If you ever wake up missing him, remember every time you woke up without him in bed, wondering where he was and when he would come home. If you get pains in your chest when you pass his house in the car, count to ten and breathe slowly. Now speed up, blast your music, and scream obscenities at the top of your lungs. If your morning coffee tastes of his tongue, try tea. If your song comes on the radio, I strongly suggest you change the station. Actually, change your sheets, your hair. When you dial his number and hang up five times in a row, call your mom instead.
If you ever wake up missing him, remember that the past is no place to live. Memory lane is an ugly place to visit, lined with dilapidated houses that have been vacant for years and potholes in the middle of the street. Stay away.
“truth is, I painted my nails your favorite color, then peeled it off truth is, the skin over your Adam’s apple tasted like an apple truth i...”
“January: When he left, he took the whole world with him. it was clanking behind his car like a bunch of empty cans. February: The 8 wonder...”
“What do I want to be when I grow up? I want to be happy. I want be the feeling. I want to be the thrill during roller coaster rides. I want...”
“You would always whisper, “God doesn’t need us,” but your mouth tasted like holy wine, skin like the paper-thin wafers...”
I don’t want to be toldthat the moon is beautifuldespite the factthat it is cratered,I want to be told that the moon is beautiful because of the factthat it is cratered,and that the blinding suncan’t helpbut shine a light on this broken beauty.
“Write poems like you mix drinks. On a Friday night with just a little emotional hangover.”
I saw an angelon the bus,with calligraphy curvesand willowy limbs,and she was beautifuland I wasn’t lustful, or envious,just a happy admirer.Then,she touchedher stomachwith her lady-like hands,and sucked it in.And it broke my heart to thinkthat maybeeven angels cry.
“I want you to know all of me. I do. The splinters, the tender places behind my ears. The open cradles of my palms aching for your heart.”