Hot off the presses!

I want to learn

the gentleness
of my ears.

Their sweet-tempered
flush,
burnt pissed
by the sun--

veins all illuminated.

I want to know

how such delicacy exists
if I was born

snarling.

The wool so soft and worn
The colours all faded
But glimpses of green
Tan
Red and blue
All show through
The rips in it are large
But it doesn’t make it
Any less warm
The sleeves slightly
Too big for me
Overlapping my hands
The neck is baggy
Leaving my collarbone exposed
The striped go horizontally
Across my chest
I can feel the voices
Speak through it
Years of history
Woven with the wool
I feel the cold breeze
Coming through a window
But this
My sweater
Protects me from harm
Probably because
You gave it to me.

Sweet, sweet lies dropped into my ear,
Whispered slowly, so slowly, drawled out
In that voice of yours.
You swore, so heart-breakingly sure, that you'd
Never go back to her. You promised you
wouldn't and you'd be thrice damned
Before you did. I looked into your shining eyes
And I let myself believe.
You told me you wouldn't go back to her,
Her vapid smiles, how she enjoyed hurting you,
Like you enjoyed hurting me.
You said I wouldn't find you regretting that you
Left her. You said you'd rather kill yourself.

One fine day, she appeared on the doorstep
She was everything I thought she'd be-
Beautiful, graceful, deadly.
You didn't stand a chance.
She beckoned and you ran back to her,
Ready to be her pack horse again.
Something told me that I'd be seeing you again
Seeing you when you repeated it all over again.

My lips feel heavy,
as I watch you fill yourself
with toxic waste.

Disgust bubbles hotly,
but no judgement
will I ever speak.

After all,
I wouldn't want you
to judge me for my
cup of ice against your
plate of pasta. My dark
circles against your
rosy cheeks.

Shaking tremors
make me tap at the
table in between us.

What do you see
when you look at me?
Beauty? Or bones?

When I look at
you, all I ever see
is a life I will
never have the luxury
of living. Mouthfuls of
treasure I'll never
be able to think
of consuming.

When I play pretend,
I always pretend
to be you.

And it's always
better than I
ever think it will be.

Even when the
consequences of
being you fill
my mouth with bile
over a pure white
basin, the memories
are still worth it.

Still enough,
to get me through
another week.

This is what I live for
Sitting here
On my bed
1:52 in the morning
My hair in yesterdays curls
Held back with my favourite scrunchie
The maroon one
With the silver stars
I only found it a few days ago
Funny how I grow to love something
So quickly
Yet when I think
About loving you
Something stops
The bombs go off
I can't handle another war
You, darling, are a war zone
My heart the enemy country
And your guns strike holes
Maybe that's why I can't love you
Love anyone I please
So I guess I'll stick with my scrunchies.

