I write sometimes...

I’m sorry for wasting your time, but my heart doesn’t beat. I was carved this way: wooden and hollow.

You should have known from how my hands were like ice that they would slip from yours.

All my tears dried up as a child so now I just ache constantly and soundlessly.

I dreamed that I cut the cord, unweaved our basket, dropped the bridge, broke the tv, packed up and ran, but didn’t know where to go.

Did I look at your face as I left? What were you thinking? Was your brow creased? Did you beg me not to go? Were you horrified at me?

when I was hiking, I looked up. I was absolutely stunned

like when I mindlessly take a sip from my water bottle or when I get home and realize I drove the whole way.

it sinks in that I have to wake up.

tuesday, saturday, monday, are gone in a blink.

like when you realize the concert you’ve been looking forward to all month is over now.

when the sting of rejection heals, when the scars fade, when the mind goes quiet,

what a cute smile. you look like you could be my next tormenter.

I watch your pretty eyes sparkle, and in the glint I can already see how you're going to twist me around like a jester.

your fangs will descend into my devotion for you.

your howl will draw me to my knees on a full moon.

you’ll stalk me, undying, and I’ll let you capture me in your outstretched arms.

even in my dreams you’re floating above, haunting me with your rakish charm.

I know where you come from and how you will drag me to the fires deep down below.

I love to carve I love to carve your name carve it through my skin so I can feel you close when you’re not here

from the seams I just ripped open my devotion has weight

I try to make you responsible, but even I don’t believe it

I want you to wipe the tears I want you to numb the pain I want you to stitch me up

I traded my voice for an eternity of pain and ever since, I’ve become sea foam drifting in the turbulent waves.

I cut, slice, and scoop pieces of myself out, desperately expelling the load, but all I’ve done is drop anchors into the sea, a sitting duck ready for canons to blow.

Saltwater sting in each axe I lodge, and flesh decayed to something I can’t recognize, snaps me back to reality that I cannot dodge.

my arms like salt, but I cannot be stopped, and melting to brine, when I reach for land, Because once my eyes opened and I muzzled my thoughts, the tides changed to bring me to sand.

now that I’m human I want to tell you everything. I wish you could be the prince to handle the wreckage I’ve left deep in the sea, and that true love’s kiss return the voice stolen from me.

my scars that were once my reminder, to always open the jar before it overflows, became ones that the ocean cleaned and atoned.

my footsteps are always quiet. I didn’t mean to scare you, and I am good at tiptoeing around, like a born ballerina.

in my class, I would plié and pirouette, and I still do while I bend over backwards and grand jeté through your hoops.

my feet love to point among stars and galaxies, but you stay a dark center I can’t escape waltzing around.

When I was young, I thought everyone had a ghost at home who stomped around or watched TV, and didn’t notice things about me.

I thought we all had a phantom who lazed about, but would push or yell if I broke the eggshells.

When I visited my friend in the 7th grade, there was no wraith that shrouded her home with darkness as they set out to roam.

Actually, her abode had a friendly soul, who emerged out his office to help out her mom in cleaning the table and he was calm.

He assisted and loved so naturally, unveiling a new type of role to me. Such a sight planted some doubts, as I realized my ghost was haunting my house.

For years I cried but eventually, my heart grew cold and idle. The ghost’s lack of presence I scarcely noticed, but ten years later I came under his focus.

By then I was grown and tough as could be. No ghoul or specter had a chance to scare me. I could see his shadow trailing behind as he begged for attention for the first time.

i am shredding my fingers.

i don't speak much,

 and don't sing anymore.

my cheeks are bitten.

despair sets in,   doom follows after.

i wish i was beautiful,   i blow the candle.  i wish i could be loved,    my dandelion on the wind.   i wish for everything to be okay,     a star tears through the sky.    all hopes snuffed out,

it took many months, but finally you fled from my mind. I stopped wasting my hours thinking about who you were doing, and what you were with.

you rest your head on my shoulder like it’s the easiest thing in the world. you hug me tight like you don’t want to let go. you make me feel safe enough to fall.

I’d give all of me away for just a little bit of you because when you’re around I feel like myself. you don’t always need a specific reason, sometimes it’s just that person who soaks into your heart slowly, like rain.

but then you say you’re in love with someone who’s not me. your head is still resting on my feet. your legs are tangled with my toes. your hands still wrapped around my shoulder.

I just submitted my last final. Walked down the stairs to my favorite bathroom and took in the dull interior of the engineering building one more time. It’s not as beautiful as the rest of campus, but many hours were spent here falling asleep in class, writing notes, and going to office hours. It’s the little things. 

My university, as if it’s taunting me on the way out, is utterly beautiful. The contrast of the red brick buildings with all the vines creeping along, the variety of green plants and trees, with jacarandas spilling purple all over campus, and the falling leaves and flower petals — I will miss it. 

I will miss walking through the campus and admiring the architecture. I will miss the mix of the old with the new, the chalkboard with the projector, the magic with the technology. 

This is the “something more” I was dreaming of before, and my life is forever changed by the experiences and people I met here. 

does he remember when we were in the field, the way his arm brushed mine like it meant something so gently?

does he remember calling me beautiful, or the color of my eyes when I made him laugh?

does he remember the park, the Thai place I loved, and the pool table where I missed every shot, but he still smiled like I was the lucky one?

does he remember pulling me in, calling me his lady, or his hand finding mine in the theatre?

I remember. His red pants at the lake, the way his scent lingered in my car, like something I could never keep.

He told me about his father, about rescuing my friend, about music and how it mattered that he loved mine.

I like this guy who doesn’t respond, but when he laughs,  the wind and sun kiss his face  better than anyone else’s.

I like this guy who doesn’t respond,  but he can play melodies  that can light up my soul with the color of stars.

I like this guy who doesn’t respond, but his smile can unpack springtime from his pocket and warm my toes on the coldest winter night.