Somnia

I fall in love at twilight.
Broad statement.
Revision:
I fall in love with the way
your voice sometimes
lives in the place between awake
and dreaming,
where you talk to me
in an octave far more hushed
than normal,
where your head meets
my shoulder.

It’s like a fogged glass
memory of September,
my fingers running over your hair,
“Drive” playing off the radio;
your cheek pressed to the lining of my jacket,
body shifted from driver’s seat to
lap of passenger,
to a girl who believes for a few moments,
a half hour,
she will be all you need.
Lack-luster friend,
semblance of rest.

When you wake,
you tend to hold people a little tighter.
Your hand brushes theirs in a dimly lit bar
and for once, you eat a whole dinner.

I fall in love with the way
the rain raced down your windows,
“I Will Possess Your Heart” on the radio,
singing softly to your somnia.
Waiting for your voice to fill with sleep,
for your eyes to lift up and meet
mine,
to hear your voice clogged with something
other than a lonely girl’s dream:
to watch your tongue fold over itself with silence,
to watch you break the planes of slumber.

Listening still,
after all this time.
Holding out
for a whisper.

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Another Round for 4

We are ostracized by a table
half the size of the dining room
and I am looking at you
and you are laughing.

And I am watching you
and you don’t look at me;

and this is why I don’t believe you
when you say I’m ‘pretty’,
when you like ‘my personality’.

I see the way you’re smiling,
the way your eyes are glinting,
and maybe you’ve finally fooled me.

But in those moment, I swear
you look, you seem
genuinely happy.

And maybe that lessens the blow
of the lie:
that I know you never watch me
when I’m having a good time.

So the next time we are at a table
and this time, I’m at your side,
I’ll still cherish that smile,

But won’t confuse it for your validity
of my ‘pretty’
or ‘personality’.
No, without you,
without it, I’m still me,
and regardless,
I’ve been doing just fine.

Kiddo

I will always be a child to you.
I may never get the responsibilities laid upon your shoulders
and my back will never be strong enough to carry them for you.

Once,
in the fall,
the sun beating on our backs,
and with the weight of fifteen pounds on my shoulders alone,
I asked you to carry me.
You said okay,
but I’d have to leave my bookbag behind.

I am sorry
that all this time,
I was the biggest burden of all.

I am sorry
that I have let you live as a personal burden
not on my back,
but rooted in my soul;
nourished by false hope and heart-wrenching dreams.

Despite what I’ve seen,
I am always forcing you to walk beside me.

You never came back to
(let alone for)
me.

Disjointed

You let me sit in your car;
and I know I did it just to be near you.

And we listened to the random songs
you played off your phone
and I felt myself
sinking into your
passenger seat
so that way something that belonged to you
would know the feel of me.

And after all this time,
I still shouldn’t be looking for someone like you.

I know that.
I know I matter even less than
a little bit.
I know if you were to keep up
with the number of poems
I have written with you in mind,
you’d be sick of it.
(And that’s not counting
the alternate realities I’ve made;
but I always kept you “taken”,
out of respect
for your relationship.)

I’m finding the irony
that Tracy Chapman was playing
and “Fast Car” hits me
like piano on my chest
in the key of “K”:
A note that doesn’t exist.

Like our relationship
that never was.

But just so they know
all the smiles just might be fake——
for the times she said
I have low self-esteem
for the way I’ve deemed myself
not worthy of respect
but rather hands all over
and smoke-filled haze,
know I am still willing
to be at your feet
if it means I can somehow stay.

If it means that once again
we are the fitting pieces
to each other’s crazy.
If it means somehow,
there is once again
a you
and a me——

I’m still trying to figure out
my reason
for waiting.

Is it Fast Enough So We can fly Away?

You had a fast car.
I wanted a ticket to anywhere.

And I’m convincing myself
I love the way the passenger seat pressed against me,
rather than the length of your 6’3” body.

I’m regretting not sitting on the pavement
the day my family was late.
I’m regretting you telling me to get in your car,
not knowing I was beginning to form a relationship with it.

I’m trying to remember the view of the stars as we rushed down
country roads
instead of the scar on your right hand as you 
carelessly gripped the steering wheel.

I’m listening to R&B instead of
Indie stations.
Pop stations instead of
acoustic versions of “Everlong”.
and your voice softly singing.

And I’m lying on the floor,
remembering your phantom shadow.
Pressing my palms to carpet where you had once stretched out
your form.
It doesn’t seem fair that time doesn’t stop,
and yet I’m still left catching my breath.

I see you like ghosts in all the rooms of my house,
and yet I can never remember what your voice sounds like.
And I’ve refused to flirt with the next one
and be the girl who goes after next co-worker,
next stock person.

(You became best friend;
trusted companion;
left my heart kicked off the side of mountain,
fallen in canyon.
…never realizing I would have to climb back up
and out
alone.)

You have a fast car…
somewhat.
You have an orange car…
used to.
I have a Taurus…
surprisingly, still.
I wonder if
your passenger seat
is eerily empty.
Or if you gave someone
my ticket.

I bet the passenger seat
doesn’t hold them close,
the same way it once
held me.

I’ve Been Thinkin’ Bout You, You know, know, know

I’m falling off your map;
right between the points of:
“Get to know her”
and “Remember when we—-.”

I have found that
just because you think of someone
constantly,
doesn’t mean you cross their mind as
frequently.
If
at all.

I have found that
there is nothing to really
miss
of me.

I keep conjuring up
scenarios
where again
our eyes will meet;
half of them,
you smile weakly;
murmur you miss me.

And I keep
wanting you to reach out
and contact me.
Reach out
and grab hold
of me.

Because this time last year,
we barely knew anything about each other.
And by September,
I was full on
head over heels
falling for….
I don’t know
anymore.

And I want to tell you,
that I don’t care.
But, I never lied to you.

I guess what I’m saying is,
after everything,
I still remember how your brow furrows,
and how your eyes lit up.

I can still see your face when you’re laughing
and somehow, I’m still the girl that goes into the trailers.
We just don’t sit on boxes and have heart-to-hearts,
yet.

Because though, I’m just the there for the moment,
and though I’m trying to forget,
you unfortunately gave me plenty to miss,
and I guess,
I’m not over you yet.