day 288

mum's still friends with my abuser's mother

I wonder if she thinks any differently about her after I've confessed

mum came home from grilling steak and veggie kabobs

families grill on hot summer Sundays

felt very distant from mum today

I wonder if she thinks I think any differently about her 

I'm not as angry as I should be

just a little sad

sometimes I think maybe this wouldn't have happened if dad were alive

Oops

but he is alive

more like dead beat for the past twenty years

dad doesn't know my sister's birthday

he tells me he's sad because she ignores him

I wonder if he knows the difference between ignore and neglect

abandonment

day 287

1 

Sippin fourties and going to horribly humid bad punk shows must be the bane of my existence. Why can't we all just be friends? Bring a boy to another boy's invitation and hold my breath for the tension. Passive aggressiveness must be one heck of a disease.

2

Summer time heat forces me to do my duties in the sun in tank tops and lace brassieres. Boy number one gets caught staring at my cleavage. Boy number two catches boy number one and the immature passive aggressiveness begins all over again.

3

Step out of my car in jeans and a tank top. Childhood friends whisper to themselves, damn, when did she get those?

4

Sippin coronas across the street. I friendzone myself. These girls cant hold a conversation without grabbing someone's dick. I drink to that. My friends like girls that are racy and kinda dumb. All over the place. I wear a bra to prevent that. 

day 286

White men only dance with me because they've dreamt of this moment

Asian woman hand in hand

Keep me at home to clean a household

Mold me into incense candle and Buddha statue

The suburban white woman did not want to sit next to me on the subway

You could almost smell the fear on her skin

Please don't sit near

She moved over

I don't understand why my skin is a controversy

Mum uses skin lightening soap

It's made of tamarinds

 I used to eat tamarind candies and hope to lose my teeth

White man makes love to me

or wants to.

I'm sure it is because I am what dreams are made of.

Signed, Asian wife.

day 285

choreography for bees
part one

mum calls me baby
i smile with bastard child etched on my skin
sometimes i don't bleed
most of the time i try not to

daddy got sick of his little girl
sent me away to wherever i wanted to be
no discipline for an 8yr old with no discipline
you tell me it's hard to love someone who does not listen

big mouth betty,
i've always given myself that nickname
dump the ashes on my dumb tongue
i forget why i wanted to speak to you

dad has rotten teeth
from sweet talking every woman besides mum
cheating is in my blood,
i tell that to my assigned SAT teacher

2200 on my SATs
not sure how i got that high
my friends ask me to smoke a joint with them
i bluntly tell them to stop asking me

2200 is 10pm
i dated my Marine friend to break up with my ex boyfriend
i broke up with my friend at 2200
i'm single

i've been friendzoned via text message
the buzz is a pest
Budapest is the capital of Hungary
i stomach my own tongue and choke on bad pronunciation

mum calls me bee
my family calls me baby
it's an anglicized version of Kabee
it's my own Khmer nickname

sometimes when mum gets mad
instead of screaming, PRINCESS MOON CHAN
she will scream KABEE
and it will ring like the tether of a metal bat against my head

i wasn't a child of domestic abuse
my parents believed in spanking
they must have practiced during conception
just a lot of hitting and violent kissing

i don't know how i ended up letting myself become so dirty
i never bothered learning how to scrub bastard child off my back
i let it burn in me
flick a convenience store matchbook onto my hands

no trail of evidence for this trial and error
click here for a free trial of being my girlfriend
or my boyfriend. or just a friend.
those don't exist. friends. just friends.

my middle name is moon
some people still think it's Maria
imagine the buzzing of name calling in your ear
it rings and rings and rings like cyber bullying

i am shy and i lie a lot
i scare myself into thinking i am somewhat schizophrenic
h y p o c h o n d r i a c
diagnosing myself with mild abandonment issues

don't leave me lonely for too long
loneliness feeds my ego
i begin to feel too lovely
love birds are not doves or swans or hummingbirds

love birds fuck up the maps to your mum and dad's honeymoon
they dance so you can smell the shit on your precious flowers
teach me how to dance, honey
bee

