Hell or Glory ☼


There is a place where the green onions grow wild, and your heart belongs there.

In the still of winter, after the snow thaws, the beavers will swim upstream, and the squirrels will fall out of trees, and you will smoke your cigarettes in the cold with your shirt on inside out and backwards.

There is an apartment, way out east where everything smells like nicotine from years before, where the couch is softer than the bed, where the world can’t find you.
And your heart belongs there.

In the middle of spring, it still flurries and rains and you will walk through the dewy grass, you will kiss me in the snow, and you will share the soft couch even though
There isn’t room.

There is a place between my fingers, between my lips, tangled in my hair, between my ears, on the back of my tongue, at the bottom of my stomach, there is a place in my chest and your heart belongs there.

I am in a place surrounded by trees, and with all this oxygen I am still struggling to breathe, and suffocating is hard because it isn’t over quickly. There is a place somewhere, where we are happy, and our hearts fit like puzzle pieces in the landscape. Where we will grow old and instead of growing up, we can just grow down into the earth.

There is a place where our bones will be buried, and our hearts will be long gone, and the green onions will still grow wild, and I hope you know that I have loved you all the while.

Shitty Haikus cont.


You are giving up
it’s not fair and it’s not right
I don’t want goodbyes.

You are letting go.
You’re throwing in the towel.
And I’m suck between

Wanting you to stay
And wanting you to grow up
But we’ve come too far

To throw our hands up
And be done. We make it work,
When it isn’t fun.

That’s what it’s about:
Making something from nothing.
I won’t count you out.


Desert nights, are cool
And I wish somehow I could detatch my soul from my body, and fly it to the part of the country I don’t want to call home.
I’d leave my bones in his arms, with his hands over the place I should have had a heart.
I’d give my soul to the girl who needs it the most, nestled into her spine, between each bone for stability and a little peace of mind enough to keep a steady heart with a steady beat and strength to know how to keep her head on straight.
You can’t make people change, you can’t make them listen, but when all else fails, we try.
Even though we know we won’t win. Even when every cell and every nerve refuses to move another inch, we still try. And I think that we are beautiful, and I think that we are crazy. I think that we are stupid and irrational and dysfunctional and most of the times, just outright impossible, but somehow it works, it clicks and in the same way the clock tick tocks, we move on.
In the same way we run, and if we can’t run we walk and if we can’t walk we crawl, but we don’t ever stop, and that is what makes magic.


This is for the nights spent on twin size blow up beds,
Cramped on the couch, falling through the cracks,
Breaking backs and necks just to stay close enough to keep warm.
This is for the decisions I’ve made, and the sleepless nights,
All the risks I take, all the times I was right, the secrets you tell me ill take to my grave,
The look on your face when you beg me to stay and the way my guts lurch when I tell you there’s no damn way.
This is for the kisses in airport terminals. You are the only reason I’ve ever had to not want to go home and you are the only thing that makes me feel like I belong. This is for our boy behind bars, this is for the stale nicotine on my clothing, for this stupid goddamn city because even if this plane goes down tonight:
I’m going down with it and ill be damned if I don’t go down swinging because I’ll find a way back to you even if its in pieces.
I trust you to put me back together, I trust you to be the glue that keeps us together. There are bruises on my legs, from places where I’ve left too many mistakes, so I close my eyes and pray them away like the nights that I sleep will turn into day.
Sometimes I think that you could hate me, some nights it is more than just rage. I want to be good for you, a fresh start, a blank page.

Even if you don’t want it,
I am setting the table.
I will save you a place.

Insert rant into text post


Feelings are funny things.
People are funny things.
Mix the two together and it’s often not funny.
I am really caught between a lot of thoughts. I want to cry more often than I don’t. I am in a constant state of striving to achieve homeostasis, and still falling short. I need someone to take me down a few pegs, not drop me off the board completely. My relationships are unhealthy, and I am desperately trying to trim the dead leaves so to speak. It is not normal to give someone your heart in hopes that they neglect it in spite of saving the relationship. It is not normal to keep trying after everyone else has given up. I guess I’m not normal. I wish, for once in my life, someone cared more than me, loved harder than me, and was better to me than I was to them. I am stuck always doing the most, letting the ones I love hurt me in all of the worst ways. Is it so wrong to find worth in what others find worthless? I don’t know. I guess I’m destined to sort people out. I wish you loved me the way I need to be loved. I wish you loved yourself enough to know the difference. I wish things were different, but they’re not. I am very much in love and very much in shambles. Being hopeful is a funny thing, but I’ll hold you until my arms break, chase you until my legs lock, I still love you even when you fuck up, and for that I am foolish.


You are missing from my side, like a limb or a digit, or some unnoticed flesh.
The wound isn’t new, but it bleeds like it’s fresh.
You are far, like Boston, like Phoenix, like the night sky and the dark stars. I look up and see your arms
like somehow I could be cradled in the constellations,
like I could stare long enough to break their concentration
and rearrange them into something more beautiful,
so that every depth of space reflected the facets of your face
and sparkled
not like diamonds or metals or new paint,
but instead your freckles or your smile, or the shine in your eyes on a good day.
Sometimes I pretend I don’t need you.
In the same way we try to tape what can’t be glued, I will always try to fix things, I will always try to fix you,
Into a better version of yourself, because it’d be a damn lie if I said I did it for myself.
The truth is, I love you beyond my own health.
More than fast cars and diamond rings, you are worth more than my wealth, more than the contents of my bookshelf or my closet. I would burn the pages of all my collector’s editions to keep you warm, sell my hundred dollar scarves to not let you starve.
I would not give you my life but I’ll share it with you.
I would not give you the world but I’ll save it with you.
I would not promise you anything in years but rather in polar bears, because darling, if I have anything to do with it, they’re not going anywhere.



And the snow still falls


And the car still stalls


And the hand still trembles, the boy still calls, the clock still ticks between four walls and a couple frosty windows, his voice still drawls

It’s still so strange to feel so small

And I wonder if any of it even matters at all.


I have never been kissed in the rain, but tonight I was kissed in the snow. I have never given myself so wholly to someone I barely know. We stood beneath the lampposts, and you scraped the ice off of my windows.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, much less goodnight. I am alone in my bed for the first night in weeks and it’s cold, not like the weather but like something’s missing.
I have a folder full of letters and essays and things you used to write about, pictures you used to draw. Your handwriting is pretty and the spelling is atrocious, I don’t want to read anymore. My eyes are tired of watering, the wind is sick of blowing. I know we moved too quickly, but my underbelly is showing because tonight I miss you. You are twenty minutes away and I miss you. You are not in my bed and I miss you.
And I don’t know when, or where or how or why but it all makes sense the minute I look into your eyes, when we say I love you at the same damn time, when you cry and I follow suit like I feel the same damn thing as you.
For all the minutes that I spend angry at you, I am sorry. Because it’s the minutes when I don’t have you on my nerves that I miss you the most.
Passion does not only happen in passing; it is brake lights and stop lights and swerving and road signs, it is running on empty and still flooring the gas. It is two am traffic stops, and speeding tickets and high beams in a snowstorm, driving even when you can’t see a foot in front of you. It is not something to pass on.
We may be miles from the next station, and we are stalling out, but we’ll make it in spite of ourselves.

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