A poem about all the things I want to tell anybody whoever reads my poems.

Brace yourselves:

  1. Anything you feel while reading this is my property. And you creep me out. Like, really.
  2. Reading my poems is the closest I’ll ever get to letting 99.7% of you ever give me a hug. But the experience is the same: very personal, a little nauseating.
  3. Getting to the meat of a poem is nothing like slicing into a nice grilled steak. It’s more like gnawing your way through a tough piece of jerky. But I still try to season it just right for you.
  4. I’ve had some people I truly loved die. I bet you have too. We can mail our paper planes to heaven together if you want.
  5. My coffee is getting cold. Hang on…
  6. Okay, I’ve had Matt Gresham’s “Ghost” playing on repeat the entire time I’ve been writing this. Sometimes I wonder what songs you play on repeat when words get stuck in your throat.
  7. I don’t want to let you go.
  8. I am beautiful in my wreckage. Articulate as a piece of fruit. I imagine you glowing like a nectarine; or a clavicle. Give me your dimples. Feed me full with salt.
  9. Whales are thoughts.
  10. I believe in you. You don’t need to pinch your mirror fat. Every part of you is breathtaking & innocent. There are bodies greater than your own, anyway.
  11. You matter. Give way to the delirium. Jump in here while I teach you how to poem.
  12. I’d write you a letter and send it in the mail — old school — but my handwriting is crap. This is what it would say: “You still creep me out.”
  13. But if you go get midnight tacos with me I’m bound to spill all my secrets like spare change on the floor.
  14. Stay here.
  15. Stay here.
  16. Stay here with me & laugh.

 

Poem 15 of 30

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