I know what
I deserve
but I always seem
to settle for what
is nearby because

it is cold
and my hand
fits so firmly
into yours
if I twist it
and tug it
and maybe
sacrifice a pinkie

You know that
it is easier to
walk away
when you are
walking toward
something else.



I don’t want to
matter to you
right now

because one day

like the answers
you thought you had

the questions you
thought didn’t matter

the feeling you thought
meant one thing but actually
meant something else entirely

you will think of me
in a hazy way
as if you’re reaching
lazily through the fog
to remember any little
detail about me beyond

- oh, that girl
I wonder what
she found
to love? -
Maybe just a more verbose way of wondering whether it truly is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all… I’m pretty firmly in the camp that says “I don’t want to linger on the idea that I might mean something to you right now. Because some day I am going to break your heart, or you are going to break mine, and it will hurt all over again every time I think about what I thought I used to mean to you, and vice versa.” What if I’m wrong? Why risk it?

Out of nowhere yesterday on the way into work I broke out into a huge grin and thought, “Someday there’s going to be a person who completes me. Someday it is going to be easy to fit together and I am going to know that this is going to take work but there will be joy in the struggle. I just know it.”


Someone Has To

I’m not very proud of myself.

I mean I am proud
of how much I can
accomplish with
little support and
for no reason beyond
“Well, someone has to.”

But I’m not proud of myself.

If I had the inner strength
necessary to find the pride
I need then I would have the
peace of mind to say, “No”
and mean it, and find
someone else to be the one
who has to all the time.

I am not proud of myself
and no else ever says
they are proud of me

only that they are glad
I am the someone who does
all the things they would
rather not do at all.
I am long past the point of needing positive reinforcement from people or to impress anyone. I know what I am capable of and I will do it. I wish I could be happier about a positive result but I just kind of shrug and think, “Yup that was me. Some people know it. Most people don’t. It is what it is.” And then I wonder what kind of person I would be if I’d been taught to do what I wanted instead of what I was told and if I’d been able to pursue the things that would make me proud of myself…



“Buy her flowers,
that always works.”

Did you just?
Did he just?
Did that just happen?
I give you Office Husband, everybody. Apparently, the best wingman on the planet. I always knew he was special.


Two Lasting Things

You had the foundation,
the roots and support,
to be whatever you
wanted to be

but fear kept you
from being anything
more than what you
assumed you were
supposed to be.

A tree can’t
be a bird,
after all.

You were weak.

And when
I came
to bloom
I was infected
from the start.

So I grew up
crippled by
the fear that
had eaten at
you forever
and no one
ever taught me

to look beyond
where I stood

to figure out
who I was.

I won’t make excuses for
why it took this long to
gain the strength
to stretch my wings

to realize that
your fear of life
does not define
the meaning
of mine.



And just like that
I will give myself
up again for the
remainder of this
summer until all
the t’s are crossed
the i’s are dotted
and the curtain
comes up on another
sham of a show of a
memory of a thing
that used to mean
something to someone
I’ve never met or died
too long ago for me
to really remember.



I opened the door
on the way
to another errand
looked up
and there you were

the shocked expression
on your face probably
a mirror image of mine

but I’ve got things to do
errands to run and so
you didn’t get to see
the grin that spread
across my face as
I turned the corner

or feel the tension
in my shoulders
as I willed myself
not to look back.
Recently realized that I’m a big fat liar, every time I tell someone I don’t have a type.

Why is it that my old computer comes up in the beginning of every conversation I have with a guy and it always makes them swoon? Ok, I admit it. I have a type. And they know what a Commodore 64 is.