You begged me to tell you what was on my mind, so I did.
But I truly did not expect avoidance to be your tactic.
Because I went out on a limb for you.
I  told you my fears and wants
then you slyly changed the subject.
I spoke but my words couldn’t find your ears
And I fell asleep trying to recall when silence has ever been a good sign.

You’re noncommittal comments and ambiguous answers aren’t enough.
I can’t stay stagnant.
I can’t exclude myself with exclusivity
when you’re committed to non-commitment.

I won’t get hurt again.
I won’t wait around either.

morning glow

it used to be hard
to get out of bed in the morning
because it hurt to move my muscles
and trying always led to crying and
the only thing I knew I could do
was fall back asleep.

today it’s still hard
to get out of bed in the morning
because how could anything else
be more important than you holding me
and letting the rise and fall of your chest
rock me back to sleep.

you are more than a hopeless romantic
you are walking blind-folded across the 4 lanes of traffic
trying to draw a perfect circle - first try
trying to talk someone into converting religions
trying to turn back hands of time
- kind of romantic 

and it’s hard not to feel the same way 

I don’t mind
if it’s too hot, or freezing cold
if i’m in Chicago, or in Detroit
if I have a beautiful home, or a shitty one room apartment 

I’d throw the mattress on the dirty street
If it meant waking up next to you. 

sigh

go easy on me guys

sigh

have you ever been so happy
that when you stop to think about it
it makes you sad?

because there’s only a few weeks left
and we’ll be miles away
and we’ll be hours away
and we’ll be working
and going to parties
and having fun 
with other people
without each other

and what if you forget how you felt
when we showered in detroit
when you hailed the cab to the hospital
when you put me on your shoulders to see the parade
when we met at the convention
when you woke up smiling on my sheets

 

you do an awful lot of things to piss me off
and you hardly ever think before you act

but on those days when I just need to be held
and told i’m not crazy
and that it’s gonna be okay

you make up for it infinitely. 

Ed

“Where’s your friend?” said the lady at the counter as she handed me a pack of Parliaments. She didn’t bother to card me this time. Not because I looked older, but because this had become our ritual.

My mouth dried and my heart sped up as I thought of what to say.

“Oh, he’s sick.” I thought of lying. He was sick, though. None of us had any idea just how sick he was. 

“He’s dead.” I wanted to say. The truth. But that’s not fair to her, to the woman who brightened our day before we spent the next few hours forced to talk about our problems.

“He passed away.” The more polite answer. The way Katie and Rich told the group. The sugar-coated substitute for “He stepped in front of a train and he is almost unrecognizable.” 

What I ended up saying to that smiling woman who sold us cigarettes and slurpees was “I… I don’t know.” And that was entirely true. 

the word bed looks like a bed.

we used to share a bed.
remember?
I do.

you would bargain with me to let you be
so you could get some sleep in it
that summer in those sheets you said:
“I can’t remember ever being this happy.”
and you made promises on pillows that you had no intention of keeping

and after the fireworks
light-headed, starry-eyed
we climbed the stairs and collapsed in the comfort

and all those nights
introduced by bottles of wine
I meant what I said on that mattress

but now we’re sleeping on separate twin XLs
in separate states
in separate worlds

and I get the haunting feeling
you wish you had never let me in

it’s okay though
because we are friends

not “friends” in the “actually-make-an-effort-to-see-me”
kind of way
but in the “if-you-are-ever-in-town-please-stop-by”
kind of way

except not really
because I’ve see you around 
this lonely windy town
and apparently the damage that I can’t remember doing
is far to irreparable
for friendly visits
or polite exchanges

but maybe you remember
we used to share a bed.