Residue

I finally washed off the residue of today.

Cleansing my pores,
I tried to remember tomorrow,
prepare myself for a new semester,
create a plan for some distant future.
I tried, but it didn't remove my
residual emotions.

Happiness. That after months of separation,
a reunion came.
Fear that I wouldn't make it home, and
that she wouldn't remember my face.
Love. For the people who have never ceased
to love me too.
Pain, because every hello is eventually a goodbye. And
Sadness. Because that goodbye eventually came.

And because when I wake up tomorrow,
today will be the past
and I will have to leave it there.

In Winter

The first snow of this year came in early November.

My footprints were the first to make an impression,
and I admitted I had missed the snow.

The snow reminds me of my past,
and I missed the pain I used to feel in its presence.

Of dying men lying inert under a cold sun,
surrounded by a sea of melted green,
decapitated by the time and weather
and the cruelty of adolescent youth,
reminders of their futile existence
manifest only in the faded music
of those who were once children
as they sing of a past that is gone

and of a future that is not coming.

It hurts to see them sprawled there,
remnants of childhood memories
and others even more recent.

It snowed the day her life spun out of existence.

The snow reminds me of my pain,
and of what caused it.

Hot chocolate after hours of sledding,
which I never really liked except in December.
Blanketed in warmth while outside
the rest of the world is blanketed in white.
Wrapped up by the fireplace,
hearing stories I've heard my entire life.
Synchronized Christmas lights
in obscure neighborhoods to my favorite carols.

The reality of December is heartbreak,
but the fantasies it brings are the best kind
because they don't leave me heartbroken.
Even if I never end up holding hands
while I look at Christmas lights in the cold,
it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

The snow reminds me of everything I have lost,
and of everything I have yet to lose.

Twelve Minutes

Every footstep is a threat,
even my own.

I turn up the volume
as if not being able to hear them
means that they aren't there.

I have no one to trust,
no one to hold my hand.

I keep looking behind me,
expecting the worst.
The streetlights give me comfort,
until
I wonder what horrors they've seen 

in the dead of night.

Groups are safer.
Groups don't make me feel afraid.

Each time I make it home,
my relief lessens and
my terror heightens because of it.

I should be more frightened
each time I walk home alone.
Right?

Strange that being safe
makes me feel more unsafe.

It only takes nine minutes if you walk quickly.

Metaphorical Desk

My weeks are measured
by library due dates and the last time I saw you.

Like the desk that doesn't know which way to face,
I'm caught between past and future.

And just like the desk, I've put myself here,
out of place.

Mental Dance

Dancing shouldn't give you time to think
It's all about feeling and unfortunately
feeling is worse than thinking
because it hurts more
when you can't explain why

I've never been like you
and I never will be
I don't think I even can be
but that doesn't mean
I don't remember you
because I do

I remember so many things

They tell me that
it's better to have loved and lost
than never loved at all
but I'm not sure I agree
If we never loved at all
we wouldn't know what we lost
and then it wouldn't hurt as much
Or it wouldn't hurt at all
and if all we felt was apathy
there would never be anything else
to brutally tear us apart because
we would never know the difference

That's why possibilities
are the world's greatest tragedy
We know what is and what is not
but those are so different from
what is and what could have been

Nightmare

I dreamt last night that I was taken away,
Part of an unpopular plan for population reduction.
As I faced the prospect of imminent death,
Of my lungs gasping for air and never being filled,
I thought of all the words I'd left unsaid,
All the poems I'd never finished writing and would never be able to,
Of the goodbyes I wasn't ready to say
And I was scared that I was wrong.
That there is nothing after this
Except an inevitable oblivion.
Because if nothing comes next
Then there's a reason to be scared
Because the goodbyes I didn't have time to say would be meaningless
And the poems in my head would remain eternally unwritten
And you would never hear the words I had waited to say.
And I gasped, feeling like my lungs wouldn't fill with air no matter how hard I tried.
But though the prospect of imminent death is real,
There is no plan for population reduction.
It was just something I dreamt last night.

Long Time Since

It's been a long time since a lot of things.

Since I went to a high school dance, 
since I felt safe, 
since I cried long and hard.

I cried in a Walmart parking lot one night
after a particularly terrible shift at work. 
And after my parents found out what I'd been doing the night before. 
I cried the first and second time I watched 
The Fault In Our Stars. 
I cried when I watched my aunt put her baby in the ground. 

But I didn't cry when I moved out. 
I didn't cry when I lost my faith, 
and I didn't cry when he left.

It's been a long time since I cried. 
But then again, 
it's been a long time since a lot of things.