haiku

your hands are soft, just
perfect for how you could touch
me. your back is strong.

i wonder where you,
that sentiment, came from.
how my finger throbs.

i point at unseen
threats; it's gone! my love, you're brave,
but jealous like crows.

dry hands cold wind warm--
i want you in my fingers.
i hate all jackets.

touch my nose, your skin;
take what i'm given with grace.
nothing touches me.

snow is on our tree.
lazy, lately i'm not there.
it's colder in me.

not even a sonnet

last night I dreamed you fed me, and
the thought won't let me out.
to taste that rain, the taste of you!
which never leaves my mouth;
my eyes are swollen in the cold--
for that is all it is.
raw images you gave to me,
cruel breaches of my kiss.
this keeps me longer than those scales
which I could love for days
my ribs feel cracked and far too small
my fingertips can pay.

at least no one can call me true;
I reached and cried, "For you, for you!"

12/28/10 backdated so no one reads it unless they're. digging.

so suddenly my room smells like you. which sucks. I mean I haven't been in love with you for two years now, and we haven't been friends for a little less than that, and I. Shouldn't remember how your room smells. I guess it smells kind of like starburst and burt's bees because that's what my room kind of smells like. I don't want to be your friend. I've been done trying to get you to understand what you did to me. I am not always done being hurt. Nearly three years is a really long time to beat yourself up over a person and it's even longer to have that person do really awful and manipulative shit to you. I don't want to engage you or talk to you or insert myself into your life again. Sometimes I read your blog but I never comment or leave things in your ask box or anything. I just feel ridiculous about it and close the tab and do something else.
you haven't affected me like this in a really long time.
I was never interested in getting revenge. dating Matt was just because I was dating Matt, I really liked him, I wanted to be with him. I never told him not to see you, too. It was like sharing or something.
but sometimes I'm fifteen, staring at my bookshelves as I let you tell me that I'm not really good enough. I get it. I understand. I know. You were definitely never as gay as me and probably were never gay at all.
my room smells like you and I want it to stop.

I hate you. Every time I see you I walk a little taller, hold my head higher, speak louder. I just want you to see how small you are, I guess.

What I'm trying to say is thanks. If you weren't so shallow, ignorant, and unwilling to change, my back would always be hunched when I walked past you.

I've gotten to the point in this stupid, stupid crush where I have genuine physical reactions to thinking about you. Just this evening, I saw your picture and my chest caved in.

bits and pieces

juvenile songs marked in letters too large:
BUT MY SPEAKING VOICE IS AS SMALL AS A BARGE.

I know she'd say,
you should take it back, plunge
the words into the throat
where they were born.
brambles like those won't touch my fingers again.
but I've finally
found something
more technicolor.

thin skin, blue,
riddled with veins,
battered, Napoleon's soldiers,
curled round the dinner table after a
long day at the office.
strong hands curl around full wrists,
subtle new blood making up for years of neglect.
an angel kissed her way down your spine,
and blessed you with the
best
of intentions.
you and I, the easiest small unit.

how full of love am I

Tea that refuses to boil,
steeped in cold.
(Will I have to ask to die? Will I?)
A cure for death in baby hands,
quick pedestals you can't control.

there's no time to be anything more than I am,
flighty and fighting.
Will you struggle into my hands?
Will you snarl at the last shreds of my skin?
The tears and tears and rips that bind me to you.
I will steal your death.
Take the tendons from my arms,
snap the cradle of my ribs,
draw veins open along my legs.
I will keep it for myself.

You never forget your first time.

One day I will shake your hand.
Congratulations.
You will live forever.
Peter Pan.
My first and favorite vampire.

But after that first breach,
I--.
After the first exchange,
the first as each other's,
the very first bound exchange,
I--.

you should have realized you could never hold what I have to offer.

these pedestals will crumble,
the world will implode.
everything will crash into itself;
smaller and smaller,
inconceivable steps towards breaking.
impossibly,
the particles will become compact in a way they never were.
The Law of Conservation of Mass.
but in any case.

I will curl
my hands
into fists in my lap,
careful to say it back.
I do.
I love you too.
Quiet imaginings cannot change that.
My heart is yours.

Sorry, dude.
My bad.

A luckier man
would not have to wait for my
unlucky response.

where my mouth stumbles,
shouts,
my spiking spidered handwriting never fails.
(and thus it never fails;
words from my mouth
are always too much for me.)
the fingers that cut a rug
with words I can't pronounce or say
are the same that twist,
useless in my lap,
when you're around.
skittering tools of hate
unprolific things
they itch with what I can't convey

sunbleached like bones

one glance, two,
towards a machine that never speaks,
sit silent against my clever tongue
such stark contrast when the tongue moves
evermore,
shapes strong sibilants even in sleep.
The machine is quiet when you are, recently constantly.

waning in my stomach, dropping further down
bone dust tilting downwards as the heart chisels up
waxing in my chest
glorious but nothing new, nothing i didn't have before
i have waited for you for a long time
but it's nothing i can't handle for a few more years
new in the corner of my eye
shocks to the system--so this is what all of it was
no reason for me to avoid you except rejection

full throughout me
i have been given wings,
but i know not how to work them.
how can i be yours like this?