I study her again before letting go of her hand and walking out of the house without another word. My arms cross insecurely over my chest and I try to clear my mind.
You can't leave me, Halee. I can't do any of this without you.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield. — Billy Collins
