Confessions about a boy, 2.

Cocky, but I like a challenge.

You’re about as handsome as it gets, but your walls are up, so my curtains stay closed.

Your sister is sleeping and somehow you’ve gotten me into your room. The door shuts and we become animals, but it’s quick. Not what I’d expect from a 6’2 piano prodigy. Lacrosse, Soccer, and Football pro- Straight A student with the whitest damn teeth I’ve ever seen. God knows you’re much too perfect for me, but for now, my body doesn’t care.

After we’re done, I go to leave, but you start talking to me real human. You ask me to tell your sister to wear less makeup, and to keep an eye on her, too. Guilt sits like stones in my stomach, for I already chose you over her. I guess everyone wants a piece of me, and there’s just not much left.

You asked me to care for your sister and so I do, ignoring you, but when you’re drunk you’re not the same gentleman. You grab my backside and laugh when I say “stop”.

You even have the audacity to yell at me for smoking cigarettes, yet when I choose to walk away into the neighbor’s yard, you follow, pulling me down to the ground.

“Stop” I say. You cover my lips with your own. “No” I tell you, but you’ve undone most of my buttons now. I get up and push you off, and you’re pissy and I want to cry.

When I go inside, your sister thinks I’m hiding something because the jeans she lent me are muddy now and she couldn’t find you before.

I light another cigarette and swallow the guilt with the smoke.

Sweet Poison

There is no such thing as a sweet poison. That was a fact until I met her.

We humans, we gravitate towards sweet things because they tend to promise our safety. But her red lips and long curls did not promise anything, and if beauty ever does promise anything, remember, the promise of beauty is temporary.

But, her beauty! Her laugh! Her eyes, oh her eyes blazed like a monumental star, and they drilled venom into me until I could no longer see straight.

Yet, she was the sweetest sight I’d ever laid eyes on, and she was an infectious, cancerous, poison.

Life of a Hostess

The noise in the room was white. Nobody made a sound except for the mice in the walls
and even they were too far removed to be considered noisy, our ears couldn’t hear their whispers, our eyes couldn’t see through the dense walls of the brick building in which we waited.

Time is slow
and maybe,
I will get in trouble for writing here
while I stand and wait
to greet people
I do not know
at work.

Why haven’t I been eating enough?
I don’t have time.

If I went to school in the mountains
I would have plenty of time
for everyone, including myself.

Too bad I don’t know what I want.


He Loved Me.

He loved me.

It’s hard to write anything more than that statement,

But I mean it whole heartedly, he meant it whole heartedly…

I mean he fucking LOVED me. He loved me even though he knew I could barely tie my own shoes, he loved me even though I came to him in pieces, asking him to be my glue, he loved me knowing I’d never love him back and all he wanted was the truth from me, I couldn’t give him that much. It’s been years since I led him on, since I poisoned him with my curious kiss, breaking his heart, again and again, so why the fuck did he love me?

No matter how much time passes, every time I read the poems he wrote me my heart collapses. He loved me, and he never asked me to change who I was, he never judged me for my faults, my whims, the attraction darkness and I share, the only love affair I’d ever bare, he just wanted a chance and I just wanted to impair everyone who ever dared to try and love me. He was the only one who ever saw me bare stripped of my charades, my games, my darkness fully in place and he never once thought I was anything but beautiful, he loved me, he really did.

For No One.

I’m sorry I tore you down,
like some beautiful Victorian church
in the middle of a noisy city
that needed a little hope, a little faith,
a little magic from which people like you are made
I never meant to hurt you.

I can’t swallow what I put you through,
it remains stuck in my throat like mucus or something,
sometimes I wish I could go back.

Back to the days in which you and I laid,
harmlessly next to each other in bed, sharing poems,
inhaling smoke, we distanced ourselves from the truth,
from our attraction, our curiosity, we were so hopeless and young,
you were so in love with me, and I was so callous.

Together, honestly we spoke,
and the smoke,
dusty and rising,
created a cloud, illusion,
we lived here,

whispering, swallowing,
all I gave you were words,
all I did was hold in the smoke,
only to blow it back in your face
so you’d be equally as damaged as I.

You deserved the world,
instead you got a rain check,
rusty lungs that felt better
when you swallowed your words
instead of speaking them,

you feared that they’d bleed
onto me,
even though I practically fed you razors….

I apologized to everyone
except for you,
and you were the only one
Who ever deserved those two pathetic words from me.
“I’m sorry.”

I understand that it’s been years since I toyed with your emotions,
but your heart gave out for years because of me
and all I can do is write you poems
that you might one day read,

so you know that a day doesn’t go by
without you on my mind.