Only Me.

No one will understand missing Hawaii but me. Or that time on the board walk you cried and tried to get it together before they all see.

When you came home from the funeral and said you can’t talk about it right now…how I knew that the ‘now’ meant whenever the alcohol allowed. 

When you and I slept in the back of my car at the beach. When we danced and played and sang Taylor Swift down the street. People that click like that don’t often ever meet. But you and I did. You and I fell messily in love. You and I wasted everything we dreamed of.

No one pirated a pirate flag with you but me. Our conquest celebrated with fast driving and sloppy kisses on the beach. No one will be that but me.

No one knows about that ripped up flag we sat under survived fire and smoke. That you rescued it and managed to get it home. No one’s hand fits in yours like mine. We both know love fades over time. 

Only you and I know soul mates don’t mean forever. So we used to drive until the tank light turned red. We just go and hope the monsters don’t catch up from when we left. We made monsters with everything we ever said.

You can’t play a song and not think of me. I know that and no one else can sing. That time I sang to you in the summer rain, spun me around, and heartbeats were the only other sound. No one snuck into that club but me and you. Not many people got to have the adventures you and I do. 

Don’t fool yourself into being a fool. We both know we only work on certain moons. Don’t pretend anyone else will ever know you like I do. Wild kids that know the summer always ends too soon.


The End.

I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know where to end. I don’t know much of anything.

I don’t know how to speak the truth because it always ends up hurting someone. I don’t know what I do, but I know I can’t keep doing it to you.

We fall apart again and again. I don’t fully trust in you. I don’t trust that you will hold it together. I don’t trust that you’ll be there to catch so I always try to hold it all. I am much too used to the fall.

You always say you’ve changed and I don’t believe you. I know that it’s mean and it hurts. I know you think I’m saying this to run away and rub your nose in the dirt. 

I don’t believe you can bottle up so much for so long and keep sane. I don’t believe you can play calm for periods that last long…this has lasted almost as long as I think it can before you burst. I’m not asking you to change. You are you and I don’t know how to make this work.

I want to run in leaps and explore the world. I want to explore inside myself. I want to change and mold and learn more and more about this girl.

You want to stay and you want to be a mountain. You want snow capped knowledge and a sturdy base. A foundation on which you’d bet your name. I wasn’t made to dwell in caves and live in seasons that continually change the same.

I don’t fit in your life like you want. I don’t fit the way you need the right piece from the same puzzle. I don’t fit like the right cogs to the right clock. I can’t change and I know you want me to. Like I want you to.

But you are you and I am me. I want new horizons and you want steady waves and sea. My instruments don’t work if they aren’t being tested. They don’t point North if the clouds aren’t rumbling all around. I don’t know how to read the calm and I get restless at the lack of sound.

I know I have ruined what could be. I know I have ruined what you wanted me to be. I let it go on for weeks too long hoping this snow globe was something we could sustain. Hoping this glass sphere would be enough for me again. Hoping I could be content to change my name.

You’d rather text me while sitting next to me than speak. You’d rather pretend than try for keeps. You’d rather give up than fight for you and me. You’d rather break up via text in the seat beside me.

I love you. But not the way you need. I love you. But not enough to not be freed. I need a change. I need a boom. I need electricity to my system and some kind of understanding of you…

Bottled Boat.

There is a boat in a bottle sitting on the shelf. A tight cork and a small opening keeps it from getting out.

A layer of dust has settled on the sails. The mast has been straighter and longs to weather the seas gails. 

 If you break the glass the boat might get a gust of salty air. If you let it out, it might realize the horizon was never dusty but it was the glass covered in a dirty layer.

If the boat unfurls the sails and loves the open sea, it doesn’t mean it won’t come back, it’s just not something you get keep. 

Inside a bottle on the shelf isn’t where you keep adventurous things. Wanting a bird doesn’t mean you should clip it’s wings. 

You don’t give them a chance to learn how to navigate the wide world from a jar. When they break out and promise to come back but you yell you don’t want them to go far…

 Sometimes the only way to know who you are–is to grow up a boat that needs to get out of that glass little jar.


Unraveling isn’t what it used to be. It isn’t screaming and crying and clawing at mountains trying to bring them to me.

It’s quiet and I didn’t know I didn’t burn the edges to keep from fraying. It’s melting crayons left on the too hot sidewalk. It’s colorful and can’t be used. They were wasted. I was, too.