day 284

I drive a 1997 Toyota Avalon. My mother bought this car when we moved to Lowell. I remember driving to our new apartment when I was four. When my older sister got her license, she was in between jobs and high school. She was kinda like my father and my mother's husband. When my brother got his license, he worked at the grocery store down the street as a manager. Our father bought him a Volkswagen Passat in deep navy blue. One time my brother walked to the thrift store about three blocks away from our new home. We moved into this home when I was in second grade, in 2002. My brother came home with a bunch of hand me down sweaters and shirts. My mother thought it was cute. I felt sad because I always wore my sister's hand me downs and my sister was kinda like my father, but she didn't have any handle downs for my brother. When I was in high school, my brother enlisted into the Air Force. I thought it was cool. He didn't tell my mother and I wasn't allowed to tell her either. When my brother told my mother that he wanted to fly, my mother cried because she didn't want to make another angel out of her son. Our older brother died before we were both born. He was reincarnated into a painting. One time my mother swore the painting spoke and it was my older brother. Sometimes my mother thinks my brother is the reincarnate of our older brother. I think that's why he's the favorite child. Maybe it has something to do with the absence of men in our lives. My brother doesn't fly planes. He's a linguist. Maybe he is learning to speak to my mother in different tongue. Maybe it's a trick to make her feel like there is more than one man in our home. 

day 283

a list of what has ruined my past relationships, spring flings, summer loves, autumn falls, and winter warmths:

Infidelity

Bad sex

Bad morning breath

Eagerness

Not being ready

Too hot

Not enough arms

Bad mattresses

Loneliness

Suffocation

Bad boys

Being gay

Jealousy

Bitterness

Absence of heat

Of light

Of love

Wanting too much

Having to lower standards

Wanting too little

Fate

day 282

1.

I've waited three months to see The Purge. We saw the 9:40 screening in big comfy chairs.

2.

The neighbors were fueled by jealousy. 

3.

On the drive home, two cars tried to race us. You were unbothered. You are used to it. If the purge happened, we would be screwed. 

4.

This means that I am contemplating a future with you.

day 281

Today, daredevil Nik Wallenda successfully walked across the Grand Canyon without any nets or a harness.

The Navajos speak:

You've taken the safety from our land and turned it into shambles of lottery. Forcing men to place bets on your survival. We built homes and kept our tongues wet in our culture. It is a shame we have become victims of homelessness. It is another shame that we have seen this coming.

day 280

He asks me about girl crushes. I tell him the only girls I've ever wanted to love were one city bus away. They are always one jet plane, one train ride too far. A mile too expensive and a suitcase too small. I tell him about the first girl I haven't been able to get over. The sun in her being and how she is just too cool for me. She lives her life in a city parallel from mine. I laugh at myself and remember my first girlfriend. I was just her social experiment. She used to kiss me with the blood on her lips from her varsity football playing boyfriend. When I cut all of my hair off, he was the first boy to ever call me a dyke. I laughed, because I know he doesn't know that I slept with his girlfriend.

day 279

I'm here

I'm queer 

Get over it

Pt. 2

I've told her she's beautiful everyday since the first day we met. I don't know if she crinkles her nose when she laughs, but she asks to take me out for some spaghetti. I told her I would clear my schedule. I am trying to clear my schedule. I am trying to make her know I have the time for her. I am afraid to give her the time of day. The last girl I gave my heart to swallowed it whole and uses my blood to finger paint. She's bloody beautiful and I've always let her know that. I hate her now. And I hate her even more when I realize she's the first girl I've ended up bruised and broken tripping for a kiss.

day 278

I am wings length away from catching myself. I don't need to fall in love, so I will fly away as soon as we get close. We touch skin and open mouths and wait for our hearts to climb through our throats. I shove my tongue down your throat because I want to stop you from getting closer. We are playing roulette and you think I'm protecting you. Maybe I am. Maybe I will after I realize how hurt you are. 

day 277

Wednesday

online dating part 2

When the only girl you've found interesting asks to hang out, say yes. I don't know why I said no. Maybe there's a part of me that's afraid to hold you. In the flesh. With soft fingertips and all the possibility of rejection. 

