weekday lover (how do you remove ink stains from leather?)

you are my weekday lover
you are my mondays
you are the ink spilled into my left hand
the stubborn wart on my thumb
and the birthmark on my left cheek

you are the pack a day i never smoked
the price of gas
grocery lists written in pencil
and the blurred line between too little and too much

you are my left eye catching up to my right
the spikes in my blood sugar
the envelope with no address
and ken sander's after close

you are the story i never added to snapchat
the nights when forty minutes was too far away
a third grade game of tag
and the mornings when limits were only guidelines

you are the butterflies' wings stretched
and pinned
to the typewriter's keys
the reluctant pacing of a semi colon
and cd 2 of a book on tape

you can't decide between pepsi and cola
you wear the heart of a girl whom (you say)
you no longer love
but your lips belong to me tonight
even if your hands belong to her
and i love the way you look on a motorcycle

and i tell myself
this is a crush
this is a little crush
this is a phase
this is a hookup
but i remember your calluses in the morning
and the color of your eyes in the afternoon
and i'm reading genesis after the sun goes down
hoping to find your fingerprints in the dog-eared pages
and the italics

 i'm looking for your teeth on the sand
and your voice on the water
and i can't find your laugh next to the nostalgia
no matter how high the asking price

and i don't love you
but i think i want to

i'm asking myself how to remove these ink stains
from my leather jacket
and i'm piercing every part of my heart
to look more like a rebel
but blue has always fit my waist
better than black
and leather broke my wrists

i want to be your broken bones on the dresser
and the last prayer your father said
even if the sun never loved the moon
and grape juice is too sweet for august

you are my mondays
and my tiptoe kisses
and laughing on your kitchen floor
and my last "i miss you"
and an unanswered phone call
and the apples and cheese on your front porch
and an a+ tattoo
and i'm getting less suicidal
and my calls for help are fewer and farther between
and i'm going to college
but not the college you're going to
and i'm praying more
and we're not getting married
and you will never be my saturdays

but you are my mondays

bravery and bathwater (aka dear ed)

the sun burns off the fingerprints
and the smoke grays the memories
but the boy listened

and the bruises simmered in the pot of oil
and the eyes looked
and the fingers closed

because b is for this broken bread
and r is for my road to recovery
and ave is for avery
and the sun
and the moon
and the stars too

but you werent supposed to be my broken bread
and he was never meant to be my savior
even when he rinsed his hands with bleach
and the blood ran away by the spoonful

and his words were meant for the linen closet
instead of table number three
but i still licked the hand that fed
and begged for more

you are not my avery
you are not my sun
you are not my moon
but i am one of the many stars you keep
in your back pocket
and the light bleeds from my hands

and i hope you see it.

you are the bathwater to my matchstick
the bird to my wings
and i am drowning
drowning
drowning

one cup two cups three cups
one cup two cups three cups

and the bath filled
and the girl gave in
and she dropped her lips to the water
and drank
while she watched the fall of the matchstick
pulling from her hands

i hope you see it.

depression's got me in a headlock

i'm on vacation
so my mom told me
to write about the beach

this is for the sticky fingerprints on the car windows
and the faces you traced with your index finger

the ice pops that dripped onto your lap
the way your sister's hair curled
and the days when you didn't have to worry
whether your mom would love you in the morning

but this year the seagulls didn't replace
the crows on my shoulders
and the waves pulled me out
instead of pulling me in

the rain ate at the pavement
but you forgot how to
and the sun smiled
like you fucked her boyfriend

she was out for blood
and the clouds were boys
who had gone without their mother
for too long

my stretchmarks apologized
like ex boyfriends
but my name still wasn't safe
in their mouths

the sand were men at the bar
who didn't hear the word no
and the mermaids didn't remember me
since i forgot to shave my legs
and buried my eyes at the foot of a grapefruit tree

the sun cooks my blood
my swimsuit doesn't look the same
i don't want to go outside
but i can't say no to all the pictures
and

i want to run away
i want to run away
and if heaven called i'd answer
but i'd still leave hell waiting on the other line

my footprints are stuck in my throat
along with September receipts that hurt too much
to read out loud
and letters i never had the right to send
and my red hair was left on the highway
next to the roadkill

but i still have my ribcage
and i think that's important

i wished upon a star
but both were dead in the past
along with my 11:11 wishes
and striped birthday candles

you left me your god
but i never did more than initiate awkward eye contact
from across the room

i'm just remembering the boy who hated the sand
and the way his hand reached for mine
as we were dragged out of the water park together

i saw my body cold on the sofa
my hair sewn like fringe on a vest
the basting stitches securing my shins
and my mom blaming me for the stain ten years down the road

and no matter how high the ends of my lips
the voices didn't leave my head
and no matter how i tried to bar them out
they repeated the same lines

