steam for asher

steam for asher

Eery and unworthy.

fogging up my glasses,

you steam, obscuring my vision,

lust vibrating within us and between us.

I just wanted to love you,

just wanted to hold you,

but that steam wrapped itself around me,

and the colors were so blindingly glorious,

but we never reached that deep red rose,

I never flew above the desert, as portrayed by Salvador Dali.

We sparkled like the night sky, vast and temporary, unknown to our earthling eyes.

It wasn’t really me, we reached deep blue,

we reached lavender too.

You and your pearly white words the morning afterwards,

comparing me to a swan whose feathers shined with the morning dew,

clean and pure and nothing I really am but what you wanted me to be.

Me and my earthy brown response that afternoon, later;

comparing you to an oak tree, big and solid, and stretching around me, providing a home for me to nest in,

but this wasn’t you because you are not earthy nor a tree, but who I wanted you to be.

I am not like a swan, you are not like a tree, we were deluding ourselves, you and me.

I thought you were like water, pure and clean until you met me.

How wrong was I, but that doesn’t excuse you. You were wrong too.

Now I am alone during these cold autumn nights, no one to hold my hand as I walk through the fallen leaves.

You are still twisted up inside of me, but I save you until I am going to sleep, and I think about when it was you and me under my red sheets.

Maybe I am like a swan. Maybe to you I had grace and fidelity, and was as white as snow. Now I’m more like a crow to you.

Maybe you are like a tree. Your roots go down for miles, beyond just beneath you, but this makes you so inflexible still.

Maybe the comparisons fit.

I, as a bird, can fly away to those far away places, while you as a tree only provide me one place to nest. You will not move for me, because you can’t…

But you aren’t a tree, as I am not a bird, and we were not in love,

but maybe we could have been, but does it really matter now if I was a swan or a monkey or if you were a tree or a kite?

I just wanted to love you and prolong the fogging of my glasses so I could just continue to be so incandescently happy that I was content being compared with whatever he wanted me to be.

Your smile was the first thing I would see in the morning, your hands the first thing I touched. Your lips, the first thing I would know.

You don’t smile for me anymore, I haven’t touched you since that morning, and your lips are folded in a tight line.

We never reached deep red.



Red sheets

crimson, yes.

lay here

blue sheets.

indigo, no.

kiss in the dark

green sheets,

evergreen, yes.

It all gets tangled,

we can’t see under covers.

Open the windows,

no please don’t.



I can go.

the difference between October and Febuary.

the difference between October and Febuary.

You know what’s the worst part of this breakup?

The person I was in love with didn’t exist for more than flashes of time, was mostly a figment of my imagination.

This guy was barely a ghost, barely gave me anything emotionally for more than two years, yet I thought that behind those stony eyes there was so much more, and maybe, for a couple of days at a time, there was, but most of the time, I don’t think so.

I made him one of my characters, elaborated on him so deeply in my mind, but he barely resembles the guy who was in front of me the entire time. Man, that makes me sound like a psychopath, doesn’t it?

Let me explain. I thought he was this dorky guy who was very sweet, very quiet and calm, and was always interested in what I had to say. He thought I was boring, he thought I was dull, he thought I was self-absorbed. He said to me as we were breaking up, “I don’t think you know me at all.” Maybe he was right. The guy I was really in love with was only sometimes there. He stopped telling me that I was beautiful a while ago. He used to every day. He stopped holding my hand while we walked up the stairs. He stopped smiling at me, ever. He stopped answering my texts, calls, and ‘hellos.’ He stopped asking “How are you?” and he rarely answered it beyond a single word when he was asked.

He used to tell me he would always love me. He surprised me with a picture of him at an airport, on his way to see me. He would tutor me in physics during lunch, keep me company on the bad nights, and just hold me.

He’s not here anymore, but maybe he wasn’t ever really here. Maybe he just changed, and is so different from who he was in October, that I don’t even recognize him in Febuary.

I don’t miss the guy who filled the seat next to me in the movies. I don’t miss the guy who didn’t even attempt to make sex easier for me. I don’t miss the guy who never answered my texts or calls, and didn’t seem sorry afterwards. I don’t miss that guy.

I just miss the guy who would look forward to our dates, who I saw Argo with. I miss the guy I could spend all night talking to on the phone. I miss the guy who would laugh with me and find my cat noises hysterical. That guy who always got Beef fried rice when we went for Thai food, hated pasta, and loved sci-fi movies.

I miss him, I don’t miss the asshole who strongly resembles him but isn’t at all the same.

He told me, when we broke up, “I don’t regret going out with you.”

I laughed and sobbed at the same time and said, “Of course YOU don’t regret it!”

“Just laugh.”

“Just laugh.”

He’s with someone else now. That was quick

She used to be mistaken for me, years ago.

In the sense that all pale white girls with brown hair are mistaken for each other.

If you squint, I look like Anne Hathaway.

When people find out, they make the same face, the same cringe.


“It’s a big step down, you should laugh. It’s hilarious.”

“She’s doing you a favor by showing you how much of an asshole he is.”

Watching them to together feels like biting my lip so hard it bleeds,

it feels like anxiety and anger,

to me at least.

I don’t get what he sees in her, but it’s not about me, is it?

I hope he’s happy.

At least I know I’ll look better at prom.

I miss when I didn’t think he was an asshole, when we loved each other and that was enough, and when I felt beautiful every day because he was there to catch me if I stumbled.

I have to be my own cheerleader now.

It’s so tiring to see them together, but I guess I can do better?

I doubt this makes much sense. I tried though.