day 276

The day my mother finds out I am on a dating website, she will kill me. The day my mother finds out that I am queer, she will summon me from hell and kill me again. As an attempt to protect my rights, I will tell her, "Well... At least I set my location in New York!" She will contemplate her parenting skills and realize that not sending me to school in New York was the best idea she's had in my lifetime. The day my mother found out her friend's son molested me, she sat in shock, told me it was okay, and asked "What did you do for that to even happen?" As an attempt to protect my rights, I will tell her, "IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!" and she will continue to pat my back and tell me it is okay. A year ago, I had planned to go to a university in New York to study film. I wanted to capture the embarrassment of all the boys who have ever kicked me deep enough into the dirt that I found family in wilted flowers. The day my mother finds out I was a mistress to a pretty girl in my freshman year of high school, she will kill me for breaking up a home. We grow up with our roots entangled between strong men with calloused hands. When my therapist tells me I am healing very well from sharing my writing, I will ask her if people ever come to her to share happiness. She's a gentle woman with strong morals. She reminds me of my mother. When my therapist asks me if I have anything else to share, I bite my tongue from telling her I am deathly afraid of men. She will ask me if I am seeing anyone. I will say everyone that is anyone. I like to find pretty girls through dating websites and tell them that they are beautiful. I wonder if their mothers have already summoned them from hell. I break my teeth amongst the steps of my keyboard. I trip from confessing too fast. My feet are always ten steps ahead of me. When a girl I've met through a dating website tells me that I am beautiful, I will bite my tongue from asking her if her father is a silent walker and if her mother sleeps in bathtubs filled of nails. I will stop my ears from bleeding when she tells me, "It was not your fault" and I will build her a home out of dirt. I will tell her, "When I lose all my teeth, bury me underneath the floorboards. Do not patch up the ceiling when the rain finds its way inside our home. You've given enough closure to grow a garden out of me."

day 275

I fall in love with whoever talks to me with mouths filled of honey. I want to kiss the sweetness and build honeycomb homes with you. You've become the closest thing to a bee sting. We can call it a fatal attraction.

day 274

Adventures of the hopeless romantic pt I

"Finding out your poet crush is an asshole"

I met him towards the end of a long winter. It wasn't snowing and it wasn't that chilly either. He caught my attention from across the room and his soft stare burned fires in my hair. I gently ran my fingers through the tangles and walked in his direction. His team mate stopped me and we chatted, but I was awkward and he was awkward, but he was brave and it was cute. Awkwardly, we looked in other directions. Well, we looked in other directions to find a different direction to look at. I locked eyes with the one and only, my very first poet crush. We spoke and I wanted to hold all his words in my mouth and I wanted him to hold all of me in the delicate callous of his hands. Maybe I said I love you with my eyes, I don't think I did, but I probably did and he probably realized.

I Facebook stalked him for about three months.

I met him again towards the end of a long spring. I was so sprung and ready to fall into his arms. We spoke. I wanted to set him on fire. He's such an asshole, man.

We added each other on Facebook. I Facebook stalked his girlfriend for about a week. I'm over it now.

day 273

I smell you on my sheets from time to time and I wake up hating myself. On the nights I hear you without a doubt, passion ridden with a slight stench of alcohol on your breath, I can't bring myself to walk away. I've trained my lips to kiss you to reel you back in. I've become broken bait, dirty and low, just itching to drown in your being again. I know you still love me. I know you'll still hurt me. You know I still love you. You know I'll still hurt you.

day 272

The skin on the back on my past lover smells spineless. We had spent years trying to build a home out of brittle bones and bony rib cage. At night, I sprawled myself across the void we called comfort. I didn't want to be alone, but we both didn't know how to love me. There would be a thick musk in the air every time you opened your chest and I mistook it for higher being. I prayed, just to live in this attic. To sleep underneath the slant of a crooked smile and pretend the ceiling would accidentally cave in. I wanted to die as close to the clouds as possible. We had become swollen from sleeping in each others' oceans. I remember when you asked me if I knew how to swim. I lied to you and told you that I did. I didn't want you to save me if I drowned in your own misery. There are times I miss the buoyancy in your screams so bad that I've learned to tread water like I know how to fly. You told me I sing like an angel and I told you to go to hell for not loving me like I dreamed. I've spent years trying to build a home out of your sweat. I know a couple that wears the stench of weariness like they're too exhausted to change. I pray, just to live in their attic. Have them mistake me for a god as I show up in their dreams. I know they only share a mattress just to fill the void they feed between their limbs. They sleep on each others' arms until they grow numb. They wake up and forget the way their bodies naturally cave into each other. They've settled for humidity when they only wanted heat.

day 271

A woman walks into a bar with all of her children

The bartender tells her that there are no pets allowed

She says, "You've got to be kitten me!"

day 270

Hello, tonight the Sports Center will be commentating the final round of our competitive Non-REM Sleep Cycle!

Please welcome our fellow world renowned professional sleepers, Jack and Sally!

