If you’re broken

If you’re broken
Then kiss me

Press yourself against me
Until your broken pieces draw blood

Kiss me
And let me bleed

Kiss me
And give me your pain
So I can cry instead


Shoe Shopping

“So who is this friend?” Daisy keeps eyeing me skeptically with her sea green eyes, like buying shoes isn’t something she thinks I would do. Is it? I’m never sure of myself these days.

I’ve just been explaining to her that I’m buying a pair of high heels for a girl as a way of asking her to the Valentine’s Day Dance.

“A friend…” I trail off, glancing around like it’s some secret I don’t want any passersby knowing, and add, “A special friend.”

“I didn’t know you had a special friend.”

“Well, I have lots of friends you don’t know about.” I say without looking at her. “I just haven’t mentioned her before.”

“Okay,” she says. Is it just me, or is that a tinge of disappointment in her voice?  “What kind of heels are we looking for, then?”

We’re standing in front of an aisle brimming with high heels of every shape, style, or color you could possibly imagine. I breathe in. I like the smell of this shoe store: a mix of leather, rubber, and a hint of Windex. New shoes always have a fantastic scent, fresh and clean-soled and brightly colored, waiting to be worn and loved.

I like to think of myself as a fashionable guy; as much as that’s true, I usually stick with my Converse.

What do girls like in shoes? I haven’t got a clue. Shoes, shoes… I’m not one for shoes. Maybe I should just get her Converse for the dance. Is that appropriate? I’m lost.

“You don’t know what she’s gonna wear, do you?”

“What? Uh… no,”

“Well then you should get a neutral color, like black. Black goes with everything.”


“I’m not gonna pick out your shoe for you. It’s your date. I’m gonna go look at Converse.” She walked off.

How could she abandon me to the wrath of the girly shoes?

I sigh. Now, let’s see, what would she like to wear…

Something not too girly, but I’m pretty sure she likes to be a bit fancy when the time is right. Not anything boring or plain. Simple, perhaps. Simple and… cute. I glance over at Daisy. She’s a few aisles down, admiring a pair of plain purple Converse. I look back at the array of shoes before me. Black, black, black… I see a pair of glittery black ones. No, too fancy. Lacy? No, too girly.

All at once I see a pair… perfect. I pick them up. They’re black with four-inch heels of medium thickness, and a bow to tie around the ankle. I take one more look at Daisy, pick them up, and walk over to her.

“These?” I ask hesitantly, holding up the heels.

“Yes!” She exclaims, grabbing them in adoration. “I would wear these! Lucky girl,” she winks at me.

I try not to smile, but my face has a different plan.

We approach the cashier, a man with a parrot sitting on his shoulder. “His name’s Rochester,” the cashier explains, noticing our interest. Rochester is repeatedly squawking the phrases “Come along, Pond,” and “Bowties are cool.”

Well, I can’t disagree with that.

I buy the shoes, say goodbye to Rochester, and Daisy and I leave. I hold open the door. She steps through, and I skip alongside her.

“Such a gentleman, as always,” she feigns a look of admiration, and I adjust an invisible bowtie. She laughs; something inside me soars at the sound.

I wish she would look happy more often.

As we walk to her house, I twitch nervously, my heartbeat racing in my ears. She doesn’t seem to notice, chattering away about parrots. She does love birds, doesn’t she?

When we get to her house, she starts to leave, but I grab her arm. “Wait…” I say. She peers at me curiously.

“Yes, Joe?”

I swallow.

What am I doing?

Before I can stop myself, I shove the shoes into her arms, shopping bag and all. “They’re for you,” I say.

She stops.

Not just stops walking, I mean it’s like she’s turned into a statue. She stands completely still, looking at me. “You mean… you want me to go…”

“To the dance.” I clear my throat. “With me.”

She suddenly has her arms around me, squeaking unintelligible sounds into my ear.


