Hate Mail

It is easy to write hate mail, just as it is easy
to confess a secret to a stranger. It is just as easy
to keep your head down and not make
eye contact on the train.

I spend a lot of my time being unfair.
I spend a lot of my time not knowing the full story.

It is easy to wrap ribbons around the details,
place your finger in the middle and have someone else
tie the knot. It is easy to see things as black or white,
and it is easy to judge a sweater on a hanger
in your great aunt's closet.

Because she would regularly donate
her fat clothes to you,
it is easy to judge what you do not want.

It is easy to be human, in other words.
It is far easier to be right and narrow.
It is far easier to make mistakes
every day and blame someone else.

I blame myself for being a placeholder.
I blame myself for being a bookmark
in a novel you promised to finish.
You promised ten years ago,
and I promised to wait.

Lost

I want to believe in your hypothetical gods and where they live, among lost socks

and found Tupperware lids and old keys to buildings that have been knocked down,

places in the pockets of history.

I want to believe in your flawed visions and muffled voices, echoes that cheat us

out of words and add vibrating blurs to our dreams,

places in the pockets of history.

One of these days, you will have to accept my sweaty palms and my shaky words.

One of these days, I will have to fall asleep on your shoulder and trust

that you know where you are driving, where land meets ocean, where we go to rest.

To wait

I have to believe
in heaven
because
my childhood pets
have gone somewhere
to play and
wait for me.

Cookies (Reprise)

"I don't want cookies, even though they are delicious
and I want to be loved."
It is because I am a broken
cookie, someone else's token, with my crumbs
in a neat little pile.
My brokenness sees others who are broken
and maybe if I notice you,
you will get noticed by others
and someone will pick you up and love you.
And I will feel warm love knowing you are loved,
and it won't matter that we were crumbling before.
It won't matter because we are finally held and seen.
"We know better. We know that it will still matter,
but at least then we would be warm."