In the maze of passing interests, tucked somewhere in between learning how to speak backwards and calculating doomsday, there is a boy staring at his palms. At the fault lines. He can trace this morning’s argument to the crack he stepped on four months ago. Hindsight’s perfect vision making a mockery of present decisions. They show up on the doorstep of his mind, fissure-spun, a Pandora’s box wrecked, something vaguely ominous amicably placed at his inconvenience. There is an art to misstepping, he’s sure of it. Write place, wrong time. Wrong words, right line. Or something like that. He’s cobbled causality into something resembling rational thought, the disorder interpreted like tea leaves. The refrain: if he could do it all again, he’d do it differently. This time, he’d do it right.

My therapist tells me that two things can be true at once

I got an ampersand tattoo on my arm so I wouldn’t forget

It applies to you, mainly

What in my life doesn’t

I can miss you and still not want you in my life

I can hope to see you and never want to lay my eyes on you again

I can be sad that we ended and glad that I’ve moved on

I can have contradicting beliefs

Humans can’t be just black and white

We have to be complicated

But god, do I wish that I could make up my mind about you

& debate begins tension builds the seeking to be right pursued in a world of never knowing I roll over debating my mind I reach out to touch to mine your words your thoughts experiences I do not ask I wait.

You come to visit your hug tight I love you contained in arms you wrap around & I witness your struggle & all that you contain & all that you hold back & your story pours out & I write poetry because poems will provoke questions as I become lost in a maze surrounding 

Beneath the surface, I open
my eyes. Distant motorboat blades
churn and hum under the waves.
A buoy bell clangs when I resurface,
but I prefer the cool blue. Deep
breathe, I sink back down, away
from the others. I see an eel weave
into the seaweed, so I follow.
Twist and wriggle and become
another. But the sun still
finds me, a spotlight chasing
through the grasses. 

Rain drops falling like
Aquamarine tears from a pain
Long forgotten.

Her pale eyes matching,
she is beautiful. 

love is warm banana pancakes
on a sunny saturday morning
brown eyes melting into me
like honey dripping down the stack
all butter and maple syrup
sweet and delicious
so safe and familiar 
feels a lot like coming home.

summer heals
relationships come together
relationships fall apart
scars fade
an interview 
an opportunity 
a lesson
you are free

and you look back 
to how you were
faint 
trembling
weak
you couldn’t walk 
you couldn’t breath
you couldn’t speak the truth
your body wasn’t yours 
it was his 
it was pain’s body 
that’s how you understand 
it’s where you find the confidence 
the power 
the smile 
and the empathy 
to simply live

When we met again,

we fell into the bed

like old friends

(which we are)

who haven’t been separated

by time and distance.

Breathless and laughing,

our memories felt like

warm summer nights

and

teenage angst

as they fell from our lips

and we remembered

what it was like

to be young again.

In these moments

Songbirds of Acadia