this is a poem for you as all poems sometimes are yes, the morning poems and the evening poems and it's open to interpretion--if you wish or maybe and or but or hmm consider my intent, if you'd like question the line breaks and word choice and all the things that i didn't write (that's subtext--context cues, sure) you probably want to ask about things that aren't written and that's okay, too questions like, "how are you doing?" or, "are all of these poems really about me because that's obsessive and sort of uncomfortable?" yes, these poems are for you, but-- there's your but, your wait, your moment of pause, take a breath-- but note 'someti

The Sun returns my love in freckles and burns, in heat and sweat and a permanent flush across my cheeks. And I daydream of things I cannot have, like your weight upon me. The laughter of crows echoes across dried lakes and scorched grass. The breeze carries the sweetness of withering magnolias and I-- I think of you in stillness, beneath a moon I cannot see, in cool and comfortable darkness when I'm meant to be asleep. And if I listen closely to the quiet, well. The Night returns your love in intrusive thoughts and lavender dreams and strange shapes upon the walls. Sometimes, I feel a soft finger down my spine or the brush of hair from my

I cherish you like the feeling of cool breezes on warm nights and the thrill of fireflies dancing along dark streets. Your home is the comforting idea of domesticity that I haven't quite gotten down yet: whipped butter slathered on burnt scones and fine china for guests I never see. You are one of them and that's okay. I like to think of us together sometimes as we drift further apart-- like trees whose canopies share sunlight, but dare not touch while the grass withers below. I suppose our circadian rhythm is out of whack and I can't figure out what we're supposed to be doing or if I'm meant to make time for you. Lately, I'm a crepescul

In my experience, there's three things that the side of the road is good for: cops, whores, and dead things. Carrion, I mean. Dead. Animals. Don't take that the wrong way. I loved her. She didn't belong on the side of the road. If she hadn't of been—I mean, if you had seen the way she looked that day, you would have loved her, too. You would know it wasn't my fault. She didn't realize that the side of the road ain't...Isn’t a place for girls like her...Dressed like that. She said she was goin' to a party. She was walkin’ to a party halfway across town. Only no one told her it was halfway across town. She wouldn't of made i

You wake up and ask the world, “Hey, am I good enough today?” Wondering what’s so special about being someone’s baby or the one that got away. When everyone’s paired off until it’s just the Universe and I, do your thoughts drift to me? I have always loved you. Even if you don’t remember my name. And the idea of our past is future tense. When the pain gets to be a little too familiar, a little too comfortable, just remember: you are mine.   Is it better to play pretend at happiness, to hum forgotten lullabies in darkness   when you think no one is listening as tears slide down your cheek? Are you de

please note this is not my intent hating you you are not my intent, my intended and so, I must steel my resolve steal myself away from the corners of your thoughts where you keep me neatly stashed away and I can't let you in to rifle through my consciousness to flaunt my feelings you are not my intented and so, I must go now, and close the door on the idea of us there will be others I'm sure and we'll move on with time even if we-- this isn't my intent

“Honestly, Fox. I would have thought you would have shared that you were a writer before clogging the whole bookstore for a signing,” Kate laughed, shifting between handing over a giant book of love poetry and balancing the handful of classics in her hand. Derek looked down at the book and then back at Kate. “Fox?” “Y’know. You…. aren't Fox. I'm sorry. It's just you look like--I’m Kate.” “Hi. Did you want me to sign this? I mean, I didn't write it.” Kate blushed and stared at the book with its gilded heart cover. “N-no. Yes! Please.” “Just checking,&#8221

Jela always wanted a pet. “A loyal one,” she insisted to her mother over dinner. “That goes with me on adventures. And is super cuddly.” “Are you fighting with Ren again?” Jela had been getting into fights with her boyfriend a lot. Her mother attributed it to the throes of a teenager in love. Jela attributed it to the fact that Ren was a stupid boy who never wanted to do anything exciting anymore. “No...Well, maybe,” Jela said, sticking a fork absentmindedly into her bowl of pasta. “But I still want a pet.” “How about a Birb or a Galaxy Dog?” “Nah. I want to

There have been disappearances for as long as there has been a path through the forest. It began with bands of travelers just passing through. Then, with residents heading into town. The old. The young. The sick. The stragglers. The circumstances would always be the same: a group moving through the forest at night; a rather sudden bout of mist, the fortunate appearance of lights along the forest path, and the sudden loss of a party member. Rumors were that the forest was relieving itself of whoever was the most burdensome: the misbehaving child, the ungrateful city dweller, the cripple brandishing a cane at shadows. And so Ostleans took t

“Don’t go in the potty,” Chloe told Ryoko as she pushed past her with her arms full of perfume and an assortment of Yankee Candle tea lights in shades of pink. “I’m using it.” “Did you eat too much taco pizza again?” “Excuse you. No. I’m doing a love spell to make James fall in love with me.” “What. You just met him this week. And you barely know him?” “I know he is The One. Because women’s intuition and this spell from Google that is going to make it so.” Ryoko rolled her eyes. “You’re going to curse him into loving you? That&#821