My Wardrobe

Poetry

As I touch a piece of clothing I try my best not to cry,

But every time I look at my wardrobe I’m taken back to a time.

I look on both sides of this small room and don’t know where to begin,

My clothes have memories attached to someone and my patience is wearing thin.

The first shirt hasn’t been worn in awhile, it’s the hardest piece to see,

It’s the loose navy top I wore on a memorable night you got to meet me.

I paired it with skin-tight black jeans and my trustworthy combat boots,

A deathly combination I’d always sworn made me look super cute.

Agreement came in the form of a kiss on that very night,

Hearts thumping like crazy as you held me close under a cliche streetlight.

We kept our bodies near so I liked wearing my soft crimson henley,

You’d fasten me in your arms and caress my ribcage ever so gently.

I fought off my feelings for you because you told me you would not be here long,

When you held me in your sleep I felt you grab at the clothes I kept on.

Holding back my fears was one thing, hoping you wouldn’t string me along,

I took out my skin tight black jeans one night and put those combat boots back on.

I wore my deathly combination of black and paired it with a sheer sweater,

The bar was buzzing but I was only looking forward to our night together.

We drank beer and watched hockey before walking hand in hand back to your place,

And fell asleep watching tv on the couch; when we awoke I saw it on your face.

Rain drizzled from the dark sky as we walked across the parking lot that morning,

You shielded me with your neon work vest which made you quite adorning.

Rain turned to sunshine and I was able to flaunt more of my silky soft skin,

But this time around felt different and I craved your hands spelling out sin.

The hot weather made me throw on a pair of cutoff shorts and show up at your loft,

Falling off one shoulder was the forest green top I could so easily slip off.

Nights like these were simple and picking out my clothes became a piece of cake,

But the impending date of your departure was upon us and my body began to ache.

The same body that wore black trousers and a blouse with tiny white polka dots.

My work attire showed a new side of me and you were there to help drop me off.

We shared two waffles the morning you drove me to school in your truck,

We talked about the ins and outs of work and how you weren’t able to pick me up.

Darkened streets yet I felt safe as you drove us and I listened to your every word,

You stopped in the parking lot and kissed me goodbye with a sweet and subtle smirk.

Something about your gritty smile made that damn smirk the part of you I liked best.

Now I know it was just a joke because you gave it to me the morning before you left.

This time I was the one to give you the kiss goodbye as I crawled onto your mattress,

I was wearing a soft pink thermal when I was left to wonder the state of our status.

I guess now I can say I am pretty lucky that it is no longer warm outside,

So I put away those cutoff shorts that you would so easily slide down my thighs.

Those black jeans have seen better days and I’m tired of the wear and tear.

The black combat boots started to rip so I decided it was time to get a new pair.

But nothing can replace the feelings that my wardrobe still holds dear.

I just wish you’d left me with something that made sense, something more clear.

My fingers brush the hanging clothes and the damp corners of my eyes,

As I continue to look around this closet it is hard to put my feelings aside.

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In Between Girl

Free Verse

I’m that girl. The girl I never expected to be. The girl you find during the in-between phase of your life. The phase most girls know all too well. “He just got out of a relationship so he’s not looking for anything serious.” The pain already begins to swell in my heart.

Because I know nothing serious comes in the form of actually being your girlfriend but not reaping all the benefits. I won’t ever meet the parents or siblings but I hear plenty of stories about them. You show me pictures of your childhood home and I’ll pretend like I’ll eventually meet your family someday. Someday when he’s ready.

I’m that girl. The girl that never pushes the girlfriend label. The girl whom you always consider totally cool with just a chill night in. But what you don’t understand is that the night chills me.

I feel the shiver run down my spine when you slowly begin to touch me. I feel like if I let go I will crumble into a million pieces. I have to keep up the image. You use my body like it’s some toy for you to play with, that is of course until a better version of me comes out.

I’m that girl. The girl that never deems herself as the competitive type. Because why care? It only hurts to do so. Like when I played soccer and every girl on my team cried but me when we lost a game. I thought that meant I was heartless.

But like most people, I found out I had a heart just because I felt it break. Now I can only sense a deep hole where my feelings used to belong. A burning sensation of total numbness.

I’m that girl. The girl that’s easy to leave without a trace. Because I was never your girlfriend. I just was the girl who rubbed your back in bed after a long day of work. I was just the friend you would cook for. I was just the girl who put you to sleep. I was the just the friend who willingly stayed the night.