Unraveling is learning to tie knots to keep the fray away. It’s clinging to the knots so you don’t drift into open sea. Salt in your mouth, wanting to drown but wanting to swim. Fight to stay up but swallow it in.

If you pick at the knots they come undone…you hope they won’t but you can’t be surprised when all of your anchors are gone.

Out to sea, no anchors, just me. Out to sea, just the salt water pouring out all around me.


Little Spark.

Little spark from the friction between the world and me, the forest went up and I can finally see the trees.

The fire eats the waste all around, consumes the obstacles, trails across the ground.

The blue calls to me, I am the moth to my own flame. I’ve made it, I need it, it feeds me and I’ve never felt more sane.

Dance for me like the snake charmer I am, rise up and engulf anything that tries to keep me from this master plan. 

Burn up the forests, flame lick the trees. Seduce them before you burn them, build fires to the sky and gulp the oxygen you need.

Little spark, you were the start to the burn that I needed. I finally see the trees. Catching fire might be all anyone sees. 

Little spark from the friction between the world and me, the forest went up and I can finally see the trees. 


I’ve been treading water here. Juggling the same heart breaks hoping they won’t won’t make me sink. I’ve been treading water and can’t get enough air, the same experiment gets you nowhere.

I swim these waters because I know them. I can get back. I don’t get lost. I just have to sacrifice my heart a little, a small cost.

Where the mountains let me drown the seas won’t hold me under. I’m moving soon and will leave whatever pieces get blown asunder. I don’t need the weight from molted wings, I don’t need the weight of these broken things. 

The scales overgrow and the feathers get pulled into the undertow. I don’t miss them, this place is no longer home. I’ve finally made the move to go. 

Love Song.

I remember the world through those rose colored glasses I always used to wear.  I remember two years ago when I knew you were the one, how no one else compared.

Those lenses broke and shattered in my eyes, thankfully leaving a few shards that sometimes catch the light.  I keep trying to see the rosey hughs but colors haven’t been the same since you. 

I kind of need a love song to rinse off my disasters. A song to  bring me back since I’ve forgotten how it feels.  I could use some hope that I don’t just keep spinning my wheels. 

I see the end now before I can watch it begin. I dont believe in love like that or that my glasses will ever be whole again. 

I’ve learned too many times first hand that love alone isn’t enough… that he won’t try, compromise,  see your side,  and often lies then says he loves you and you break inside. 

I kind of need a love song to rinse off my disasters. A song to  bring me back since I’ve forgotten how it feels.  I could use some hope that I don’t just keep spinning my wheels. 
I could use a love song that takes me back to you and me playing chess in the rain,  twirl me, kiss me, rain drenched hair. 

I could use a love song, prove to me it doesn’t have to always be so wrong. 

The Singer.

This little boat was tormented in the sea. Drenched and tossed, it pitched and rocked him unfitfully to sleep. 

Here where the ocean is home you must learn when to sail, anchor, and go. The red skies sang of murder and the sea itched for souls. 

She sits and waits. Impatiently counting and recounting her mistakes. Hum low in her chest with sad melodies that feed his unrest, taking all the wreckage she can get.

His horizon is bleak as he falls into the eyes of empty tides as she sings the reprise. 

You want to give up what’s left of your soul. You want to feel just a little bit more. Come place it here, it can be alright, come swim it here, there are no shadows at night.

Don’t bail out the waves, the water won’t hurt you, you can’t be saved. Follow the voice that haunts you every night when you dream. Give into the depths and just listen to me sing.


Replay. Repeat. Reread. Again.

Lay in your bed and stare in the dark. Reread the verses when it gets too hard.

Replay each screaming match and apathetic facial expression so you don’t miss him. Replay him closing the door and not making sure when you got to the car you safely got in. Replay the look in his eyes when he didn’t care much about that good bye. Replay, don’t stay.

Repeat all the daggers he threw in your head. “Fuck you.” “I don’t give a fuck.” “I don’t care.” Don’t call that back into your bed. Repeat the words that are what hold the bricks. Put down the phone and repeat the words that adhere and stick. 

Reread the words you wrote to let out the poison. Reread the verses where you didn’t think you’d survive. Reread so you remember that time you all but died. The dozens of sad coated poems to the two where he made you smile. Reread what you wrote so you don’t pick up and dial. Reread, he is not what you need.

Laying in the dark of the room I force myself to remember that I was nothing to you. Lay in the dark i repeat all the words, I replay the scenes of how often I cried and how little I wanted to sing. 

Again and again and again until you stop starting to call. Again and again and again until you don’t think about him at all.