In too many of my social interactions, there are tiny whispers pushing their way to the front of my brain, attempting to probe a smiling face, asking, "Do you like me for me, or do you like me because I vaguely remind you of someone better?"

It's 12:12am
and I am
h
o
r
r
i
b
l
y

i
n
a
d
e
q
u
a
t
e
.

I miss you in the opening of the blinds,
in the wash of sleepy sunlight,
I miss you in the murmurs of the crowd

I miss you in the unused hours
that stack up throughout the day,
I miss you in the silence of noon

I miss you
in the lull between dreams,
in that lonely witching hour,
in which your silhouette
would be my comfort,
but now,
there is only darkness

Worm Holes

You are beneath my feet now.
In the cement and sand,
in the trudged up roots
and snapped twigs.

I hope you are having
the time of your life.

My right side is a valley
my left
a waste
I am barren here

in the hollow

between rib and hip

and I am graceless compared to that 

garden in your chest

but at least I have this
of which you cannot hold
of which you cannot brush away
with the flutter of your eyelashes

at least I have this one side
where the energy ripples

where the yolk flows

and puddles

between rib and hip

I want to be knee deep in you.