But when you leave me you won’t find another girl like me. You will find the girl that you were meant to be with and she will meet your whole family and see that childhood home I only dreamed of. While I’m still that girl stuck in between.

The Bridge I’ve Built

Poetry

They said to take some time, cry,

but she should also move on.

Build that damn bridge girl

he’s away and officially gone.

Cliche words handed over to

the girl with a broken heart.

Left alone without a word

her insides have fallen apart.

But here she is one year later

still trying to sort it out.

That bridge she was building

was left broken and full of doubt.

The first board she put down

when she told herself this won’t last.

She could hear others whisper

watch how quickly this will all pass.

Her bridge-building skills aren’t great

and she has those delicate hands.

He held them as they watched a movie

or when he asked fora slow dance.

Yet she continued hammering boards

without any engineer assistance.

But there are gaps from his absence

when he obviously needed some distance.

She’s looking out at the bridge before her

but doesn’t see a clear path.

Some boards have been broken from

the heartbreak aftermath.

Take the rickety path and

learn as you go.

But what if she falls for someone

that she even barely knows.

Then take the match and burn

everything that lies ahead.

She looks around hesitant

and takes another path instead.

I Know You

Poetry

Your face is another episode of déjà vu.

A look I once saw every night and every day,

I know you because I used to be you.

 

Bright eyes beaming a bold blue,

sparkle with curiosity to my dismay.

Your face is another episode of déjà vu.

 

Crowded teeth bursting a giant debut,

laughing aloud as the boys come out to play.

I know you because I used to be you.

 

Flushing cheeks are now in view,

freckles aplenty are now out on display.

Your face is another episode of déjà vu.

 

But now that I am twenty-two,

I conceal my worries and lock them away.

I know you because I used to be you.

 

I still let the compliments ensue,

even though this isn’t how I should be portrayed.

Your face is another episode of déjà vu.

I know you because I used to be you.

Green-Eyed Girls

Poetry

Only three percent of the world’s population

Possess some form of green colored eyes.

How strange it is that your list of ex-lovers

All seem to share this sweet surprise.

Maybe you don’t know this about yourself

But clearly, I think you do.

See you have this thing for green-eyed girls

And it’s obvious you crave this hue.

Each face is distinct, a different kind, but

Look closely at the pigment on their rims.

Your favorite color swirling inside the orbs,

A simple piece of the forest living in them.

Your first girlfriend in high school was the

Cheerleader or popular kind, I guess.

I’m sure her sea foam eyes matched the color

Of her corsage, and sparkly prom dress.

Next up was a single mom with a son whom you

Wrestled with while he wore his army gear.

Her eyes reflected the color of her son’s combat helmet

And you three were an item for a little over two years.

Heartbreak can lead you down a disastrous path though

And sometimes alter your ever-changing views.

I’m not sure if you thought this girl was the one but

It seemed like the situation left more than a bruise.

This path led you to a younger woman’s bed who had

Similar features of your ex, casting an illusion.

None of this resembled a relationship that was real

Which led you down another trail of confusion.

Soon you attached yourself to another innocent bystander

Who was focused and determined to keep you forever.

Fire red hair flowing next to her emerald eyes full of awe

And yet you ran off looking for something better.

Another single mother with a daughter this time

And olive eyes glowing between thin black creases.

But she wasn’t the one you’d been searching for

So you left her and her heart in a million pieces.

I’m afraid to say this is the part where we finally reach

My side of this crazy green-eyed girl story.

I never thought I was a distraction from your crazy life

But I also didn’t yet know of those who came before me.

You were falling into a spiral and this time

I was the one trapped in your vicious web.

I wanted it to feel right when we were together

But all you wanted was me in your bed.

My green eyes have always been something

I loved about my outward appearance.

But when you saw them it was nothing

Just another soul on clearance.

So congrats, you made me a green-eyed monster

Filled to the brim with crazy envy.

Because the next girl you began to date

Stole my eyes so you can easily forget me.

The Parking Lot

Essay

I found myself trying to get into your old parking lot last night. I swore I would never go back, but I did. As I drove to the entry gate the sign on the button said, “Out of Order”.

“No shit.” I stammered to myself as I backed up and drove around to the 2-hour street parking.

As I climbed out of my car old habits came back to me. I began to scan the parking lot for your yellow truck, even though I knew it wouldn’t be there.  I wanted to start walking up the back alley to those steep stairs that led to your loft, even though I knew you wouldn’t be there. I almost got out my phone to call you and say I’m here, even though I knew you wouldn’t pick up. So instead, I walked past everything as if I had never seen it before.

