the sink in the kitchen keeps dripping and it keeps me up at night. i once believed that our house was too small for the size of us but i can feel the cold seeping in from the corners because this house is empty. it has cobwebs inside the cupboards and dust bunnies under the bed; they keep our secrets company. i never told you how afraid i was to lose you-- i tried and you shook your head and said “tomorrow.” tomorrow. tomorrow.
maybe tomorrow will be better, i tell myself, maybe tomorrow you will clean the gutters, maybe tomorrow you will fix the sink, maybe tomorrow you will love me again; i’ve been told that you begin to develop the habits of the ones you love and i’ve started adding my “tomorrow'"s to the pile in the closet. they’ve covered your old shoes and you’ve forgotten what it was like to love me, and the sink in the kitchen won’t stop dripping but it still works. you still come home every day, you barely talk to me, but you still come home.
i look at you, and i think about tomorrow. tomorrow. tomorrow. maybe tomorrow you won’t come home. maybe i hope, deep down, that tomorrow, you won’t. maybe eventually, these will be “tomorrow”’s that i won’t add to the pile in the closet.
there are pictures of us hung above the fireplace, and the mantle is covered with dust. the sink in the kitchen still drips, but i say “i love you” anyway. i hope you’ll love me too, tomorrow.
-c.h.
children's games
i am tired of playing
these childhood games with you
you run too fast
and i can never reach you
for i am tired of chasing
someone who will never let
me catch them
you've always been good at hiding
but you're invisible to me
and it seems that you don't understand
the pain of losing someone and not being able
to find them again
you aren't one for following rules
and i know this because
no matter how many times i get
"he loves me"
when i pluck petals off
you always find a way for it to be
"he loves me not"
-c.h.
this is me confessing that i'm still in love with you
i hope you think of me.
i hope you think of the slope of my nose and the arch in my brows.
i hope you think of the rise and fall of my chest with every breath i took, how i breathed for you.
it was all for you.
i hope you think of the wrinkles in the corners of my eyes when i smiled, and i hope you think of how i’ll never smile at you again.
i hope it hurts.
i hope the syllables of my name are printed in black ink on your tongue and i hope she sees the mark i left on you, oh no it may not have been good but by god it is permanent.
i hope her name feels out of place between your teeth because you were so used to saying mine.
you see, from the very beginning i wanted to engrave myself into you, i wanted to embed my signature with melted gold and red lipstick, i wanted it to look pretty, but we were over so fast i had to scratch it into your chest with my hands.
i still have your blood encrusted beneath my fingernails, like i still have the shreds of our Polaroid pictures that i never quite grew angry enough to throw away.
i hope you haven’t let go of me yet. please don’t let go of me.
i hope you think of me, because all i do, is think of you.
-c.h.
ode to the lgbt+ community
i am lgbt+ and proud.
i am part of a community
that has struggled its entire
existence, so people know that
it exists. but we are still here,
and we are so strong.
i am gay and proud.
i have fought against other
men who are insecure in their
masculinity, who view two men
holding hands as a threat
and not something beautiful.
i am lesbian and proud.
i have battled the stereotypes
and fetishization of who i am
because i am not a mold
and i am not something to
jack off to: i am a human.
i am bisexual and proud.
i continue to scream that
i am not in a phase
and i am not whatever sexuality
fits with whoever i'm dating,
and i am just as valid as you are.
i am transgender and proud.
i was born in the wrong body
but that doesn't make me any
less human, and it terrifies me that
people would rather kill us than
let us become who we're meant to be.
i am asexual and proud.
i have pushed back against
the idea that i am an emotionless
robot; i have feelings and emotions
just like you. why does not having
sexual desire mean i'm incapable of love?
i am genderqueer and proud.
i don't fit into the spectrum
and sometimes i lean more
in one direction than the other,
but i am know who i am,
even if you don't understand it.
i am pansexual and proud.
i am as valid as bisexuality,
but ever so different; i fall in love
with people with no regard for
their gender, they could be male,
female, or somewhere in between.
i am aromantic and proud.
i have worked to dismantle
the belief that i cannot have
meaningful relationships;
i may not fall in love as easily,
but i do love people, just not romantically.
i am an ally and proud.
i have marched alongside them
since stonewall, since the AIDS epidemic,
since DOMA, since the pulse shooting,
and i will march alongside them
until they no longer need me to.
i am lgbt+ and proud.
i am lgbt+ and valid.
i am lgbt+ and human.
