an ode to strangers

you were a disaster this morning-
i had to grab a towel to clean the mess your dreams made,
that leaked from your eyes and into the pillow case
i just changed yesterday morning.

it doesn’t matter,
here’s your coffee, my dear.
it’s a brand new day, i’m here.
don’t worry, tomorrow i will still be here.

"it hurt so much when i thought of the last time i saw you and the possibility of it being the last time ever. it hurt so much i couldn’t get up from bed, couldn’t even reach for my phone on the night stand to text you. i wanted to throw up, but it would be pointless, because there’s no getting you out of my system. you’re here, embedded on my skin, like a tattoo. it hurt getting you inked in, and it will hurt having you removed. and what is the point of that? why go through the pain for something beautiful when you’re going to go through another round of pain just to have it erased? it’s sick. i feel sick. i need to see you."

you said maybe
the stars aren’t aligned
for you and I
but whoever decides
how stars should be
aligned for people
needs to back down,
i’m taking over.
he’s doing a crappy job
and why does he get
to decide?

i’ll lasso our stars
and pull them down to us.

here, take mine.
it goes wherever you go.

i’ll miss you
like the dozens
of meteor showers
i missed.

i’m not sure when,
but i’ll see you again.

tell me i will.


the taxi cab’s out front
and your bags are in the doorway
but you are still in the kitchen
drinking milk straight from the box
like you don’t know I hate it when you do that

I know you’re going to leave
you wouldn’t have kissed me on the
forehead when you thought I was asleep
if you’re going, why are you still here?

vampires need permission before
they are able to enter a house

what do you call someone who so
badly wants to leave but still itches to
ask if he can when the obvious reply is,
“no, don’t go?”


—i’m not going to beg


For after all,
the best thing one can do
when it is raining
is let it rain.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow