The Only Part That's Not Temporary.

“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.”

A poem in which I don’t compare you to anything. In which you are not an elevator that I got stuck on, or a train that never left, but no more than a person. No less than a person. Today, you are not a mistake or a rip in my tights or a lesson. Today, I take myself home and undo, undress, unlearn. I take myself home and write a poem about my skin for the third time in a row and then wash myself in it until I’m clean and new.A poem for the first full month that didn’t hear the ache of your name, and for every month after. A poem in which I am singular. A poem in which I am more than the people who never wanted me, and I know this.

I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

The devil’s finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.

If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.

Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic.

She doesn’t want to hear I’m sorry. She wants to hear the bees in your chest making love.

You know, they say that there is a part of the human chest that if you strike it hard enough, it makes the person’s heart explode. This sounds like such a lie that I have to believe it’s the truth. If I were science, I’d never tell anyone where this place is. If I were science, I’d have named this place after you.

That desperate longing you get, That thirst, Like rolling over on a summer’s night to find the glass of water that isn’t there, That’s what it was like Rolling over to find you gone My bed empty My heart all dried up.

There were two ways to be happy: improve your reality, or lower your expectations.

My lips brushed against his cheek for a last touch while I gave him our final tug; and as he began to distance himself, he stopped and turned. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said with the brightest smile. I laughed, opened the car door and with a single smirk I said, “I was never the stranger,” and shut the door.

I am too full of life to be half loved.