late night recollections (to you with the spotted face)

when i'd like to pass the time i recall that you might have 162 specks of black diamonds somewhere between nook and cranny of your left and right ears
and then i remember how i used to tell you god blew kisses all over your face just for me to count for the remainder of my lifetime
that it was exactly how i'd like to spend the rest of my lifetime
but often now i am lonely
so i sometimes recount the freckles on your face
just to remember the person i once was
because i left everything good i once was encased in a shell that is you
and because you've been gone so long
and because i've been gone so long
and i can't quite recall sometimes whether it was 162 or 126 specks of black diamonds scattered atop your skin
i summon your face in archive of memories just to remember that i felt alive once
and that i can feel alive once again.

i was told to journal (but i can only write poems)

because its late
because i promised her i'd write something
because i'm floating
because i don't know how to feel
because not knowing how to feel is disastrous
because i believed her when she told me we can try to change things
because i want to change
because i want more
because i don't think i deserve more
because i feel left
behind
abandoned
swept under moldy rugs
because it's too late to salvage some things
but i'd like it if i were able to salvage the others
some sense of grounding is better than none at all
i came to her for anchors
i've wished for anchors all my life

we talked about the roots of trees
and she asked me how i felt
and because i'm inarticulate about my feelings these days
i folded and spoke and folded some more
i am origami, always have been always will be
folding

because the lady in the black turtleneck with the yellow skin and sunny eyes told me that things can change
because her words were lovely when she spoke though she mostly listened
because the room was tiny and brown and gray and the walls seemed to be closing in on me
because i realized i couldn't look at her much when i spoke
because i couldn't run away
because i tend to laugh and smile when i talk about ugly
because she didn't find me odd
because i spent the whole time speaking and folding the edges of the corners of papers
because i cried once in the middle of a sentence
about my mother and how she never seems to love me
because i never say that outloud to anyone who doesnt know me
because lying to strangers is hard
because i talk too much but learn too little
because i'm tired of being abandoned
but mostly because i'm tired of abandoning myself

i folded memories at the corners
made them into paper planes
sent them off into the blackened sky
hoping they wouldnt return
now they are being aimed back at me
but this time they are bullets demanding flesh
but i chose this
i'm guessing a massacre could result in a rebirth
i am only hoping

she asked me how i deal with things i said i wasn't sure
but now i realize all i ever do is write and feel and rummage for answers in dark corners
and stay awake when i'm supposed to be sleeping
and think too much
and maybe now i realize i need to talk

On the way home (freewrite on the bus where we met)

I don’t ask much of men anymore its not in my nature
Eventually hope catches fire mid thrust
And all bets are off I’ve learned to minimize the impact of these kinds of collisions

Collisions like
Broken boys thinking their power is at the tip of premature manhood
When they crash into lusty girls willing to cash in their innocence for a place in a sexual world

I needed gratification
I found none
All I have is canyons
Between thighs
My heart will be leaking forever
I’m certain

Tires skid across heart
Teeth press down on tongue
I can’t remember how to speak
Everything I used to know
I’ve forgotten
Memories are fickle as the odds of you staying
You never stayed
You’d always leave

I know my body will repair
But when will my mind?