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That night he needed a kiss from a stranger
And being as strange as I am, I felt awkwardly obliged to give it to him
His intellect resting higher than both of our heights combined,
floating on the light end of the playful seesaw
which was his dark eyes, balanced by his heavy heart.
A trendy display encased by square clear lenses & black frames

That night was my birthday.

And yes, boys serve as time markers for me
as do the pencil marks on your grandfather’s kitchen door.
There is a boy I can think for each season of my life thus far,
however, unfortunately this time, there is nowhere for you to fit in
There has already been a boy who has given me a birthday to remember
And he’s been featured in a poem or fourteen already to this day

I’m not the type of girl that boys tend to write songs about
I am the pen running out of ink,
The break they take between songs
Between “projects”
I’m the all talk but not the “do” of “collaboration”
I’d spend months reading you
Your words are quite interesting,
Your photos - fun to look at
& I could spend all day flipping through your ideas, your moods, your friends,
Your updates…
This is the type of love I have chosen time & again.
I get sicker & sicker as I drink my cup of poison, wait for you to die.
But that isn’t you.
That is your memory
Or my memory
My memory of you adjusting my words & taking them with you in your guitar chords
from out of my backseat that night we parked at Pennslanding to “collaborate.”

You wore sandals.
I didn’t.

I am a girl harboring resentment towards feet. & for as much as I despise them, I sure lack in footwear.
I have a drawer full of unmated socks, none of them matching another
Not in color, not in thickness, sometimes never even in size or design
But as the first wave of panic passes,
They’ve already grown use to the diversity & seem to cuddle comfortably together in the space they have been given,
Easily moving on to another mismatched mate as two are removed each morning to fulfill their protective duties.
To guard & to protect.
& to keep me at ease & moving on.

But she’s been stuck within herself now for a few months longer than eight years. Her arm & leg have not varied much in position, yet her mind is in constant overdrive.
She fights a battle everyday as do we all.
I can only imagine what it would be like to fill her shoes for a day.
Or even take just one minute to fill her foot brace & burning memory grounds of her past.
The past is where she most often sits.
Resting in yesterdays.


But she’s not alone.

Her constant quivering bottom lip somehow causes my heart to plead GUILTY
Unnecessary guilt of general happiness,
For having family who loves me,
For carrying the weight of her heavy heart on the light end of my eyes’ seesaw
A pathetic display encased by two dimly lit bedroom windows & a song crying out my windows for a guardian,
Any guardian to hear & respond.

But there is a building that stands guard though between my window & the boulevard that seems to weaken & melt like sugar in the rain, because the passing cars are much louder.
And it’s not their engine fumes that keep me awake but rather the swishing of their wet tires across the asphalt.
Happiness is that open road.
And the incessant echo reminds me with each wink I lose that I really oughtta give that building a talkin’ to….

But we all need rest.
Even our guardian structures.
That building is not responsible for me if I am careless when smearing guilt along my eyelids, along my arms & hands so none splashes or spills into our sleepless dreams
Sleepless dreamers filled with pill dust & wrapped safely in bubble wrap.
Happiness is bubble wrap.
Keeping us in one piece if we wrap ourselves tightly enough
But the POP is exciting & reminds us of where we are right here & now.

We are here with only ourselves & our choices.
And although we may not always make the choices right
or the illusions we choose to trust often disappoint & fade,
that seesaw display will eventually tip.
& no matter how many mismatched socks, swishing car tires, or pieces of bubble wrap we’ve stuffed into our pockets for rainy days will create a fair balance.

But our breath does.

& as long as we live as long as we can breathe, it’s only that breath that connects us to yesterday.
It’s our breath that connects us from one moment to the next.
& it is a blessing that i get to share each of these breaths with each & every one of you.
Breathe deeper.