premenstrual, part one

my stomach too full,
tear ducts too empty.
thoughts too heavy,
and bangs too light.

depression seeps from my eyelids, turning irises green,
it’s not the summertime anymore
and yet my anatomy continues to bloom.

when will I find my purpose in life? I wonder,
freezing legs and burning toes buried beneath layers of sweatpants,
too many blankets.

when will my hair grow out? when will I be able to hide
again?

when will I finally escape these endless arguments,
anxiety-inducing disagreements,
painful encounters and reminders of
transgressions passed?
worrisome, I fear I’ll never sleep again.
fearful, I worry I’ll sleep forever.
nothing is certain,
and yet every possibility is terrifying.

guide me home, oh sweet ghosts of mistakes from my past,
at least from your familiarity, comfort can be drawn.

An ode to the man who thanked me for listening

Today I fall in love with an 87-year-old man
As he tells me tales of his retired teaching days;
Kids counting snowflakes on black jackets and
Calculating the number of snowflakes that fell over the state of Maine,
Yellow paint in the parking lot outlining maps of the world (over the faculty parking, of course)
And making up poetry, line by line, row by row, on bus trips.

I fell in love today, with the spirit trapped inside an old man’s body.
As he stops during his walk
To ask a simple request of a stranger: to listen.
And as I hear, I see him truly
Wrinkles upon wrinkles beneath his eyes
And missing teeth and pink gums
Don’t conceal his soul’s smile
As he says kindly,
“I didn’t teach subjects, I taught kids.”

An ode to Nick, who wants to be my boyfriend

In an instant
Utterly
Everything changes but he stays the same
Questioning, insufferably mentioning
Just how much he wants to be my boyfriend.
“If I weren’t so newly single” I say
“If I had any of my life figured out” I suggest
All the while I text other boys simultaneously
And they send me sweet and sultry messages about
Pushing me onto the bed and kissing my dimples while I blush.
All the while, I imagine you in your scarcely decorated room,
White walls surround you while you sit at the computer,
Pining after me,
The girl who will never be yours.

An ode to a First Date

We are living on a freckle
On the face of the universe.
Holding hands on the irises
Of the stars and the darkness.
So put your lips against my cheek
As we bid farewell on the bus
And remember me fondly
As you drift into dreams
Turn the pages of me slowly
Savoring every word
For I may be quiet
And I may be silent
But stick by me long enough
And we’ll be kissing lips
And touching fingertips
And loving
On a freckle
on the cheek
of the universe.