I survived high school by a small crack of glass.
I caught myself  by the pad of my finger tips, on the splintered pane,
after falling off the edge of a world of depression, anger, and pain,
and it was from there I pulled myself up, feeling more alive than I had in my entire life.
Because it was through hell that I walked, feet burning, for the diploma I earned on stage.
It was through spider webs I passed, scratching invisible clinging memories off,
to march tall and strong, toward the future I thought was nonexistent a month before.  
I survived high school by the non-working baby hairs on the back of my neck.
The ones that are supposed to stand up like frightened Halloween cats whenever dangers approaches,
and yet when my danger came calling, laid calm like the summer sun on your concrete drive way
and it's because of this I stand here today, looking into the eyes of your fresh faces, fearing that you too may be walking on coals.
It's because of this I want to pour the knowledge of my journeys into the openings of your skin,
let you soak up my mistakes so that maybe, just maybe, you won't have to make as many of your own.
For there are some mistakes that will never heal.
So when you reach for that bottle, hands hungrily searching for something impossible to find in Absolute Vodka,
remember that the only thing at the bottom of that bottle is blurred memories.
When your skin gets the itch only a blade can scratch,
stop, drop the blade, and coming running as fast as you can back into my words.
Hear me when I tell you that beneath your skin lies not an escape from this life, but only more of your alive, beating, self.
And as much as your eyes might need proof that you're alive, your chest is always right there below your head,
ready to let you feel the heart inside that makes you such a precious addition to this world.
Feel  it.
Let it's pounding remind you that dropping calories and skipping meals won't solve your problems.
That being skinny, as much of a temptation as it can be, isn't a goal worth losing the breath from your lungs.
Trust me, I know. And I know that heartbreak and loss and hurt are more than enough to make you want to tear apart the fabric of your life and create something new from the threads.
But please know that in end you'll only wind up tangled in the mess,
calling out for people that you've pushed so far away they can no longer hear you.
So instead of ripping through the darkness, know that you don't have to start from scratch,
but merely dye yourself, your life, a different color.
Know that everything you've been through and everything you've seen is building who you are, who you will be, and that slowly but surely you are becoming a work of art so unspeakably beautiful that nothing like you has ever been made or seen before and hold on to that.
Hold on to the idea that this world, and these people, they need you.  
They want nothing more than to see what you turn out to be. I know that's how I feel.
I look at every single one of you and choke up at the thought of how you will stand out as the purist work of art ever imaginable one day.
The kind of art that comes only from a lifetime of living and moving on and starting over.  Hold on to that.
When the world comes to your window with wind and rain, when it tries to drown you in your own tears, and break your spirit with your own emotions, know that you aren't facing the hurricane alone.
I am here, and I know.
I know that no matter what happens, there is enough fire left in you to keep going.
You just have to dig deep enough to smell the smoke.

We are born unto a crown of thorns.
Our tender skin rendered vulnerable
to self-made deities, rambling idols.
Our minds are roped and tied, binding
our thoughts with punishments.
Punishments disguised as pathways of love.

What love is brought into this world, when love is
taught by the bloodshed of others. What people
are created with love made from threats
of searing flesh? When did love become less
about acceptance and more about separating
those deemed worth and unworthy?

Gods of fear curse our world with tainted
versions of love. We are forced to our knees
before the power of an almighty being unknown
to mankind. In searching for purpose, we have forsaken
our freedom. We fall victim to the fears that numb our
brains liked "Grade A"  pharmaceuticals.

If your god is almighty, all loving, and all seeing,
why does he rule without mercy? Why does he
require full and complete submission as the only
pathway to him?

We go to war under the guise of bringing freedom.
Our politicians preach out from mountains our right
to freedom and free will. But when the votes are cast,
and the campaigns are run, we scuttle home to spread the
single most imprisoning ideological mindset to others.

Why fight for freedom,
when we give it away so willing
to a man behind smoke and mirrors?

You can't believe this happened
You fell into the trap
You never believed that it would happen like that
You said it would be different
But it's very much the same
And now you'll do anything to  erase all the pain
It brings back memories best forgotten
It makes a grown woman fall apart
And become the little girl you still are at heart

It brings you back to when it used to happen all the time
When you would live in fear of when you would be subjugated to the crime
You remember the memories so well suppressed
The ones you can't bare to get off of your chest
And to think this is all because of some little game
Something that you don't look at the same
He didn't mean to hurt you, or at least that's what you think
But just one violent touch makes you fall back and shrink

He unknowingly caused a trigger that started everything else
All those memories once forgotten have found their way off of the shelf
You need a way to escape before you self destruct
Because the crying and the screaming just make you feel amuck

You find a savior in someone else willing to lend an ear
Never really knowing exactly what they're in to hear
They learn just how you're damaged
And more of why you are the way you are
They try to make you smile
To see the future is alright to bear
They help you through the pain a little at a time
Until you can contain it again and put it away like you are fine

But you just wait for the next time that this will all happen again
Because you know you aren't as well composed as you tell your friend
You can't be after what happened--your whole world is shaken up
A once good guy became a bad guy before you could say enough is enough
This makes you feel like the lowest of the low
Like you've fallen into someone's trap
Because you always told yourself you would be better than that
Now you're not so sure and you'll probably never be
All you can do is hope and pray that you are smarter than you think.