It has no acquired taste
just the smell wakes you up, the
smooth and exciting
full-bodied flavor
makes you drink it down
undoctored with no reservations 
just uninhibited gulps
tipping the still-hot mug back
last drop lingering before
swallowing away the warmth and
forgetting again what it tasted like.

Tastes better than the first time it
boiled over and second-degree burns
put you off it for a while until you were
too exhausted with no choice but to
blow on a spoonful and close your eyes,
letting it wash over your senses with a
jolt of energy and
you feel like you won’t need sleep ever again.

Someone told me caffeine stunts your growth and
all things are impermanent so

don’t hold on too tight to the unexpected wrong perfect old brand-new starving empty stomach full while you’re sprinting so fast you’re not even running anymore, falling on footsteps only to catch yourself from landing on your face then realizing it’s too fast, feet digging in trying to stop time so hard you get lost in the moment because you’re floating in the air and you feel like you’re going up but it’s your plane descending through the clouds for a landing.

On the ground again
wondering where time went
certain it was only yesterday you left for vacation in the first place.

Never knew love could give you withdrawals like caffeine headaches
dancing with addiction.
Wrap your hands around it and love can warm your fingertips.

But watch for the crash there’s always a crash it will still taste good but soon you’ll be falling asleep dull aches behind eyes fighting to stay open because love can’t drive little sisters and brothers to school pay the bills legalize same-sex marriage hand you a scholarship tell the cops to stop being racist give you a y-chromosome, and love can’t wrap christmas in a pretty box taped to an apology letter written by parents undeserving of your compassion or fix broken bones or undo broken memories or return a shiny new childhood to replace the one that was stolen from you.

On your cheeks
I left dried drops of salty apologies that let
doubt cut fingernail-shaped marks into
palms I can still feel against my own.
I want to grab the Santa Cruz night sky in my fist and
pull it down around your shoulders so you can
keep the gentle waves crashing to
whisper you goodnight with
soft mist kisses on eyelids where stars
sparkle while I’m gone and I can
look up and
see them through your eyes from here.

I told you not to hold on too tight and
if you relax your fists a little
there’ll be room for my fingers between yours because
love can warm your fingertips
and I know plenty of tall people who like coffee.

@5 months ago with 1 note
#spilled ink #poetry #love 

at times i feel as empty and 
blank
as the pages beneath my 
pretty new pen.

the crisp paper begs for
just a peck from its
ballpoint lips,
a taste of ink scrawled thoughtfully into
truth.

i want to dream dreams of
travel
coffeeshops and open mic
meeting strangers
falling in love

dreams held behind the 
cap of my pen and 
out of reach by learned habits of
paying rent
independence and 
wishes that never came true.  

a wish to know how to swim will never 
come true if you don’t
jump in. 

@5 months ago with 1 note
#poetry #spilled ink 
“You fucked her while my pictures were still on your walls.”

That’s what I wrote the night I found out what you did.
The day you took
four and a half years of my trust and my patience,
soiled it
with alochol-soaked lies, laid her down on it and
fucked her where you held me
just the night before.
Held me as silent tears became sobs rolling off my nose and chin
into that same sheet you laid her down on.
You fucked her in my tears.

Looking back I realize those tears weren’t for you at all.

Because if those tears
were for you, I’d still be clinging to a
rub-my-back, i-believe-in-you, long-walks-in-the-middle-of-the-night, you-roll-your-eyes-but-i-still-keep-trying 
photograph,
dirty and fuzzy around the edges from clammy hands and 
crying, “Four and a half years??”

No.

Those tears were for the girl 
I lost when I met you. 
For the girl who let you play with her self-esteem as violently as
little boys are allowed to
play with toy guns and swords while
little girls practice sabotage of their own potential.
Let you toss her self-esteem aside 
once you were bored, while she dutifully cradled yours the way she always learned.
Those tears were for the girl
who gave you 1,000 chances too many and 
still blamed herself for breaking your heart. 
Now is where I would have said thank you for sparing me 
any more bullshit

but I’m tired 
of letting my success and my mother’s and my sister’s
be brushed off the page like eraser dust after trying to rub your name out of my memory.
So I’ll thank myself.
Thank me for finding that girl
and reminding her what real love is supposed to look like.

And if you’re curious to know,
you can find it in the photographs
you left on your wall, in the eyes
of the woman who no longer asks herself to be less. 