"you are nothing
you are nothing"

they shot me with their emptiness
and sucked me into this hole in their chest

the sun is still yellow
the frogs are still croaking
the boys are still shirtless
and the world might be okay

but i am not.

i forgot how to dial your number
and how to get out of bed in the morning
showers don't clean me off as well as they used to
and the medication piles up on the counter
untouched

i no longer worship the sun
and i forgot my religion
but read me a poem
and i might remember

the world might be okay
but i am not.

the world might be okay
but i am not.

just like everyone else

this isn't meant to be an apology
but it's more apology than love letter

i heard it's better to swallow your words
than lose the life on your lips
but it's better to open your mouth
than take nine to five
remembered by empty cupboards and sun burnt feet

it didn't work last summer
but i'm hoping we're both different now

i'm scared of you because when i fall
there's no one around to catch me

i have a crush on you
just like everyone else
and i don't know how to tell you i'm different
when i'm just another note scrawled across your wall in pencil
another drunken kiss
another borrowed book
girl in your bed
monday night
kill and run
kiss and tell

i don't visit enough art museums to call myself romantic
and there's too few postcards on my wall
even if I paint my nails
make a rain coat purchase
and invest in a tired camera
i will never play her drums

listen
i like orange lipstick better than pink
she smiled because you brought a faded hope
weighed with expectation and yesterdays
but they're dreams i never had
she never had the heart to call you out on the alcohol in your basement
but i will

the record player on your shelf won't make me a singer
i do not want your last name
i will never clap for the concept of your third tattoo
i don't know how to tell you this
but i look better with the lights off

just tell me you want me
because i see all these signs that you love her

teach me how to bring love into the equation
i promise i won't ever use your comb
and you'll tell me you like my terrible haircut
and i'll forgive the fact that her hair was my same color
and you always liked savannah best

we can't reprint the 50's
even if we change out all the clocks and drown the iPhones in the bathtub
you like your instagram too much
i won't cook dinner every night
i won't curl my hair
and i don't want kids

listen
i'm not gonna make you sound better than you are
or this is gonna go to your head
yes you're handsome
yes you're charming
yes you're artistic
yes you listen
and you wiped the vomit from my mouth with your shirt
but you suck at calling me back
and sometimes i feel like i don't know you
because you just want to laugh

but i want to get to know you
even the bad parts
and i hope you want to get to know me
because i promise there's some good

and i like you
even if i'm not supposed to
and i miss you
even if it's only been a week
and i'm yours
and i don't want to be his anymore
and i want someone who can tell me i'm okay

i'm just like everyone else
i'm just like everyone else

i'm sorry i'm not her
but i don't want to be

go buy yourself some advil

i couldn't write about him
because he was only a crush
and i couldn't write about him
because i'm not in love
and you are the only thing i know how to write about

you are a good-for-nothing
bring-me-to-my-knees boy
you are a good-for-nothing
give-me-a-disease boy

and even though you are the only one i know how to write about
i can't edit and photoshop the pitiful shake in your hand
as you knock back another one
advil's proven more effective than a handful of glitter and a squint of the eyes
but i've said too much already
i say i'm sorry
and these apologies are nauseating
i'm so goddamn sorry i care about your health
you no-good son of a bitch

and whereas i think to myself
that the way i am slowly killing myself is acceptable
no one ever blames the girl for keeping her monsters
the fact you're playing poker with your minutes scares the living shit out of me
don't call me when you find the first gray in your hair
i don't know what i will do if i call you
and your voicemail doesn't answer for you anymore
but whispers the words of a dead man

i hate you keeping your cigarettes from me
when i'm wrapped in your smoke and your sin
did you ever quit sophomore year?

i hate the broken bottles under your boots
you waking up next to her in the morning
and the smell of weed in your hair

you're not a privileged son of a celebrity
you can't get away with this shit forever
you once confessed you were working full-time
told me you replaced your mission plans
told me you can't leave her for two years
told me you have to look out for her
where the hell is your job now?
half-remembered nights are an honest change of plan

you tell me you're not drinking as much
and i know weed doesn't kill you
so get off my fucking back
but your tongue in their mouths
sloppy kisses
clumsy hands pulling at their clothing
kills
me
even though i tell you i don't mind
because my opinions aren't worth the unanswered calls
i expect too much of you
i'm supposed to accept you as you are

and you tell me to go on some dates
to kiss some more boys
as if that will make me less resentful
but sometimes all i want is you
i like a specific flavor of ice cream
and i'm tired of experimenting with strawberry and cookies'n'cream

all you are good for is handing me these broken pens
growing out of your chest
and i cover my body with words

but no one bothers to read them

p.s.

winter never hit his daughters

but they were never home to see
him drinking himself into a puddle and screaming in his sleep