My wash gives me options
To click
For warm or cold water.
To click
For darks or brights...whites?

My wash expects me
To know
The soil level or spin cycle.
(low, medium, high?)

Its buttons give me structure.
Its buzzer gives me time.
But as long as my clothes get clean,
I couldn't give a ****.

An alarm sounds,
Suddenly,
You're not quite alright,
Suddenly,
Everything is wrong.

But, you just fall back down inside your covers,
Pull them tighter, drown yourself under their lavender scent.
You've never been more cold.

Now, you'll only move for the promise to shake, freeze, or feel.
Now, you'd welcome an icy bath to wake up what is real.

Apparently, you set everything from yesterday aside to watch the sun rise,
Or could it be that you forgot to take your meds today,
Again?
Either way, to care would scare you.

Later, you'll watch as the pills slip through the cracks in your floor,
And think to yourself... what's there to bother searching for?

The one you love(d) can't even shatter your glassy eyes.
Sharp, you can stand still in the shards of their voice,
Shaking to ask...Is something the matter?

You are fine.
You're honestly fine.
Because nothing could ever matter.

Maybe tomorrow.

At 4 am
He tried to talk about the stars
For some reason, you told him it's because he's never ****** before
And we all acted like that was okay

After he stumbled his best away from us
I told you how wrong you were
Then you asked if I could 'maybe help him out a little'
I haven't told you just how wrong that was

Waiting, standing, or sawying on the porch
We were joined by the others
To move on upstairs

Light it, smoke it, pass it, drink it
Now count them
Two, three, four, one after another
The bodies that dropped and rest where they fell
Producing a sweet slumbering silence
That I tried to take advantage of

But no, the guest bedroom is open
And you're awake
And you're drunk
And you smile at me crooked
I know very well your twisted pursuit
I know I'm not taking advantage of anything

We finish.

Back across the hall
To where your brother, among the others, slept
And I hoped he was dreaming about the sky
Or the conversation I would have liked to have with him about it

Almost 8 in the morning
Time for me to leave
But you had to lose your keys
And wake your brother to take me

In his truck, in the mirror
I examined myself
And said I looked like ****
He didn't even laugh
Instead, he told me that I never could

I lit a cigarette
Wondering
How he could say that
Not wondering
Why you never have.

We pass the construction, the apartments, and reach the house
I hugged him
'You're better than us.'

It's 10 pm the next night
And I hope he still wants to talk about the stars.

Rewritten, rewritten, rewritten,
Rewritten is the story of us...
With the intent of making it beautiful.
Honest.

But as with this distance,
Adding more lines can make a poem complicated,
Until I can't quite remember why I'm writing anymore.

Why must I tell you that once time passes,
I'll spend it with you in the arms of love,
When every moment is another mistake,
Spent by me with another in the throes of passion?

And how sorry I am,
For not being a happy have-not,
Though I know that I will.

You deserve someone who writes as beautiful and as honest as she is.

One nice, hot, long bath...

To melt from my skin,
All these flakes and imperfections.
Shameful red bumps and blemishes.

To boil this fat,
Off my thighs, arms, and middle.
My overflowing flesh, an unbearable jiggle.

To drown my self loathing,
Self centered,
Self conscious ***.

To steam up the mirror and hide.

To shine up those back seats I grew up so quickly in,
To soak up those long necks I spilled the rest of,
To wipe off those windows I fogged up or snuck out of,
To cleanse me of each late night with every guy that made me his ***** little girl.

One nice hot bath...
To relax and forget that I'm only worth getting you off.


ps. No, I don't think you should join me... ****** bag.

Foreword: I wish the notes were at the beginning. This poem is very long and tiring. I wrote it 'in an altered state' and posted it in case I wanted to read it while 'altered' again to see if I could follow it. Have fun if you do wish to read it, though. It makes zero to no sense.

I thought about writing this out,
Or seeing it on a film.
I did,  I did wonder about you,
And screens and things to look out of,
Then suddenly, ****!
I always wanted to exclaim in a poem.
Rhymes stop me at the kees, though.
Cut off I go back to writing about you...
Or why the connection is so off.
How I only have an hour to fix it,
But not an hour to tell her that I meant to get in touch.
I'm sorry to sail on hypocrisy.
With no wind, I can only watch the flow.
Streaming her words as she flies,
With her silhouette somewhat like a bird's.
Pause, and reconnect?
Under the bed of my nails... A cave.
Where my punctuation looses the track in my mind.
Or path.
Down, I'm less taken when you're gone
I'm less far gone.
I come back.
Your collar itches and I need to scratch.
Though, it rings my neck.
Another disconnect, rooted words,
Trunk of thought,
Branches grow from letters that spell.
Pull the words and gone my thoughts.
Now long are the days of a good segway.
Do you get it?.. or hit.
A drift that blows or spreads,
And burns our throats,
Like a rug, a ring, an indian.
This is crap,
I see it, I follow, and I say crap.
Taking the road less taken wouldn't work.
Everyone has done everything in the suburbs...
In my mind.
A disconnect.
Did I mention the disconnect?
A cancer generating until I run out,
Of the cells, pumping,
My mind, throbbbing.
And my fingers click,
Click, click, click, click.
I could right that all day.
For whom the bells toll!
Us!
No, a food fight won't work.
Yet, naked we came on horses.
I bought your album. It fried my hair.
I need a cream.
Smooth down my throat,
Wet like a slide...
Slip into the smoke,
And dance with me in the headlights,
Our shadows fall in line.
We've been to that party,
With tea and 3D.
Whoo, but back to class,
Where the tank is full.
And how many times must I say...
The tank is full.
Twice isn't enough.
Though it is round, but we exist in corners.
I'll never remember the sparks that lit each line.
Or why, which is,
Like that and this.
Or why can't ladies dance for me...
Why can't I yelp from rooftops?
I am woman.
Make me moan.
Any man that can and will,
Let him ***.
A mirror? No, I don't need that.
You'll judge me as I am, and I'll go from there.
It's never a ten, but I'm not a two,
And I don't stop at twice.
The speakers won't stop either, no matter how many lights we run out of for our porch.
My phone screamed again and I know that their food is important...
But so is this connection,
To me.
And paper, but we don't really need that anymore.
We don't really need me.
A green glow in your pocket.
But as long as you think you do, it'll be there. I'm always here.
Until I love you, but not in that kind of way.
Because I don't want to sound like an alarm or have the desk be written on anymore.
No, these are not metaphors or nuances,
And this couldn't be found in a mold, because no one would eat it.
...
Up until then, it was reflections.
That keep losing or failing like the kids,
Who look at the stairs to 100, but only climb til 60, because **** it.
Why should you care?
'It all comes full circle...' she said looking orange,
and like a new born millennium...
'But not like death.'
Or maybe like death,
If we're here and not there.
So build a bridge, because it's always about connections.
Or math, and numbers...
Or sweat, and long legs, or black bangs...
Or just bangs.
Or loud bangs,
That produce a black milk.
Bleed it deep, stir it seaside.
We serve with cream and call it economy,
or the hair that shines and makes us a star.
Right there.
Where I'm coming back to, always.
Because of type.
The type.
The smoke.
The grades.
The eyelid cartoons,
Or mental notes taken about them.
I almost lost it there.
But boom!
A scale tips.
Feeling worse than 9.0 points on a bulleted list,
print on my chest.
Connections may have fell down,
Where I'm putting down my head now.