-c.h.
recipe for disaster (layer cake)
LAYER ONE: Place 3 awkward glances, 2 shy half-smiles, and 1 clumsy introduction in a bowl. Stir haphazardly and add 4 cups of nerves and 9 tablespoons of awe. Allow ingredients to settle, then combine 75 minutes of get-to-know-you conversation and 1 1/2 cups of coffee and heat for 30 seconds. Add mixture to other bowl and mix thoroughly. Sprinkle 2 freshly exchanged phone numbers and 1 excited goodbye on top. Bake for 25 minutes. Lay on cake dish.
LAYER TWO: In another bowl, prepare 9,143 text messages, 226 phone calls, and 33 dates. Place 7 romance movies, 4 chick-flicks, 8 comedies, and 2 tear-jerkers in mixing cup and melt in microwave. Slice 3 Italian, 3 Mexican, and 6 fast food restaurants into strips and coat each in 2 nights spent throwing up because of food poisoning. Combine all ingredients and stir thoroughly. Bake for 25 minutes. Stack on top of layer one.
LAYER THREE: Dump 2 other girls, 12 fights, and 15 bottles of alcohol and don’t stir. Crack open 2 hearts and pour contents into sink, place the shells in with the mixture. Dice 2 failing attempts at leaving and 1 final success at getting out into cubes and combine with 4 bruises on the right cheek and a set of finger marks around the throat. Heat up 5 cups of tears and combine all ingredients. Stir until chunky. Bake for 25 minutes. Stack on top of layer two.
ICING: Combine 1,646 “I love you”’s, 20,310 kisses, 2 sets of hands, 5 necklaces, 3 ties, 1 dress shirt, 7 times under the sheets, 2 times in the shower, and 1 time in a club bathroom. Add in a squirt of heartfelt promises and sincere apologies. Mix and then spread on top of cake.
Serves: two lonely people.
-c.h.
this is how they kill us
you are be
autiful they gushed as they tucked in your shirt because they thought it looked better that way, you are beautiful they complimented as they switched out your nail polish color to something they liked, you are beautiful they delivered as they watched the hairdresser take scissors to your hair and chop it off in chunks because they wanted it shorter, you are beautiful they snapped as they cleaned out your closet to give you new clothes because your older clothes weren’t up to style, you are beautiful they groaned as they took away your candy because it was your fifth piece, you are beautiful they cursed as they took away your eyeliner because they didn’t like how you wore it, you are beautiful they accused as they forced you to exercise way longer than you could handle because they thought you weren’t athletic enough, you are beautiful they screamed as they pointed in disgust at your stomach because they thought it was too big, you are beautiful they sobbed as they found you crying in the shower after they said you were worthless earlier that night, you are beautiful they begged as they held your hand in the hospital bed because you’d swallowed too many pills, you were beautiful they whispered as they watched your coffin lower into the ground because you are dead and you are beautiful.
-c.h.
ten words for the ten boys i've kissed
1. i've forgotten how your lips taste. i'll never forget you.
2. i didn't love you, and you deserved more than me.
3. maybe if you weren't a homophobe, it could've worked out.
4. people said you were gay, and i cared too much.
5. you made me laugh more than cry. i cried lots.
6. thank you for reminding me how to love myself; i'd forgotten.
7. i thought you were my soulmate. i guess people change.
8. you were wild. i wasn't. something kept me coming back.
9. you used to love me. you didn't when we kissed.
10. i could kiss you for the rest of my life.
-c.h.
anchor
the weight of us is so heavy.
we chain ourselves to cement blocks--
they are the promises we make.
i jumped into the ocean
for you when i could not swim--
but you did not follow.
my lungs are flooded
with all the words i never said to you--
i never said i needed you to keep me afloat.
and now i am drowning
because of my own stupidity--
my mother always warned me of this.
the weight of us is so heavy,
but only to me--
for you, it does not exist.
because to you,
i am nothing--
just a girl at the bottom of the ocean.
