- Anything you feel while reading this is my property. And you creep me out. Like, really.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- My coffee is getting cold. Hang on…
- 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.
- I don’t want to let you go.
- 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.
- Whales are thoughts.
- 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.
- You matter. Give way to the delirium. Jump in here while I teach you how to poem.
- 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.”
- But if you go get midnight tacos with me I’m bound to spill all my secrets like spare change on the floor.
- Stay here.
- Stay here.
- Stay here with me & laugh.
Poem 15 of 30