you know,
they say oxygen
though vital to life
is ultimately its very destructor.

you see,
it burns us from the inside
out
we willingly take it in
let it slowly ravage our bodies
and seep its poison into our precious vessels
so when we leave this celestial orb
we're still left grasping
for one last breath.

so in a way,
i guess i could say i need you like i need oxygen.

if it is suggested to me one more time
that my self-worth
is defined by
• my weight
• how attractive i am
• my ability to be submissive and agreeable
i will unleash
in all her feminist glory
my inner warrior princess
and she will rip your soul out
and spit on it.

school is probably
my least favorite time-****
because i don't learn

i'd rather be on
a big farm where i could learn
about animals

or in the ocean
where i could swim with dolphins
and ride on a while

i could be in the
jungle hunting with tigers
eating papaya

i want to be in
australia, hugging a
baby koala

i mean ****, i could
just be at home reading or
writing or singing.

i would like to be
anywhere around the world
anywhere but here.

you knew my eyes
knew that they had been leaking, faulty, allowing my body to flood
with emotion
and then drain
messily, leaving black rivers to dry on my cheeks

but still, you shook me
with your anger
you allowed me to fill up again
but this time i burst

the fireworks didn't only ignite the sky
they ignited my skin

or maybe that was your touch, i can't be sure.

the cosmic balance of all life
    is perhaps beyond my perception
  but still may hold the key
         to why love and hate are so **** close
and why i never win at bingo.

Saturday night I dreamed.
I was roaming in my Nana's house
My fingers tracing the walls filled with
Hundred of photographs, each in a
                    (yo)u-
                   nique
                    frame.
I stopped at one of my mother
Standing at a beach.
Skeletal; she was gone. Skin drawn tight over ribs, tibiae, humeri.

I remembered Sunday morning when I washed out my cereal bowl in the sink.

each character
you have ever written
should mean something
irretractable
and purposeful

so if i could burn
each scrap and sheet
that held letters i never cared to write
fuel the fire with each pencil i've ever sharpened to the nub
and left myself only with the words i crafted
with care and precision

i would be at peace.

never let them tell you
that you aren't one of the "pretty girls"
or that your laugh is too loud, or too high, or too low
or that you should try a one-piece on instead
or that the guy you like isn't cool
or that you can't do whatever the hell you want to do
because they're wrong

and just know
that i will fight for you
and with you
and laugh with you
and twist your curls in my fingers
and love you
forever until infinity.

i ache because i have never felt your touch
but i worry if i felt it
i would ache even more

realistically,
you're so far from my grasp
and it kills me
every
*******
day
when i see your arms
(god, i love your arms)
around other girls
the skinny girls
and the pretty girls
and the not-me girls.

sometimes i forget
how much i truly deserve to be happy
i am,
deep down,
a kind soul
and i care passionately about animals.
i am very politically aware
and i love my friends and would fight fiercely for them.
i make very good pancakes
and i speak up when i see wrong being done
just as much as i pipe down when i realize
that someone else deserves the spotlight.

so why am drowning?

i was going to do it that time, honey
i really thought i was.
but the timing was off
and i couldn't find the
"tool"
i needed

but don't worry, i'm sure another opportunity will come
sooner or later.

my hair is long but the days are short
we used to talk about the stars
i miss your arm around my waist
i'm in limbo
simply waiting for the rotations to complete
counting down the days
until summer

i'm too tired
   to even think
i've burned all my memories of you
and i am now focusing on
       self-love.

i had almost forgotten
what it felt like
to not want to die

so if i cannot thank you for anything else
at least let me thank you
for that.

and he will fill up the word "love"

with everything he's ever known
and everything he's ever seen
and everything he's ever wanted

and he  will give it all to you

it will tumble out of his mouth
alcohol pushing each word into the cold air
where they will linger on small white clouds
"****" he'll mumble into the receiver
and he'll wait for you to hang up

your mouth will curl up
and you'll tell him
shut up, get home, you're drunk
but although your hands will be cold and damp
your heart, for the first time,

will be warm.

tired of choosing between
my happiness and sanity
or
grades

he's never patient with me
and thats the only thing i want him to be
he cares only for himself
and his thoughts
and his feelings
and disregards mine

i'm never patient with him
but does he even notice?
all i care for
are my thoughts
and my moods
(deep and blue)
that allow me to drown
and escape from his grasp

lets make pancakes

and watch cartoons

and have a superficial understanding of one another while we are temporarily intoxicated with infatuation and never speak to each other again after this summer's brief romance.

time, love, and art--what illusory concepts
undefinable and immutable
we meld, over and over again, the borders of our bodies becoming unclear in defiance of the defined space we transiently occupy. teenage rebellion.
A most primal ritual, mother to a sentiment most sophisticated--
the bites you left on my neck lasted longer than your interest, which faded with the early sun like a dark cliche embedded in my skin.
How curious it is to feel time, evade love, and be art--
how bitter to know the hollowness of each one, a lesson imparted by the weight of their meaninglessness.

your music is too loud

but i'm not too old.

if you needed me too
if you asked me to
even just if i wanted it

i would write you poems
one for
each
intricate part
of your
strong
beautiful
body.

do not bother me
let me wallow alone,
in self-pity and half melted bowls of ice cream.
is that really too much to ask?

Mom-
     if you only knew
            how close i have come
                    to letting the acidic, undigested
                            river flow from my throat
                        into a porcelain chamber
              maybe you would think
        before you squeeze
my soft belly again

i want to wrap you up and keep you in my pocket

                                 so that you always feel close to me

and so that i never have to deal with you again

sometimes i hope
that when i am lying awake in bed
half dreaming
                                   (of you)
you are listening
                                   somewhere, somehow
to the same
sad
song.

today i peeled a
clementine, and the peel came
off in one solid

piece. it was the most
accomplished thing i have done
this whole ******* week.

i cannot imagine
how it must feel
to actually want
what i pretend i crave

do you respect me?
are you using me?
am i allowing myself to be used because i don't respect myself either?

please let me
d i s s o l v e
into
peaceful
o b l i v i o n
instead of this

every time i watch
your strong
hands
move your strong
fingers
i wonder
how they would feel
on me

i did my best not to show you
but when those words escaped your mouth
something inside me burst
into a rosy, sparkling celebration
and it's a miracle
i didn't
e x p l o d e
with joy

every time
i begin to write
my words curl around
your image in my mind

i cannot be rid of you
and i don't want to
be rid of you

i worry so much
that i take you for granted

i know if you left
my world would implode

please stay with me
i know it's hard, but
you make me happier than i've ever been

i always pretend i don't see the tears welling in your sad eyes
when we have painful discussions
about the people we love most and how they hate themselves and the world around them

but i do.

is it possible to be perfect?
because you're pretty **** close.

i'm awfully
sensual
for someone who knows
nothing
about senses