-c.h.
he used to love me, i think
he wasn’t someone i saw coming, but they never are, are they? he was the most beautiful mistake i ever made, if you consider it a mistake. but i never thought it was. merely the wrong place and wrong time. people would roll their eyes and shake their heads, but we never asked for their approval. to us, it was all right. every last moment. he was a compilation of all the beautiful things in the world that had strings attached. he was a summer thunderstorm with the fallen tree that blocks your driveway. he was the stars in the sky that died centuries ago. he was the high and the low, the beautiful fire and it’s scorching burn. i wrote poetry about him for months after he was gone and with every word a wound reopened but the pain reminds me of him so i keep writing. i can’t stop. won’t stop. i used to not be able to write, but now i can’t stop and it hurts so much. he hurts so much, but he is so beautiful. i will never be able to say he is not beautiful, and that is the most sad thing of all. he stopped calling me beautiful a long time ago, the words left his mind, slipped off his tongue in another conversation with someone who means more than me now. the most painful thing about love is that somebody has to stop eventually and it’s never going to be you. it will always be them. they will be empty before you’re even at halfway and you’ll be left with gallons of love and nowhere to put them. the obvious thing to do would be to love yourself, but your eyesight is clouded with agony, so you can’t see what’s two feet in front of you anymore. so instead it drips out, useless, wasted on meaningless kisses in the middle of the night behind your neighbor’s garage, pointless promises and grasping hands under sheets that aren’t clean, metaphorically or literally. i still write about him, even now. it’s been months since he told me he didn’t love me anymore and i still write about him as if he does. i used to not be able to write but now i can’t stop and he is so beautiful, and even now that’s all i see and that is the most sad thing of all.
-c.h.
the phone
at one point, he’d say, “i love you,” into the phone,
and i would smile.
now, the line is dead. the phone doesn’t ring.
now, he says nothing.
i say, “please come back,” into the static.
the phone beeps, and then there is the deadly silence.
a dark reminder.
i cry.
-c.h.
i think you might have ruined me (and you don't even know it)
ever since the beginning, i knew i’d do anything for you. i knew i would do anything to see you smile; your smile was so beautiful. i knew i would break my own bones trying to please you, hammer nails into my heart, peel away the cracked pieces and dump them, bloody, into your hands even if you didn’t ask for them (the fact that you’d hold them for a moment was a privilege in and of itself). it was a drunk obsession, i stumbled after you like i was a lost dog hoping that someone, someone would just take me home, i swayed under your gaze even if you never let it rest on me for long. i clung to every part of you, all the parts you never gave me, all the parts i knew i could have loved–the parts i did love even though you never asked me to. you were the source of all my pain and yet i wanted you to end it all. i longed for you to take away the pain, you were the bandaid and the bullet, the gun at the soldier’s head who was fatally shot seconds before. the one thing that kills me is the one thing that saves me; and it’s you, you, you. it’s always been you.
-c.h.
an excerpt (#1)
and he looks at her so delicately, with such a twinkle in his eyes, that i cannot help but let out a soft, “oh,” from between my lips.
“hmm?” he doesn’t take his eyes off of the girl asleep on his lap, her dark hair falling across her shoulders and face, and her hand resting gently on his.
“you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
he smiles, and tears his gaze from her to meet mine. “of course i am, and you aren’t?” there isn’t a trace of sarcasm or lightness in his voice; he is completely serious– ‘and you aren’t’?
“well, no, but i suppose i can see why you are,” i reply, and he chuckles dryly.
“you suppose you can see why…” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, and lowers his eyes so that he can once again stare adoringly at the sleeping girl.
“she is beautiful,” i say, in an effort to redeem myself, “and she’s very kind, and intelligent.”
“oh, i know,” he cuts me off, “but she’s so much more.” he smiles and twines a strand of her hair around his fingers. “she’s someone that you never know you need, until you meet her. and she’s someone you never know you won’t be able to live without, until you lose her.”
“does she love you, too?” i have to know, i realize. surely, she loves him back. she must.
“in her own little way, she does.” he frowns. they have problems when it comes to this; it’s obvious. “but i know she’s loved others, too.” his eyes darken. “loves others, i mean.”
“she does love him, and i’m sure it hurts you.”
he knows who i’m talking about when i say ‘him.’ he sighs, and shrugs. “it does, but only a little bit. he won’t have her in the end.”
it’s an awfully arrogant thing to say, i think; 'he won’t ha
ve herin the end’. he’s so sure she’ll be his. “i don’t understand. how can you be so sure?”
“you never saw us together,” he says simply, as if it were obvious, “not when we were really together. if you did, you would understand.” his eyes cloud as he remembers. “oh, us, together… together, we could take over the world.”
-c.h.
things i see as god
observation #1: the boy with the black pea coat sits in the back
of the class and scribbles in his notebook. he doesn't answer
questions. he always looks down, except when he looks over at
the girl one row over and two desks up.
observation #2: the subject of these glances does not seem to
know she is just that. she is attentive and focused and does not
spend any time looking one row over and two desks back
at the boy with the black pea coat. she would have no reason to.
observation #3: there is a couple, and they seem like the spitting
the boys i've loved & the end of the world Page 2
