ten ways to say I love you

1. good morning
2. how did you sleep?
3. listen
4. je t'aime
5. my silver dreams bring me to you
6. get down, you'll hurt yourself
7. I'm disappointed in you
8. я тебя люблю
9. I'll find you
10. sleep well

eyes

your eyes are hotter than hell,
brimstone and all.
they carve the words we weren't brave enough to say into the misshaped chest
my heart calls home.

I tried to use the smoke to hide my shame
but shame bled the most beautiful scarlet,
leaving a trail to memories still yearning for air under the surface.
drowning.

how the people turn to ghosts before my eyes,
the dreams that led to them are the only things keeping them from dying.
somewhere there is a grave dug just for you.
and we are all waiting for you to slip in,
so we can lock you on the inside.

because ghosts don't make it to God.

like Sunday, like rain.
because when he fills the pews we remember
beautiful things come in shades of grey.

even graves.

the rivers in your mouth are pouring out.
and the water takes the form of everything it surrounds.
disdain gets diluted that way.

yet i still beg the words to change.
drowning.

in the morning nothing will change,
and i'll slide out of security and into scars.
and gnarled fingers and broken life jackets.

i'm dead on the surface,
but i'm breathing underneath.
ghosts haven't taken me yet,
even though i still hear the whispers.

they've got me on the edge,
where you begin and i end.
and the ghosts fill the space on the outside.
and the scarlet trail runs to your eyes.

don't slip.

ry

write your name in blood,
it'll mean more.
then let it go cold.
because love like this wont grow from ink.

and if this ain't what you want,
then take it from the heap of handwritten notes.

under the lights we ran,
our bones were hallow
and your teeth radiated the moon.

the grass grew between our toes.
our feet were firm
and our eyes were more.

i miss the nights i never had,
the ones that were filled with ill will
and bitter disdain.

too short.

in kindergarten, they never taught me how to draw a heart.
and in first grade they told me my 8's looked like snowmen.

I'm still here bending the edges of my heart,
because on paper it looks like an ugly V
and between my ribs it beats irregularly.

in second grade I peed my pants.
and third grade doesn't have any memories.
fourth grade I cried because I wasn't elected to student council.
fifth grade I beat a kid up,
and in sixth grade I beat him up two more times.

he moved to Virginia,
I think.

in seventh grade I quit football to "focus" on school.
and in eighth grade I wore Aeropostale shirts with basketball shorts.
ninth grade I started talking to girls and sequentially had a crush on every girl in student council.

I had a girlfriend then, too.
but we dated for ten months and didn't kiss.

sophomore year I decided that Lone Peak was never going to be where I graduated.
but I met Isaac that year.

junior year I forgot that I was in highschool,
and forgot how to live.

I started senior year looking for drugs, sex, and rock and roll.
and I found Jesus instead.

stay

tired of the hurt
and of the condescension and the false understanding.
tired of the seeking
and of the nothing being found.

I'm just waiting for the bloom
and the blossoms on my trees and the aspens turning to death to green again.

tired of hating "I choose to stay"
because sophomore year when alone in the cold I chose to stay because AN called me home.
because junior year I chose to stay because LH urged me to drop
because senior year I chose to stay as AT put the cap on the bottle.

because some of us have been there.
and it means a whole hell of a lot to hear the words over and over and over and over

I Choose to Stay.

and you can be sure that it means a lot to my momma.
and you can be positive that my dad loves four words more than any.

so bag on a campaign that pleads with the broken hearted,
because y'all weren't there when we needed to hear the words the most.

and don't sign the pledge
because you wrote us off already.

not looking for sympathy.
just common decency.