I hug her back, and smile into her shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”



Sometimes I think
I should get over you

But then
I remember
How it felt
When you held my hand
For so long
While we walked

Sometimes I wonder if
You’re not worth it

But then
I remember
How you smile at me
How your smile
Blows a breeze
Of soft air
Through my heart

Sometimes I think
I’m better off without you

But then
I remember
How much warmer I am
How I can’t stop smiling
And I leak with joy
When I’m with you

Sometimes I think
You’re not right for me

But then
I remember
All the times we laugh
Until we cry
Until our stomach hurts
We’re so very odd
How can I resist

Sometimes I think
I could get over you

But then
I remember
That I don’t know how

Garden of Eden

You are too beautiful

For anyone to see


When the sun burns out

And the darkness comes

You’ll be the sun for me


And if you’d stay

You’d make me better

Than I could ever be


I will love you forever

I would protect you

I would always stay with you


And yet, with me

You’ll never be

I couldn’t dare to stay


You’re my Garden of Eden

The sunlight of my days

Everything is beautiful

Everything is perfect

When you’re here with me


But now I gotta go

I don’t deserve you

My Garden of Eden

Locked away from me


There was a moment
Burned into my heart
Took me over by force
Left me begging for more

Took my hands and
Looked me in the eye
I couldn’t stand a chance
Just fell headfirst

In those eyes
I see fury and compassion
Pride and humility
And just a tinge of sadness

What can I do?
Can I even help myself?
Don’t know me anymore
And no one else does

It’s tearing me to pieces
Ripping up my heart
Getting mixed messages
Don’t know where to start

I’m a stranger
Where I used to be at home
I’m a criminal
Where I used to be pure

I know where I’m accepted
But that’s not where I should be
I know what I should choose
But I wish I could choose both

Why did this
Happen to me?
Why is it so
Wrong to you?

I miss my home I
wish I could go back
But I can’t
Not while I’m like this

Just because of this thing
Everyone could leave me
Sometimes it feels like God Himself
Has turned His face from me

This feels a lot like true love
But I’ve been raised to know it’s not
Maybe I would follow my heart,
but it’s “Deceitful above all things”

I’ve been rendered helpless
Completely defenseless
When I’m around my love
I can’t even think straight

My heart is torn
Between two loves
Am I doomed to give one up
In order to pursue the other?

Lost and Confused Signpost


Unrequited Love

Its when you can’t get someone out of your head even if you want to. When everything you see and do reminds you of that person. When you doze off in class just to think about them. When you doodle pictures of their various facial features in your notebook during class.
It’s also very creepy, unrequited love. It makes you feel like a stalker. Finding pictures of them and being unable to tear your eyes away. Looking at their picture in your yearbook so often that you have the page number memorized… But you’ll never admit it. Maybe not even to yourself.
And you remember everywhere you’ve seen them around. You memorize everywhere they hang out and smile when you pass by, even when they’re not there.
It’s almost like having an imaginary lover. You make up all sorts of fantasies in your head, and a whole network of of secret thoughts. You even dream about them. And yet none of it’s real. They don’t love you back. And because of that, you always feel guilty, just a tad bit, when you think about them. Like you’re mentally raping their mere existence.
You fall in love with their personality. You fall in love with their peculiar habits and reactions and quirks. You fall in love with the way they talk and the way they act and the way they look and the way they move and every day, you learn something new about them, and every day, you just fall deeper in love with them.
But they don’t love you.
And you start to hate yourself. When you look at them, their appearance grates at your heart like sandpaper. You start to hate yourself for thinking about them all the time, and you hate yourself because you can’t get over them. You hate yourself because you’re a coward and you can’t confess your love, even if something good might come of it.
You hate yourself because of how you feel when they don’t talk to you. Even when you know it means nothing.
You tear your hair out wondering what they think of you. You torture yourself thinking maybe they hate you, maybe they don’t care about you, maybe you creep them out, maybe they’ve noticed how obsessed with them you are.
But there’s always that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they love you too.
And perhaps that’s the worst thing of all.