But I couldn’t just walk past it without memories flooding back into my weak mind. We met in that parking lot. We had our first kiss in that parking lot. We walked hand in hand for the first time in that parking lot. You took my dog for walks around that parking lot. You surprised me with beer and ingredients for BLTs in that parking lot. You danced with me while we waited for an Uber in that parking lot. You were generous to strangers and let them use your key to exit and enter that parking lot. You listened to me sing off key in your truck in that parking lot. And you walked me to my car each morning, gave me a kiss, and told me to have a great day at work in that parking lot.

But I also have to remember the painful memories that my weak mind tends to ignore. Like all the nights I walked myself back to my car in that parking lot. Or the night I ran out of your place after a fight and waited for you to come find me in that parking lot. All the times I would pay for my car to sit there overnight in that parking lot. The nights I would come over but sit and debate with myself if I should actually get out of my car or just leave that parking lot. And of course, the night I came over to check and see if you had really left me and if your truck was still in that parking lot. Because now that I’m walking down memory lane I can only think of a handful of times I saw that parking lot in the daylight.

So when I saw that the sign said “Out of Order”, I knew it was over. It was an actual sign telling me that our time was up and I couldn’t go back even though a part me still thinks about it every day.

My Note to Her

Essay

There is no good way to start this, so here goes nothing. I’m not even sure if you know who I am. I hope you know I exist but if you don’t I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever hated you. I’m sorry I thought you were the terrible person this whole time. And I’m sorry you’re dealing with the same pain as me right now.

I’m going to be as honest as possible. You knew him a few months before I knew him. You were his someone during one of his dark times of transition. You seemed to have really liked each others company but then I came along, and I swear I knew nothing about you. Well, I take that back because I knew of you only on his social media account. I didn’t think anything of you because, for some strange reason, I trusted him. That was my fault. I should have known he was hiding someone from me.

He must have known I was falling quickly so he left one weekend to go see you without my knowledge. He told me later that you invited him up there so I initially blamed you for his misbehavior. But I blinded myself from your name constantly popping up on his phone. I blinded myself from the pictures you took together that weekend and a few weekends after, that I knew nothing about until much later. I wanted to be his someone but now I know I was just a silly distraction.

I was dumb and naive to think that you were just a friend of his. Honestly, so was I. The part that hurts the most was seeing that you had a daughter. I couldn’t imagine letting him meet another part of me that was more important than myself. But you let him into her life for a short time and for that you’re brave. I thought him meeting my dog and taking care of him was a big deal. But that’s just another part of this sad story where I’m wrong.

Can I tell you something embarrassing? I was beyond thrilled when he didn’t like your pictures on Facebook during our brief exclusive phase. Can I tell you something even more embarrassing? I cried on my kitchen floor one night all by myself after I came back from his place. I cried because he had just liked a picture of you and your daughter from that day. He must have thought about you a lot. He must have cared for you deeply. But I was never cared for by him in that way, and for that I hated you. After he left me I realized it was never your fault.

He left me because of reasons I’m still trying to sort out in my head. Reasons that I’d like for him to explain but I know I’ll never get the closure I so desperately want. When he was gone I was beyond upset. More than anything though, I wanted to know if he was still talking to you. I wanted to know if he was gone because he was finally ready to commit himself to one person; maybe he was ready for you. I checked your social media to see if pictures of him would pop up, but they never did. He continued to like your pictures though, which confused the hell out of me. I’m sure it did the same, if not worse, to you.

But then it all stopped. His name was nowhere to be found on your Facebook likes and I wondered for days what had happened. Then, without warning, we both came to realize he had moved on without us. He had found his new someone that would carry him through another dark time and be his saving grace. This girl got to meet his whole entire family only after two months of dating. This girl became his best friend, his leading lady, and we were just the supporting characters.

Unfortunately, when you’re a supporting character you don’t necessarily get the recognition you deserve. Most supporting characters share a commonality throughout a story. Our commonality being him. We shared the same boy for a little less than a year. We shared the same burden digging into our shoulders day after day. And now we share the same unfair treatment by this boy who refuses to admit what he’s done to us. I’d like to think we’re one in the same, but then again I could be wrong.

I had a dream about you a couple of months back. I hope that isn’t too weird to say. It was during the storm of emotions I felt every day I saw a new picture of them together. I dreamt that I was the one to come up and visit you this time. Like most girls do, we sat and chatted about boys. I don’t remember the conversation per se, but I do remember getting a feeling of relief after we were done talking. The problem here is that I don’t see you as a friend. I don’t even see you as an acquaintance. But now more than ever I feel like we should be friends because we share the same pain. We could fill in gaps of our stories that never made sense. But if you don’t know who I am, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I never share this letter with you.