As the referees check in with each other, our volunteers have made our competitors feel just at home. With pillows filled of melted clouds and mattresses of your mother's arms, we shall let the games commence!

Stage 1: Polysomnography, also known as "sleep reading"
Oh alright, Jack has gone into a state of weariness in just a matter of seconds. THIS HAS GOT TO BE THE WORLD'S RECORD. This just in... the officials have just informed us that Jack has just stolen the title of "quickest to knock out."

As Stage 2 creeps up, Sally has slowly fallen into a state of slumber at about 6 minutes and 04 seconds.

Stage 2: Jack and Sally's bodies will now prepare their bodies for deep sleep.

Although Jack has had the one up on Sally for a solid 6 minutes, Sally is winning back the show as her body enters complete relaxation. We suspect she is dreaming of having her cake and eating it, too. Jack is however, twitching and rustling in his sheets.

Sally skips Stage 3 as she quickly advances to Stage 4 as she is sleeping as solid as a pillow case filled with bricks.

Jack enters Stage 3. As you can see, his eyeballs are swimming in his skull.

As we anxiously wait to crown the biggest dreamer, here is a word from our sponsors!

day 269

birthday

you will wake up on a bed of your own pieces. stretch to break some more and yawn to suck it all up. this is how you wake up reborn. like the sandman found a way to bring the ocean to you and you've never felt more excited to dive right in. when i woke up crying, the sunlight sang to me good morning. told me she's been waiting to wake up to me all night. as i blow my wishes on my eyelashes, i throw away all i've seen yesterday.

day 268

So there I was, in the bunny suit again. She had asked me for my name and I asked her for her hand in marriage. This was a summer ago, when we were both in love. She said yes and broke my heart the next day. When you're with someone for that long, you don't just give up. You say no before hope begins to fly. She was the giant with a mechanical hand and she smacked me straight into the ground. I had never wanted to be so close to hell. To build her a throne out of the firewood and watch her skin radiate against the flames. She was the devil. She wore her sins so proudly and she always looked so god damn good. When she asked me for my name, I lied. She broke up with me because she thought she was too cool for me. I grew up as the loser with the triple-dog-dare-you girlfriend. I told her my name was Get The Fuck Away From Me. She giggled. I was always a joke to her.

day 267

Valentine to Edgar Allan Poe
In the voice of first cousin and beloved wife, Virginia Clemm Poe

After father died, mother swallowed the fists of his memory without any water. Our throats were machines of disease. We Poes were born gargling blood. It allowed us to speak doll-like and sing pretty.
When Eddy moved in with us, I learned the meaning of man. Of shouting at the top of your lungs and letting your neighborhood know which boy is yours. I was seven. He was seven at heart.
The day I learned that grandmother fell in love with holding her breath in her sleep, I held my skin even closer to my body. I shivered at the thought of flesh falling into the mouths of dirt eating worms. When cousin Neilson wanted to put a home around mother and I, I cried. I cried until my feet sunk into the mud and my eyes became spineless. There was something in the air that suffocated my conscience. When Eddy wrote to mother, I learned the meaning of man. Of shouting at the top of your lungs and letting your neighborhood know which girl is yours. I was born with a neck filled of butterfly legs and they constantly itched to fly.
When Eddy wrote to mother, I learned the meaning of man and wife. Of letting the hairs on the feet of the butterflies melt into your skin. They only taste with their feet, you know. I was thirteen. We were still seven at heart. He built bookshelves around mother and I and I learned how to sing. I sang until the butterflies drowned in the broken rivers in my throat. When Eddy saw that he taught me to build my own destruction, he cried. He cried because he tried to save me from the body we both shared. He must have forgotten that we Poes were all born gargling blood. He drank his sorrows like water and I drank his tears like ocean. We forget how to swim when the eyes of your lover become spineless. The side of our bed became the shoreline at high tide. He just wished for the waves to wash over him. I never wanted more in my life for our bodies to become eaten by grains of sand. We both sat and watched as our flesh became bits of hour glasses. I held my skin even closer to my body. I shivered at the thought of flesh falling into the mouths of dirt eating worms, so I sang. Like he taught me to sing. And I sang until I bled. Til the side of our bed became home to my ghost.

day 266

Your father told me you only really loved me because I am sweet. 

i.

We weren't alive to attend your parent's wedding,

but they told us we would've been the envy all of the punk rock angels left behind at their church reception. Your father baked the triple layered chocolate cake.

