Now entering Nostalgia, population: 2

A town made for both of us

But I’m here waiting for you.

I don’t think you’ll come by,

But on the off chance you do,

It won’t take long to make your way through.

Letters from and letters to,

Photographs of me and you,

Memories of things we’d do.

Their disposal is long overdue,

But, boy, is that a hard thing to do

When the scars you left still feel brand new.

Forever, Twice

I’ve lived for exactly 233 months

and have only truly been in love once,

But hope I am again just once more, as

A twice will suffice; I’ve been too hurt before.

If the second time comes around, ever,

I hope it is the one meant for forever.


~May, 2017

Pen and Paper.

How foolish of me to think

That any other relationship could emulate

That of a pen and paper

That any ears would be able to catch

The whisper in me

As easily as the pages do

— Or that they’d want to

To think that any love could outlast

The permanence of the pen

With which I’d write about it

Old Flames

Perhaps the most unsettling part

About listening to

The sad song that used to be yours

Is when it becomes

That of someone else, too,

Though you never liked to share.

My old flames harmonizing

Into a single wildfire,

A symphony of

My own mistakes

Sure to leave my heart

Burnt out.

Parked Cars

There’s more than just cars

Between the fading white lines

Of the Wal-Mart parking deck.

There lies my flat tire optimism,

My dented perspective

Of the fatal mixture of

Love and lies.


And I recall when we’d climb

Straight to the top,

Throwing pebbles over the edge

Just to watch them fall,

Oblivious to the metaphor

They became for it all.


But even months later

All I can see is that it

Overlooked the water

The way you overlooked me

During the coldest December

I can remember.


This is how I marked the end

Of a time when I finally felt full

Just to be drained again

The moment you turned off

The headlights.


Same Old

I am tired.

Of wishing on fallen eyelashes

Of knocking on wood

Of staring at the clock til 11:11

Of crossing my fingers, and

Of thinking that the stroke of a pen

Equates to that of a miracle.

I am tired

Of hoping and waiting for

Something that might

Not be anything at all.


I’m still waiting for the day I’ll stop

Hearing your name

Repeated even months later

Like an echo that never fades out

People asking how you’ve been,

Forgetting that I’m the one

Still buried in the aftermath

Of our catastrophe

Expiration Dates.

I had a feeling your feelings

For me were too good to last

But I want to know when they

Started to fade, and how fast


Did pieces of me leave you

Every time you said goodbye?

Were they tucked into the bags

You packed, buried in your lies?


I tried to ignore the worries

Still left over from the past,

But too many times I’d broken

And they became my cast


I should have seen it coming

So it was less of a surprise

When your unsteady heart

Stopped beating for me,

Marking our demise.



Left me wondering why

The hardest thing for me

Was saying goodbye, while

The hardest thing for you

Was just telling me to