I can't write a poem
Right now
It's killing me inside
I can't write you a song
Once more
Forgive me, it'll be alright

I can't sing a tune
Again
My voice is all but gone
I can't paint a picture
Today
My fingers are stiff and wrong

If I could see your face
Once more
I swear I'd strum a chord
I'd dance around and click my shoes
And slide across the floor

But now you're gone
And I'm still here
I guess they call it fate
I eat alone in this empty house
Surrounded by ghosts and crates

But if the stars align
And I keep shining
Maybe the world will give
Another glance, another dance
And a chance for me to live.

My body will scream
if it wants.

My body will do as it
will as long as I
allow it.

I will not soften
the sound of the screams
from my body
for the sake of sensitive ears

when the point
of a scream is to
be heard.

My body can scream
loudly, if it wants.

Is the line under
the signifier: a thing
not self-originating:

And the I that takes
a pleasure in watching
it identifies with the self
watching it happily identify

This representation of the
self in verbal and then
ideal form to be faster,

Faster, faster, because
Mommy is near and I have
wings and can ******
you with my bare hands

It's an understanding
in an unconventional way:
To say that the utterance
gives way to strength

Well **** me if
I haven't had this

memory before of a
love expanding during
its reconstruction.

The purpose of such
a thought is to make it
like a poem- all pure and
full of the meaning its given,

and I remember the point
of remembering: to whittle
away the excess and reveal its
ideal form, but what if

it gives you a back kick

I'm ****** at this.

I skipped class yesterday
and today and haven't seen

you in a few days because you
won't let me and that's valid.
I still wish I could help some

how I think of leaving you at
least once every day but
all I can think to say is
I love you and I'm yours.

My stroke of love
goes against your grain
and I am bade to withhold
in the presence of equals and
betters regardless of the claim

And the needs being
met with knees in the chest

I am uneasy.

Are you done
making waves in
my body yet?

It doesn't like
to be upset. My
heart can't take it--
in the literal sense.

It's like why I can't really
listen to heavy metal music
even though I can listen to pretty
much anything else. There's something
about the vibrations that make my heart hurt,

and it's the same with you.

Two vibratory frequencies
complement and intersect
and turn jarring like:

a tendency to say mean things or
hit me—like a school boy crush—and
sniff me on occasion while I rub
my face on yours like a cat

Because I was one in a past life
and you were a dog

Settle down, now
no need to steer a course
already laid out

Hush, nevermind: drink
white hot light wine. Only
say yes— if you’d like to
you can walk away

if you’d rather not
have nothing