@5 months ago
#poetry #spilled ink 

It has no acquired taste
just the smell wakes you up, the
smooth and exciting
full-bodied flavor
makes you drink it down
undoctored with no reservations 
just uninhibited gulps
tipping the still-hot mug back
last drop lingering before
swallowing away the warmth and
forgetting again what it tasted like.

Tastes better than the first time it
boiled over and second-degree burns
put you off it for a while until you were
too exhausted with no choice but to
blow on a spoonful and close your eyes,
letting it wash over your senses with a
jolt of energy and
you feel like you won’t need sleep ever again.

Someone told me caffeine stunts your growth and
all things are impermanent so

don’t hold on too tight to the unexpected wrong perfect old brand-new starving empty stomach full while you’re sprinting so fast you’re not even running anymore, falling on footsteps only to catch yourself from landing on your face then realizing it’s too fast, feet digging in trying to stop time so hard you get lost in the moment because you’re floating in the air and you feel like you’re going up but it’s your plane descending through the clouds for a landing.

On the ground again
wondering where time went
certain it was only yesterday you left for vacation in the first place.

Never knew love could give you withdrawals like caffeine headaches
dancing with addiction.
Wrap your hands around it and love can warm your fingertips.

But watch for the crash there’s always a crash it will still taste good but soon you’ll be falling asleep dull aches behind eyes fighting to stay open because love can’t drive little sisters and brothers to school pay the bills legalize same-sex marriage hand you a scholarship tell the cops to stop being racist give you a y-chromosome, and love can’t wrap christmas in a pretty box taped to an apology letter written by parents undeserving of your compassion or fix broken bones or undo broken memories or return a shiny new childhood to replace the one that was stolen from you.

On your cheeks
I left dried drops of salty apologies that let
doubt cut fingernail-shaped marks into
palms I can still feel against my own.
I want to grab the Santa Cruz night sky in my fist and
pull it down around your shoulders so you can
keep the gentle waves crashing to
whisper you goodnight with
soft mist kisses on eyelids where stars
sparkle while I’m gone and I can
look up and
see them through your eyes from here.

I told you not to hold on too tight and
if you relax your fists a little
there’ll be room for my fingers between yours because
love can warm your fingertips
and I know plenty of tall people who like coffee.

5 months ago
#spilled ink #poetry #love 
“You fucked her while my pictures were still on your walls.”

That’s what I wrote the night I found out what you did.
The day you took
four and a half years of my trust and my patience,
soiled it
with alochol-soaked lies, laid her down on it and
fucked her where you held me
just the night before.
Held me as silent tears became sobs rolling off my nose and chin
into that same sheet you laid her down on.
You fucked her in my tears.

Looking back I realize those tears weren’t for you at all.

Because if those tears
were for you, I’d still be clinging to a
rub-my-back, i-believe-in-you, long-walks-in-the-middle-of-the-night, you-roll-your-eyes-but-i-still-keep-trying 
photograph,
dirty and fuzzy around the edges from clammy hands and 
crying, “Four and a half years??”

No.

Those tears were for the girl 
I lost when I met you. 
For the girl who let you play with her self-esteem as violently as
little boys are allowed to
play with toy guns and swords while
little girls practice sabotage of their own potential.
Let you toss her self-esteem aside 
once you were bored, while she dutifully cradled yours the way she always learned.
Those tears were for the girl
who gave you 1,000 chances too many and 
still blamed herself for breaking your heart. 
Now is where I would have said thank you for sparing me 
any more bullshit

but I’m tired 
of letting my success and my mother’s and my sister’s
be brushed off the page like eraser dust after trying to rub your name out of my memory.
So I’ll thank myself.
Thank me for finding that girl
and reminding her what real love is supposed to look like.

And if you’re curious to know,
you can find it in the photographs
you left on your wall, in the eyes
of the woman who no longer asks herself to be less. 

5 months ago
#poetry #spilled ink 

at times i feel as empty and 
blank
as the pages beneath my 
pretty new pen.

the crisp paper begs for
just a peck from its
ballpoint lips,
a taste of ink scrawled thoughtfully into
truth.

i want to dream dreams of
travel
coffeeshops and open mic
meeting strangers
falling in love

dreams held behind the 
cap of my pen and 
out of reach by learned habits of
paying rent
independence and 
wishes that never came true.  

a wish to know how to swim will never 
come true if you don’t
jump in. 

5 months ago
#poetry #spilled ink