Blaine

i don’t
remember you
most of the time.

It was
2005, or 6

& you worked
at Starbucks.

I didn’t
remember
your name,
but you
knew mine.

you messaged me
on AIM, like
we did back then.

I was
inexperienced,
and you knew
just
what to say.

i didn’t
especially
like you,

but you had
a strong jaw
and my
expectations
were low

-if not,
nonexistent.

you invited
me over
to go in
your hot tub
late at night.

i arrived,
and you said
your father
was away
on business

but your
grandmother
was asleep,

so we’d,

“have to
be quiet.”

i didn’t know
what I wanted,

I was
only 15.

between
pleasureless
probing,

gasps
for air,

and tears

i thought,

“is this what
boys want?”

i learned how
to leave myself
that night;

revert my
consciousness
back into
safe headspace,

“this is what
boys want.”

A Beautiful Prison For Them

This is where
all of the
horrible things
live.

I lifted it
from my drawer
and exhaled,

“oh no,”

accidentally
letting my animal
out of it’s cage.

I forgot
where
My memories
had moved to.

I changed
their address

and lost their
coordinates.

it was not
a part of me
anymore

because
[because]

it had already
served
It’s purpose.

I was looking for
something else in
my dresser drawers

but, there
it Was
still
very much
real.

my ex boyfriend
bought me
this notebook
as a present

when we were
on our first
[and only]
trip together.

his love was
purposeful
and pure

in a list
of mine
that weren’t.

if i was
to believe
in fate,

he would be
a catalyst
incarnate.

some may argue,

“it’s a shame
to scribble
experiences of
sexual assault
and harassment
on such
beautiful pages.”

But isn’t it
always a shame,

however you
dress them,

and wherever
They lie?

Uniform

Those Eyes Have Seen Things Now

One of my
neighborhood
best friends
growing up

is a
wanted fugitive
for possession
and dealing of

“controlled
substances”

we used
to play

“Can’t Touch
the Ground,”

“Kick the Can,”

and shoot
each other
with
squirt guns.

Listen to
Weird Al

and try
to wear
moon shoes.

you used to
put ice cubes
in your milk,

and get
teary-eyed
watching
“Short Circuit.”

But,
your mug shot
is a fraction
of yourself;

and you were
never big.

what happened
between then
and now,
my old friend?

your family
doesn’t know
where you are.

What
made you
Not want
to Be found?

Distant

Void

i wonder

if you do
not mean

to touch 
and hold 

like it is

just
something
to do with
your hands.

grab anyone
near by

like, life raft;

gasping for
attention.

the current
pool
r  i  s  i  n  g
UP

to the
bottom of
your chin;

Lift on
tiptoes

STRAINING
to stay
above 

surface.

But,

what
are
you drowning
IN
[Sense-
Deprived
Overdrive?]

time feels
more
vaccumous
then death

There

in the
seconds
before
suffocation.

like
anticipation

could kill
you
first.

“I want to
touch you,”

she did
not say

So he
did not
hear.

Detonate