Photo by Caroline Harms / North by Northwestern


How are you

How’s your week been

How’s the weather

Why do I feel

Like this stranger’s small talk

Is the only medium

That the waves can push through

Why do I feel

Like when you look at me

You see those scabby knees

Clumsy fingers

Almost sewn together

Dirty blonde knots

Snuck into glass enclosures

Those pictures on the wall

Should be stretched and distorted

But in all honesty

I don’t want you to know

That I forgot what to say

Without everything tumbling out

There’s a new kind of distance

Between your fear of Algernon

And my faltering ability

To smell the flowers

The great expectations I’ve grown into

Too large to be ticklish anymore

Misspelled words in perfect cursive

The 59th Street Bridge soft under your breath

What were our rituals

Those precious moments

I forgot which one I had picked out

That you would have pressed into my hands

You only see the best of me

Which means you don’t see me

I’d like to keep it that way

I’d like for that seven year old girl

To keep you company

I’m sorry

My poems are too sad and long

But I know you’ll read them anyway