiss him because he holds a place in your heart, not
because he's the only thing making it pump.
kiss him because he’s in your life, not because
he is your life.
hold him, but don’t hold onto him because you believe
(get to dry land first.)
this is a poem about how i find poetry in everything.
breakups. my dad telling me i mattered.
nightmares. my neighbor’s insomnia.
how it drove him crazy.
how he swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to fix it.
my neighbor’s funeral.
this is a poem about the split-apart theory.
the idea was that when humanity became arrogant
toward the gods, we were split in two
and were doomed to spend our lives searching
for our other halves.
i’m sorry, but i don’t like the idea that we are born
we are born whole.
with age, pieces of us are just taken away
and we try to fill in the spaces.
your body, your life, is a house and
if there are holes, empty rooms,
don’t give the key to strangers with pretty eyes
and velvet voices
who don’t belong.
you’ll know who’s worth keeping.
they may not give you pieces
but they will take nothing away.
they will not rent themselves to you,
they’ll let you move in
and your edges will click against one another.
they will leave you be and they will say, “let’s be imperfect
this is a poem about drinking.
don’t risk getting drunk
just so you’re brave enough to kiss him.
don’t risk waking up not remembering
the feel of his lips
and the push of his body on yours.
because you will, eventually.
you will feel that sloppy mouth
and you will feel regret.
this is a poem about what i remember.
i can point to any line i ever wrote
and tell you exactly what i felt
as the words came out of me,
if the ink blotted with tears,
if i smiled and dotted the i’s with hearts.
at one point i’m pretty sure i knew where i wanted to go;
i had a path and a goal at the end.
i dreamed of a husband
and two little boys, and a house in colorado.
no husband, no goal, no path.
i want to know where it went but
i’m still not sure if i veered off the path
or if it steered away from me.
this is a poem about the day i woke up, and where everything
had once been, stood nothing.
this is also a poem about what i don’t remember.
this is a poem about irony.
irony is my neighbor eating a bottle of sleeping pills
because he just wanted to sleep.
irony is how he’ll sleep forever now.
(irony is that he didn’t fucking deserve that.)
humans are the most sensitive species.
our skin is fragile, and we have no fur. we bleed easily.
we know when to stop, when it hurts too much,
when to save our own lives.
we are weak, and exposed, and vulnerable.
we are born crying, and it's okay to cry now,
however many years it's been.
this is a poem about us, and how i love you all.
this is not a poem about the difference between any cut
and a broken heart
because, i've found, the pain is nearly the same.
this is a poem about recovery.
talk about what hurts. call your mother, call your father
and take your time.
write it down where you won't remember.
then let it go.