Coffee Shop Thoughts

Come to me in the after light.
In the silence after the sun slinks
into sleep somewhere beyond the clouds.
I crave to hear the loud.

I want to know you in the pre glow.
When we are blanketed by darkness
in a bed of thieves who steal hearts and don’t want for money.
Kiss me like you need my company.

I want you like dawn wants to caress these grounds
and night wants to pillage our secrets.

I want you,
both lit 
and shadowed,
touched by morning,
bedded by dusk,
nothing more;
nothing less.


You Will Never See Her Wake


will never be the one
to kiss the sun
off her shoulder blades in the morning.

will not be the one
to trace the patterns
the lace drapes make along 
her bare back.

Your fingers
will never be able to
memorize the dips of the
blessed vertebrae in 
her spine.

will never be able to kiss
to taste her morning breath in your mouth,
as she rolls onto her side to greet you.

will never get to wonder
what picture is playing
on the inside silver screen
of her eyelids.

Her sheets
will never be soiled
with your


Night Owl

I am sitting in a pitch black room, but somehow it appears navy. My face is only lit up by the man-made light that comes from a fluorescent computer screen. Pandora is playing James Blake and I am happy.

I have just finished a Vinyasa set of my own making and somehow I am still breathing. Doped up on allergy medicine and my own worst enemy, midnight memories, I sit in silence and feel my body sigh with relief. I am happy.

I sit with my legs folded under me and my hair wrapped in a makeshift bun at the nape of my neck. My legs are bare and prickly; I’m in an old T from cheer and “yoga shorts” that have my ass hanging more than halfway out and I am happy.

I am sipping on ice water, feeling the dull throb at the base of my spine; I let my body unwind. I am happy.

The Mo(u)rning Period

I was talking to my father one night and I asked him if not mourning was strange.

I asked him if I didn’t cry enough.

I asked him “Should I be as okay with it as I am? Is that normal?”

And I remember him saying, “People mourn in different ways.”
I remember thinking then that I wasn’t going to mourn at all, that I didn’t and I couldn’t.

But then some days are harder than others, and some concepts bring up old memories.

I remember lying in bed and remembering, the way your head hit my pillow, the way you stared into my eyes, the slow smile that would spread across your face, and I didn’t cry.

I remember missing you, I remember how relieved I felt speaking to you, and how, though I knew we could never be again, in that moment I had you.

But I know that was false thought then, I know I needed an escape from earlier events, and I know I was trying to use you.

And while it did guilt me, it also opened my eyes to what everyone else had been saying.

It was a shame I had to re-live it all again just to see it, to feel it.

Because the fact of the matter is: not everyone can stay. Not everything can be fixed by speaking in person. Looking at you and touching you can’t bring who I fell for back. And maybe I was lying to myself then, because I  look at you now, and I can’t even see the other. All I can see is one person and you are not who I thought you were.

And maybe you hid yourself in front of me. I know you never gave your all to me. And I know you only said you loved me then to ease the blow.
I get why sacrifice makes no sense to you. Why putting my all in this seems so foreign. Because though I am a materialistic person, when I was in this, I was not selfish. And all you want right now is to live your life, for you, without having to care about anyone else.

I cannot say I lived for you, or that I even breathed for you. But it does bug me that while you cared not for my happiness, I cared about yours and in trying to make you happy, maybe I did a shoddy job. I tried to love you the way you deserved and I tried to understand. I tried to be there: beck and call.

And learning that trying is not enough…

That’s rough.

Feeling like no one can fully love you because you are too hard to love, you are bipolar, you are “unlovable”, and you aren’t worth it? Oh, well that brings back hard times.

And I say I don’t rely my happiness on other people, but oh, I only learned that after you. Because there were moments where I looked at you, then, that I thought I could wake up to this for the rest of my life. And there were moments that I had never felt so content until I was lying by your side.

But all are memories now, and all occur in snippets as if watching a film in rapid motion: my life flashing before my eyes.

But you know what the great thing about this is? It’s not over.

I cannot say I wouldn’t cry because when it hits it’s like I’ve been paralyzed on some busy street and some bus pummels right into my side. Tears flow freely, I stare off into the distance and wish for…something. Wish for it to stop.

Because in those moments I am mourning everything we once had, everything we once were. And I am mourning what I have now, who I have now, and what they use me for. I am mourning the time I will not get with him, that I will not light his eyes, and that I am a filler; the fact I will possibly have to let go of him altogether to stop from hurting.

I am mourning the fact that I will have to start all over again. I am living in fear of that day and using him as a crutch.

But I know the sun will shine.

I know that one morning I will wake up and realize I will get better, I will be with someone who gets it and me and everything in between and until then, there is a whole life I can live alone and happy. I think that’s what is most amazing to me about this whole situation: the fact I am unknown to others and I can be whatever I want to be, without preconceived ideas or past stories from 13 years of being stuck with the same people.

I am realizing no dream is small. And that everything is attainable if you work and wait for it.

I am realizing I need to let go of control and that some other person, power, Father has got this.

I am realizing that you were right: that we are unhealthy for each other.

But that doesn’t mean everyone else is.

And that doesn’t mean I can use you as a “scapegoat”.

And maybe you want me happy,

but I can honestly say I don’t want anything to do with this or us or we.

I want to love myself, physically, mentally, emotionally,

and I want to love back.

I’m going to have to wait, and while on some days that may seem hard, on others I’ll realize it’s so worth it.

I’m realizing it’s not all over.

And that mourning you,

mourning this,

mourning them,

means there’s only other mornings to come.