Homes

Essay

My fingers graze your skin as I outline the four great lakes permanently inked on your side. Superior. On the first night we met, you thought it would be fun to test my knowledge of the lakes you grew up next to. Michigan. But I would not see your tattoo until the first time I slept in your bed. Huron. This is not that night. Eerie. At this point, I have lost count of how many times I have stayed over. Ontario. 

You resemble a bear with your scruffy face down in a pillow and your firm arms wrapping around both sides. Watching your burly physique slowly lift up and down to match your breathing keeps me occupied, as I lie there wide awake. My mind is lit with numerous thoughts, and my awareness of the lack of touch between us makes me crave your connection even more. I so badly want to be your pillow and, the sad part is, most of the time I was that soft item you held onto during the night. I want you to wrap your arms around me, not some silly pillow. I need you to intertwine our tired bodies like you used to, but for some reason tonight is different.

Spending the night at your place has become such a habit that I didn’t realize this is how you actually sleep when I’m not here. It has been a week since I’ve seen you last, and this is only the second time I’ve come over since our fight about another girl. We haven’t communicated about what we are, what we are doing, and why the hell we are doing it. And I can’t sleep thinking you don’t want me to be here; maybe that is why we aren’t tangled in each other’s arms. It’s possible that you want her but, since she lives seven hours away, you settled for me instead.

My fingers continue to softly trace the lakes, which help keep you aware of my body lying next to yours. I think of the acronym you used the first night we met to help me remember the name of each lake. H.O.M.E.S. stands for Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Eerie, and Superior. In my mind, a home stands for multiple places. Even though we both came from opposite ends of the country, we each had a lot of homes under our belt. Both of us had moved at a young age to a neighboring state with our families, leaving behind the ones we were born in. We each chose an out-of-state college that was close to home, but far enough. After college, you had a job that kept you moving to where projects needed to be completed and I had, as my mother puts it, a gypsy soul that wanted to travel. I had a home in six states; you had a home in eight.

“Do you ever get worried that you’ll never find your home?” I say abruptly.

Your eyes are closed but your whole body shifts to face me. With a heavy sigh and little hesitation you say, “No, everything happens for a reason.”

After our simple exchange of words, I toss and turn and wonder where I belong. The feeling of loneliness creeps into my tense body as I begin to think about us and the current state that we both consider our home. I look over my shoulder and see you trying to hold on to some part of my nervous body.

“What’s wrong?” you finally whisper.

“I just really don’t like that saying. It’s always bothered me.” I reply.

I don’t want to tell you that I’m afraid I’m considering you a part of my home. We have never caressed in an awkward manner before, and for once I blame myself. I can tell you were uncomfortable with what I brought up, and I have never felt an ounce of discomfort with you before.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

After a few seconds of silence, I quietly whisper “Yeah.”

However, you know a big part of me is not, so you pull me in close and give me a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. Every part of my small frame wants to burst into flames and scream. So instead, I close my eyes as they begin to water and I take a deep breath before I pretend to fall asleep in your arms.

It’s in that moment I realize there are some things we can’t do to each other anymore. You can’t talk to me about your troubles at work. I can’t bake sweet treats for us to share. You can’t hold me in your arms and tell me everything will be all right. I can’t skim my fingers through your hair to help you fall asleep. You can’t use the toilet while I brush my teeth. I can’t make your bed for you after we wake up. And we can’t kiss goodbye and tell each other to have a great day at work.

All of these actions make me feel at home. I feel comfort in a routine that we both know will not last. I know for a fact this is not your last pit stop. You and I have other homes in our future, and it’s concerning how content I feel in the home we’re living in right now. So should we stop this and reconsider?

The Pink​ Starburst

Essay

For the Red Sour Patch Kid 

I catch myself staring at your back as we peruse each aisle in the market. I stand behind you, trying to help in some way, but my mind is occupied. My hands decide they are lonely so I begin rummaging around in my purse hoping to find some lip balm, but I pick out a piece of candy instead. I squeal in utter excitement, and the convenience clerk glares in my immediate direction, but I don’t care. Then you walk over with a wine bottle in your hand laughing at my childlike fetish.

“We’re gonna go with this one.” you say with a giggle.

“Perfect,” I reply with a half eaten Bit-O-Honey in my mouth.