Your mother refused to eat any of it.

Said, she didn't want to grow sick of the sweetness so fast.

ii.

When you heard your parents in the next room planning out their divorce speech, you swore it sounded a lot like your suicide letter. You burned a mixed CD filled of Amy Winehouse and The Smiths and tried to play God. Proving that two completely different cries can still make other people wish they owned somebody else's shoulders. When you realized the other boys teased you for being a late bloomer, you hated yourself for letting them clip your wings before they even sprouted.

iii.

I learned that I wasn't ready for marriage when my 8th grade science teacher kept me off the honor roll. I kept trying to prove that my potential energy just grew in me and never became momentum. I refused to let my life turn into an amusement park of inertia. When your father helped you build a volcano out of baking soda, my father fed my fear of flying from quick changes.

I kissed a girl for the first time that year. I asked her to sing me to sleep. Her voice was the cry of an ancestry of dead addicts. Her tongue tasted like the stab of sea glass and syringe. She was quick sand. And I still hate myself for weighing 90% heavy heart.

iv.

We met at a college basement punk show. Our bodies hovered over each other, but we never touched. You call this the first time we made love. You told me I had glass eyes and I knew you wanted to save me. We watched the drummer break his drumsticks until he had nothing but soft palm. The guitarist stopped playing mid chord. The vocalist hung himself along the noose of his microphone.

The bassist kept playing.

You looked me straight in the eyes.

Told me,

this is why I want to die. You are only heard when the screaming finally disappears.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want you to grow sick of my sweetness so fast.

I just smiled. And helped you unclip your wings. 

day 265

My sophomore year boyfriend was the epitome of the worst first boyfriend. He was the first boy to ever   let me know that I am no where near perfect. One time before school, I told him I didn't want him to walk me to class. He smashed all my things against a brick building. It was the first time I didn't cry over him. I wasn't scared of him anymore. I broke up with him. A few days later, I avoided him before school. We shared lockers. He caught me before I ran off. Said, why can't I have my last kiss?

I slapped him.

day 264

When my ex boyfriend proposed to me last summer, I was eighteen, in love, and I had no idea who I was. Sitting in the back of my ’97 Avalon, we pushed the seats forward, reclined them til they touched the back seats, and jammed out on our guitars. He taught me how to sing and I mistook that for freedom. I forgot the difference between singing a duet because you are lonely and singing because you love the sound of your own voice.

He proposed to me through song, it was not well thought out, but I was in love and we all know people are more convincing with guitars in their hands. We were young. Summer makes you do crazy things. Like give up your dreams to dream of being somebody’s wife. I still sing unconsciously when a full moon is out. I know it’s because I love the sound of my own voice. 

day 263

The E! News exclusive interview on my experience so far in heaven:

Heaven is everything I've expected. They feed you well up here. It's taken awhile because everyone is needy, but I've finally gotten what I've wanted. The love of my mother, the humor from my siblings, my evil devil pup, air conditioning, hot showers, a beach, sunscreen, an iPod with infinite life, and a personal chef. 

My chef cooks for me all the time. That's all that really matters. And he has everything that he wants, too. A happy chef is a happy me. Yesterday, he grilled steak. Today he will be grilling hot dogs. I love hot dogs. With mustard, relish, ketchup, everything. Everything. Especially onions. Tomorrow he will be grilling burgers. I just need cheese and a bunch of onions.

Onions are obviously my favorite food-- err-- condiment? Whatever. I just seriously love onions. I can eat them with anything. I don't really care about the onion breath. I don't really get onion breath anyway. I mean...that's obviously how I got famous, remember?

Wait, what do you mean there are no onions in heaven?

....Do you even know who I am?

....oh goodness...

