your lips taste of the
peanut m&m’s straight from the jar
and of drunken promises
in the dead of night.
our eyelids are shut
and our eyelashes tangle
from the closeness of us.
your warmth is everywhere
and i can hear every word
you murmur against my skin:
“you’re lovely, beautiful,
i wish you were mine,”
and i tell you to stop talking,
because it makes no sense
to wish for something
you already have


he said he loved me when
i laughed, when i giggled
like that, and i reveled in his
affections. danced around in the rain
and sang off-key and kept smiling,
“you glow with that iridescent glow,”
he said, and my heart bubbled
but when my dark days came
he wouldn’t listen to me
when i cried. he didn’t listen
when each piece of me fell away
crashed onto the pavement.
he didn’t hold me or chase the
demons from my dreams
and he let the rain and
the gray puddles soak me, wash
all my colour to pale shades.
he said he loved me when
i laughed, when i giggled
but the frilly giggling girl is dead
he let her die


DISCLAIMER: The girl behind the scrawled words and frills and daydreams doesn’t know how to be loved.  She writes about love and she knows how strong love is but she doesn’t believe it could actually happen to her. The girl who writes about love and butterfly kisses and someone else’s happy endings is a cynic and an insecure mess. She’s a hypocrite who thinks everyone deserves something beautiful except her. And she needs somebody to change her mind.


Crossed-out line after

crossed-out line. I’m tired,

Aren’t you? Can’t seem to make

the words sound look okay

on this letter. I’m using blue—

A blue piece of paper and

a smudgy blue pen and

a blue envelope and 

a tiny




a stamp.

They’re the same color as me without you

‘I miss you so much’ 

Never sounds quite enough

And ‘I miss you very much’ 

Sounds…well, desperate

(which, mind you, I am not.)

I’m tired, aren’t you?

So here’s what I’ll write

And it’s the best I could do:


Dear, have you been all write right? 

I’ve wished for you, one too many times 

And yet—

You still aren’t here. I miss you. Come

see me? 

PS: I Love You

PS: I sent over cliches inside

a box of chocolate. See you soon. 


What happens if you 

f a l l

for a star? 

You have to realize that 

his smiles won’t always be yours—

his time won’t always be yours—

the wishes and dreams he has

won’t always be yours—

Others will always find a way

to take his hand and bat their eyelashes

at his pretty pretty face.

You have to realize that

his time won’t always be yours—

his kisses and songs won’t always be yours—

You will have him only on precious borrowed time

in between camera flashes, 

and concerts,

and premiers,

and around-the-world tours.

His eyelashes and gazes won’t always be yours—

but when you 

f a l l

for a star, 

and he f a l l s 

for you too, 

his heart will always belong





heavy eyelids

mumbled promises

I’ll be here when you wake up. 

drunken laughter, ha-ha

you and I pressed against

each other on the couch. 

nose to nose

puzzle pieces

sunrise in your picture window

oh god—! 

denials and

embarrassed eye contact. 

shuffling, buttoning up

dress-shirts and 

messy sheets and pillows.

drunken laughter’s over, ha-ha

eyes wide open,

I swear, 

never again. 


I wrote you a letter and stitched my heart into the words

and even though I didn’t know how,

I trudged over to the post

scribbled your name and zip code and what-not

sealed away my heart shut

and licked three stamps to the upper left.

I wrote you a letter and stitched my heart into the words

and I used blue paper but you’ll never know

that I was blue myself as the sentences

poured onto the page;

I got a paper cut from the envelope edge

and prayed to god you’ll get the paper six sunsets from this day.

I wrote you a letter and stitched my heart into the words

but i’m wondering why I bothered

because the only thing I wanted you to know

can be summed up in two short breaths:

“Miss you…”



Mama loved it when I tied my hair

Up into a ponytail

Said it kept distractions

Away from my eyelashes. She

Would brush away 

Stray strands from my peepers

And laughed when the little

Annoyed crease appeared

Right between my eyebrows. 

It made her happy though

So I kept a scrunchie always wrapped

In a loop around my wrist.

Then Mama went on an

Away-from-home trip

But it took way too long. 

Snip, snap

Mama’s not coming back

And neither is the ponytail.


He wrote her hundreds and hundreds of letters but didn’t send any of them. He wrote about love and sunlight and eyelash wishes but he tucked the words away between pages of overdue library books, among branches of apple trees, and under coffee tables. He buried the bits of paper under rosebushes and stop signs and rainbow pebbles, and tossed the envelopes into the crystal blue of the ocean. He wrote hundreds and hundreds of them and he know how to paint words into ink on paper and how to put on the stamps just right but he didn’t know how to be brave enough to send them.