closed fingers running across my stomach
we hit heads switching positions
i want to build a house
where every cabinet rests at the end of your reach
it isn't often that we meet genuinely this way  

and yet im imagining so quickly
a yard-
right off the back patio
right off the screen door
aster and golden rod planted purposefully along the path

I too, wonder why aster and goldenrod look beautiful together
what i do know
a bouquet of aster on my counter
a glimpse of goldenrod on the side of the highway
purple and gold are not only royal as a pair....

intentional with her time
she thinks she is the one she's slowing down
but im finding my breathe in her mouth
patience in the moisture between our thighs

i am begging you to look at me!
goodnight ruby joy

God I hate when the cigarette ends

I am never prepared for the feeling to end
When I’m out and wasted and the time slips away and everything slips away. I look up at the hands raised moving slowly and slower as it all drags on. We are moving around in a tiny space, all together but not. All alone but not. I find someone to **** with my eyes every once in a while. Im glad we found each other here. Im flattered and grateful and full. I can’t recall the feeling of need in these moments. I can't recall anything. Im staring at my feet- stomping from the dance floor to the front door. The cigarette doesn’t end here. Nothing ends or begins. I see someone I know. Im so glad you are here! I don’t know why I am glad but I am so so glad. Im watching my feet stomp from the front door back in. It's dark at the bar, its dark on the dance floor, it's dark on the sidewalk. Im raising my hands now. Im so glad to be sharing this moment with you all. I cant imagine why I felt so bad before I came here tonight. What could be so bad in the morning?
What could be so bad? god I hate when the club turns the lights on at 2am. I'm stomping my way to the front door. I stomp my way home and up the steps. My living rooms looks different when its spins like this. I *****… i'm starting to remember why I felt the need to get this drunk. I remember "what could be so bad in the morning".
It's morning now. Im on the porch. God I hate when the cigarette ends. I hate when the time drags on, and I remember.

I prefer the shaded part of the street
the side where we meet- in the heat of the summer in the city
She missed me when she went on the camping trip
Or maybe she just hated the camping trip

I tread close behind when you leave
succumb to the ease in following
Lost like a dog without its owner
rope locked into the chains of my collar

I struggle to admit that i desire anything
or that i'm better when i'm needed back
or that i wish she was with me during bad weather
that I still buy her noodles even though I prefer rice

You could find someone like me buried in the ground
Next to my wife of 50 yrs
arthritic fingers intertwined tightly across my stomach
the dishes that we used
The furniture that never moved

ill always try to let go
but her toothbrush is still in the toothbrush cup
and her swimsuit is still in my sock drawer
and recently i polished her old silverware as a surprise

god i love to pretend like nothings changed

When you wake up in the morning, read a proverb. There are 31 Proverbs, one for each morning. After that, kneel next to your bed and thank the Lord for waking you up. The breath in your lungs belongs to the father, do not forget. Make your way to the kitchen and have breakfast. Say a silent prayer before you eat. Do not make a fuss, for your prayers are private and not to be made a public affair (Dear God, thank you for this day, thank you for everything. Bless this food to the nourishment of my body. In your name I pray, amen.)

I am washed by the water
I am washed by the praying
I am washed by the white man touching my shoulders in front of the congregation
I am washed by the ******* hymnal
I am washed by being the black poster child; the ****** project. (In gods name)
I am washed by the screaming in tongue
I am washed by the colors navy blue, grey, and black. (never red) For these are the colors of a ******
I am washed by submission to my father, my brothers, my leaders, any man really
I am washed by the hidden ****** box; hidden blood stained sheets; used pads wrapped in toilet paper and then an old toilet paper roll, and then a napkin and then a tissue box and then and then and then
I am washed by the slaps; good girls don’t talk back
Good girls don’t hit back
Good girls don’t fight back
Good girls don’t make eye contact
Good girls say yes sir
I am washed by the whispers of how boys and girls are supposed to play
I am washed by squeezing my eyes shut and praying (dear god ill never ever ever, if he stops putting his hands there)
I am washed by the laughter
I am washed by trying to “chill out” per his command when he’s done shoving his hot-fry covered fingers inside me
I am washed by trying to figure out what part of his forceful ******* felt good. Because he said it was supposed to and men are usually right.
I am washed by the nightmares of god casting my limp body to hell.
I am washed by screaming and begging and swearing Ill never look at another woman again.
I am washed by the fear
I am washed by the puffy white sleeves
I am washed by hiding my *******
I washed by binding my *******
I am washed by praying for my ******* to go away
I am washed by hunching my back so my ******* don’t show
I am washed by white Jesus hanging in my kitchen.
In my bathroom
In my hallway
Above my bed
Around my neck
I am washed by the phone call with my high school boyfriend after he dumped me
(please don't leave. I don’t think I'll ever find another boy I can marry.)
I am washed by the dead eyed kissing; staring into the woods behind his house while his hands searched my body for a crevice to explore.
I am washed by the self loathe
I am washed by death to self, for he is the way, the truth, and the light
I am washed by the darkness at the end of all my tunnels
Because my tunnels were clueless and empty and sinful
I am washed by the new found distance from everything I know
I am washed by the layer of dust on my now untouched collection of King James and NSVs.
I am washed by the calmness of independence and self acceptance
I am washed by her hand in the small of my back and the kiss of her cheek and her neck and her chest
I am washed by the preciousness  
I am washed by the mistakes and the hurt and the growth
I am washed by continuing and searching and yearning
I am washed by the blessings and earnings of a life that does not include any energies I do not want.
I am washed by my own power and my own god
I am washed
I was always washed
I was never unclean

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water

Feeling emptier than a dormant volcano. Watching the other mountains spit fire from their mouth's and their soul's. I'm crawling the earth as everyone is walking and learning to dance, and it isn't that I haven't heard that I could do it too; i've just never believed the mouths that said it.
While the trees sway and the humans nod at one another in unity and assurance, I'm a vacant city sleeping in empty dining halls and making families out of the rubble that lie at my feet, dreaming of the day something (anything) moves in.
Drones and explosives and graffiti. There's no one to blame. I'm alone as alone can be. I thought it could be a beautiful sadness (art), but it's just awful. Painful and dreary and lonely. The only eyes that see are mine and it's only monsters. I want someone here with me, you see, but I can't fathom hurting anyone but me.

One day you're feeling translucent. light. The only thing weighing you down is the weight of the wind. Full but empty. Content.
And one day you rise and somehow your sleep felt like the sleep of the past. You wake up felling like you're somewhere else with the smell of someone else's hair and the air feels like the air of a space you haven't thought of in months. And it comes back. Regret. Guilt. The weight. When you open you're eyes, you're still where you were left. Somewhere alone. It never matters though.

There's an odd silence that comes with aloneness. It's purely specific to aloneness. I think once you get used to this silence, the loneliness goes away. Then it's just you and the dog again, and it's okay to be alone.

Before this silence becomes familiar, it just feels like the space of a place that was once filled. And while the filling loved you, the emptiness never will.

its so important to stay in touch with reality. its so important to stay in touch with what you're made up of. it's okay if you lose touch for a little while.
everything falls away at some point. you don't always have to rebuild something new. sometimes you just put pieces back together.
you put pieces back together and the key is to stay a little buzzed when it gets to be too much. when you're just right there on the edge of a burning bridge. you'll be so thankful for it later.

-BridgeS-

eventually you'll find yourself without weights tied to the edges of your mouth sewed shut and you'll want to call your mom or someone that meant something to you before things started crumbling. anything is crumble worthy but the bridges. you can run as far north as you want but always leave a path behind you to run back.