F— Off, December.

December looks the same to me

Come its arrival very year

The month I waste on longing

For an end to dreaded tears


I rip it out in calendars

And I hate to say its name,

For December is a constant

That puts my heart to shame


A pinky promise, a kiss on the nose

January fools me every time

Has me thinking this might be the year

When winter begins to feel just fine


But every time the last month

Comes back around to show his face

He breaks my naive heart again

To put me back into my place




I told you to leave, that I didn’t care,

but now your absence is everywhere —

kisses still caught up in my hair,

the smell of you that’s always there.

I spoke too soon, now I can’t bear

our two goodbyes still up in the air.

Why Everything Is A Draft:

I’ve always been loved in fragments,

love letters half written and

never surpassing drafts;

I’ll admit I write these things myself,

but never forged reality

to take after my craft.


He tells me he’s in love

but never says with whom,

he holds my hand, invites me in

but I’ve never even seen his room.


I await the day I’m bold enough

to rid myself of this tired game,

the one where he’ll finally say “I love…”
but won’t stay long enough

to say my name.

The Kind Of Texts That Wake Me Up

And I know you only see me

in that 3am “U awake?” message

that I read with glassy eyes

and an itchy mouth


But I see you in the galaxies

of my iris, in the flecks

of dust that filter through


The sunlight by every window


And sometimes, I even hear

the notes of your laughter on my neck

in the dialogue of strangers

that passes through the breeze


I guess what I’m trying to say is:

I know you only remember me

on the nights your body’s racing

too fast to fall asleep


But I couldn’t not remember you

even if I wanted to

and God knows





A Sidewalk Story

And my grandma always told me

I was a tough, tall tree

with roots indestructible


Roots undeniable


But I can’t help but see myself

in the fallen leaves you step on

with such ease.


What do you think of

when you hear the crunch?

Time Bomb

Every time a room gets too quiet

I find myself ducking for cover.


Clocks ticking

Feel more like bombs

Waiting to burst


Your heartbeat is a countdown

To my own destruction


I flinch whenever it strikes


One more hour gone

One less I have


To run for my life.


Twenty years ago I became a product

Of two souls willingly entwined.


I want a love that holds on

Like the magnets on the refrigerator,

One that welcomes you in

Like the mat on the front step,

That grows with the passing days

As if they’re not getting faster.


One that tumbles through adversity

Like clothes in the dryer,

And is always as warm

As the second they’re done.


I don’t want the kind of love

People write poems about.


I want the kind of love that raised me.


Outgrowing You

I feel myself outgrowing you

Like the jeans I used to wear

I feel you stretching at the seams

Threatening to tear


You’re like the sweater

I refused to retire

Though it was decaying

(too many spins in the dryer)


Your threads are fraying

Sagging, fitting me too loose

But I refuse to part with you just yet

No matter how obtuse


White Noise

I am content with sitting in silence

Until someone can complement my quiet.

For I will not settle for any sudden voice,

Polluting my peace with meaningless noise;

Hollow words, supposed to be vibrant,

Ruined by your white noise, a mouth uninvited.

On Rewriting History.

Ask me how I feel

when the time I thought would still be ours

Is spent with someone else a year later

And from the day we first met

I replay our timeline in my head

And watch you rewrite history

You paint over our memories with brighter ones

Heartbreak graffiti, like we were never even there

Like nothing about us mattered

Because I was just the rough draft

And she is your perfect final copy