ladylike glove-covered hands
texting un-ladylike messages
to handsome almost strangers
who might as well be lovers
if only their texting could amount
to anything more than smiles
kept to oneself behind the privacy
of their telephone screen
if they were to meet in person
and had to face one another
those ladylike gloves
would be left at the door
underneath a pile of their clothing

the only time i found
the sound of rain soothing...
i couldn't stay in bed
and enjoy it.
my alarm rang and i knew
i had to get up, run and go
to work in it.
since then, i pray for rain
so i can lay in bed
and enjoy it.
only
it's lost its magic.
instead of soothing and
calming
all i hear is the
drip drip of the drops
and the howling
of the wind
through the trees

sometimes i wish the world didn't stop
when night falls
talks at the dining table,
drinking hot chocolate,
illuminated by the moon
instead of curling up in separate beds.
no matter how together people can be
during the day
it's at night
when being alone
becomes painfully clear

this, i believe, is why midnight showings,
twenty-four hour diners
and long, nighttime drives
were invented.
to prolong the time between cold sheets

summer liaisons

missed phone calls
mine and yours
remind me
that i don't remember
the last time i heard your
voice in person
remind me
that i probably don't
love you
remind me
that i'm a bitch
missing phone calls
remind me
that i probably
don't miss you
but what i do
miss
and this i
remember
is the chase
the way you feel good
when you know
someone is admiring your legs
stemming out of a short skirt
and how it feels
when you know he's grabbing
peeks at you
out of the corner of his eye
as he passes you by
i remember how it feels to wear
that tight pencil skirt
with heels
as i walk by his open office door
that i remember
but i don't know if that
can translate to the real world
missed phone calls
remind me of summers past
and how my summer flings
never seemed to last

you said you'd call.
my hair was in perfect curls
and my dress,
just a little see-through,
hit my thigh
and i waited

waited for you to pick me up
and sweep me away
i waited
you said you'd call

i fielded other invites
my hair started to go limp
and my dress still skimmed
my thighs.
i waited.
i almost wasted my good hair day
on your call that would never come.

i left.
my curls tousled by the night
my dress danced around me
you called
but i had already left
you never saw me that night

why is it that you always find a way back into my life right as i'm succeeding in talking you out of it?
how do you know that i'm swearing off of you for good? how do you know that THIS time is THE time and that i would've succeeded?
how are you able to fit back into my life after making it painfully clear that i have no space in yours?

In the Mourning

for me,
a new day does not mean a new hope.
along with sleep, i wipe my dreams
from the corners of my eyes.

it's the dawning of night
that brings the onset of ideas
and grandiose schemes
for the days to come
and it's the day that comes
that leaves me laying in bed
and wanting nothing more

the sun used to be my love
but now all it does is illuminate
the goals i haven't reached
and the bad life choices
i've made

but in the dark, i can pretend the
path i'm on is the right one
and that maybe i haven't gone astray.
sadly, night, like sleep, is fleeting
and soon it's morning

soon i'm up with a smile on my face
after having wiped the sleep
and dreams
from my eyes
they're still in my hands.