Let's not air this interview, please. *hair flip*

day 262

Betelgeuse

my father is six foot two with the heart of a gentleman. he speaks only when spoken to and breathes with the wisdom of a million Chinese proverbs sitting on the edge of his tongue. one time before he put me to bed, he told me the story of his undying flame of a love he has for my mother. told me he would never leave her, or my sister, or my brother, or me.

my father is six foot two with the lungs of an honest scholar. he clenches his fist as well as he bites his tongue. my father protects me. from the monsters in the kitchen cupboard and the ghosts underneath my pillow. he was the tooth fairy, Saint Nick, the mail man, and the tree house creator. his hands are calloused from the labor of hard earned work. taught me how to be a woman. to clench my fist at the boys who became ghosts underneath my pillow.

my father is six foot two with the stride of an elephant herd. taught me to never leave anyone behind. told me the story of his undying flame of a love he has for my mother. told me he would never leave her. or my sister. or my brother. or even me. taught me how to be a woman. to sit pretty and watch as all hell breaks loose. to summon the demons in the hallway closet and hide them in the kitchen cupboards. we all eat up this bullshit anyway. my father taught me how to let my lies rot the porcelain on my teeth.

my mother is four foot nine with the patience of a saint. I don't know how to resurrect the fire in my parent's marriage. my father is six foot two with the stomp of a thunderstorm. they let the fire wash itself out before I even learned how to swim in my mother's womb. my mother taught me how to chew my way out of bad situations. sometimes I wish I didn't have my father's teeth. I wish the porcelain was strong enough to chew my way out of the womb. show my parents, look mommy, look daddy, I am every nightmare you've ever had. I wish your flame was strong enough to break me, too.

day 261

for sale:
"golden skin"

imported from Cambodia
made in America
free
free shipping
will pay buyer to take off hands

your ancestors worked too hard in the killing fields for you to burn your skin like it is not temple.
your parents scold you  every summer for playing too long underneath the sun.
do not let it kiss you.
you are woman. you are not vulnerable to warmth. you build forest fires with your mouth. to speak. to pray.
some nights,
you pray to wash the bronze off your skin. it feels like turning sixteen and kissing your first girlfriend. not afraid to show you love the skin you live in, but suffocating yourself in the comfort of your own bedroom.
you pray to not burn.
to not let the flames on your tongue backfire onto an escape route.
you pray to speak with kindness.
let the hatred burn you inside out.
let the pride boil embarrassment.
you pray to wake up powdered geisha and small smile.
big eyes to build glass.
break porcelain.
wake up doll pretty.
lace and cold skin.
you are woman. you are not vulnerable to warmth.
cold lungs. breathe out Winter. ice cold.
no warmth in soul.
you've burned from the inside out.
imploding.
exploding.
fragile.
handle with care.
I pray to not break.
I pray to not burn.
pray to scrub and not scrub
scrub
stop scrubbing
careful with your hands.
your ancestors worked too hard in the killing fields for you to burn your skin like it is not temple.
pray to free the demons from your skin.
golden skin. sun kissed skin.
do not let it kiss you.
your first girlfriend kissed your hands until the callouses melted into your palms.
golden skin.
will pay buyer to take off hands.

day 260

To the girl who hogged the bathroom all night to fix her make up:

My heart is a mermaid throwing skipping stones in hopes of hearing the echoes of a beat. You have given life to an alter ego you named Home and have kissed the skin of your destruction after every bad break up. You avoid the girls who speak without fear and consideration. You haven't taught yourself how to swim in the oceans your insecurities have created.

I don't know how to help you. I don't know if the mermaid in your throat will cry out for forgiveness.

I don't know if you will ever forgive yourself.

day 259

junebug

The guy I've been sleeping with has graduated from the university and is moving today. He is starting grad school in the fall. It's unfortunate to say that I will miss him because he is one of the only men who has never treated me like a piece of meat. He cooks me breakfast, taught me how to use his shower, and kisses me on the cheek. These are the simple things everyone wants and gets called naive for loving.

In elementary school, we had to make acrostic poems describing ourselves using our names. I put Intelligent for the I and Naive for the N. My teacher questioned me and asked how it's possible to be both. I said I have no idea. I questioned myself because it was the first time I've ever felt stupid.

The girls I've dated or have tried dating still leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I have been hiding the fact that I've been gay for awhile and it's getting tiring. I am finding myself in the beds of men who I will never give my heart to. I don't know if this is because I keep picturing myself waking up in the lace of her arms. I don't know why I do the things I do.

The guy I've been sleeping with is going to school to be a doctor. One morning I woke up early to read him random facts. I do this everyday because I want to know everything. He knew pretty much everything with modesty. The girl I've had my heart wrapped around for weeks on end is moving at the end of summer. She's leaving for school. 

I still use intelligent to describe myself, but I still know that I am naive. It's possible... I grew up for years trying to be one or the other, but what am I supposed to do if I'm both? I am in love with a girl who makes my heart cringe but I still long to rest my head on the chest of someone humble.