The clerk tells me I look young but doesn’t ask for my ID as we checkout red wine and two containers of freshly cut vegetables. We laugh about my candy addiction and the clerk’s strange attitude on the brisk walk back to your loft. The candy begins to melt away in my mouth as we descend down the back alley of a busy street. I have never been to your place before and as we begin walking up a set of steep stairs behind a noisy bar all I can think is… What the hell am I doing?

I continue up those stairs with you because I crave the mystery hiding behind your hazel eyes and rough exterior. I want to know why I am with you and what we will encounter next. Our stories intertwine easily with our similar experiences and sense of humor. I feel pain in my face from smiling and laughing with you tonight. My cheeks become flush because of you but I want to blame it on my second glass of wine.

“Let’s play a game,” I say while positioning myself crossed legged on your couch.

“Alright.” you reply with a glazed over grin.

It’s one of those silly questions, something we have been asking each other all night like… What’s your spirit animal? What song would play as you walk up to bat? What high school clique were you a part of?

“If you were a piece of candy, what kind would you be?” I ask.

I see your face change in an instant. Your eyes glue to mine and your lips clench together. It takes you awhile to contemplate your answer, which seems silly to me, but I wait patiently.

With your eyes glued to mine, you ask, “What kind would you be?”

“Easy, a pink Starburst,” I say with no hesitation. The question was something I had never thought of before but I knew right away what I would be. It wasn’t my favorite candy but it was a candy craved by many, and I wanted you to know I was a hot commodity.

“I guess I would be a red Sour Patch Kid.” you finally decide.

And that was it, nothing else was said on that topic. But sometimes a simple question can lead to a complex answer. Let me break it down for you. We both picked a candy that represented us for the next several months. You, a candy covered in sourness and me, a candy tightly wrapped inside of her package.

I hate sour candy. It makes me cringe and pucker up but once you get past that phase it’s all sweet; just like you. That rough exterior was hiding this silly little boy just looking for happiness in this big lonely world. The first half of our relationship was all distasteful because we both realized how alone and lost we felt. You drank and I felt used. Once the sourness was gone the last half of this so-called mess was bliss. I finally got to meet the witty boy who cared about our waiters and wanted to make sure I got to work safely. The sweetness didn’t last for long though because then you were gone, just like the advertisement.

So here I am covered perfectly in pink wrapping. Perfect was a word you once used to describe me but I was far from it. Scared would have been a better name for it. I was wrapped up so tightly that it became a roadblock for you. It was hard for me to open up about anything and when you picked at my paper I would tremble. You unwrapped me like it was second nature and tossed my paper in the trash. I felt bare and alone when you were sour but that sweet phase kept me from going through the garbage to find my shield. Because now we were uncovered as a pair and it finally felt as if we were on the same page.

Both of us had our barriers but I couldn’t stop you from leaving. I tolerated your bad behavior waiting for some sweetness. And my unraveling showed my helplessness for your kind. Maybe it was because the pink Starburst wasn’t your favorite candy, just like sour candies weren’t mine.

The Leaf

Poetry

My eyes and limbs are frozen still

as I stand on the cold hard ground.

A crackling noise is coming from above

I look and see dead leaves falling down.

One by one drifting back and forth

swinging off the branches in slow motion.

Setting their sights on a safe landing

but stepping on one will leave it broken.

I look down at this brown leaf

believing it’s some dull dried up thing.

But I suppose it was once a small bud

unfolding to the sun in the Spring.

Sitting and waiting so delicately then

freshly awakened ready to grow –

into something precious and wild

that the storms will eventually get to know.

I imagine the leaf open wide now because

it survived the treacherous storm.

But this poor leaf will soon feel silence

she was left alone and has taken a new form.

I hope the leaf feels content now

the storms have appeared to go away.

Summer is here with bright beginnings

and it has brought the leaf a new day.

I see the leaf starting to change in the Fall

because time has brought her a brand new color.

But the storm is coming back now

so the leaf hangs on tight and takes cover.

I think the storm is different this time

because the leaf did not let go of the limb.

It brings the leaf plenty of rain to live off of

but the storm did not come back again.

No water means the leaf is hopeless

and forgotten in the harsh dark Winter.

It will soon dry up to almost nothing

and I hope that stupid storm will miss her.

I look up one more time to watch

the leaves falling from the trees.

As they continue to drift back and forth

I can’t help but realize these leaves are me.

I’m the leaf sitting

on that cold hard ground.

Just waiting for Spring to begin

because I want to bloom

and stop falling down.