You have galaxies in an iris and
Constellations lining the
Curvatures of your palms but
You count the steady stream of
Craters left on the hardened shelter
Of volcanic rock holding
Your bleeding heart together –
And you call yourself defective.
You forget the courage of the
Soft tissue that dares to beat and
Bleed molten hot passion
And love from a core
That dares to keep churning
While the fists keep flying
And scarring.
You abhor the marks
And the memory of
Wasted muscle on a skeletal frame
And you call yourself broken.
But I marvel at the broken pieces
How they shine with the light of a
Dying star, and your eyes
That glow, not with the white-hot hatred
Of a nuclear blast
But with the electric florescence of
An expanding sun.
You are
Light, and you are
Power, and you are
Fragments
Of the skeleton you were
With a million universes on your fingertips
And a billion lives on your tongue.
*(Be big.
Expand.
Take up space in
His arms and
Your head, and I promise:
One day the world will
Stop filling your core with
Negativity, and you’ll
Supernovae.
And you’ll be beautiful.)*
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
1.
I am most happy
When I am with you
When I see myself in the
Reason behind your smile
And I don’t think
I can ever go back
To writing words I’ll never say
On damp loose leaf
When it’s so much easier
To say them to you.
2.
I envy you.
I envy your passion,
That insatiable drive
To achieve and to do
When I cannot muster
The energy, most days, to smile or laugh
Unless I do them with you.
3.
I hate crushes and
Broken
Down
Sentences
In lieu of
Poetry
They always
Leave me
Wanting more.
4.
I am afraid of
Love,
Heights,
And Infinity,
And I was born on
The edge of someone else’s
Steady decline into
Collapse.
And I only recently learned
That
*f
a
l
l
i
n
g*
Does not have to mean
*Fall
ing…
Fall
ing…
Fall
ing…*
Forever.
5.
I meant to
Mispronounce that word.
I like when your eyes
Take stock in me
And still like what they see.
6.
I have this bad habit
Of counting down time
And counting down the
Six...
...Five...
...Four...
...Three ...
...Two...
...One more day!!!!!!
Until I see you again.
7.
I would stop at seven
Reasons why I’m thinking of you, but
Sometimes it’s unlucky
And I never gamble on
The stars in the sky
Or naming truths in the lie
Or on something as sweet as
The possibilities of you and
Me.
8.
I still believe one day
You will realize she
Was all you ever needed
And she will have
Softer words and a
Smoother tongue
And you will wake up
With her hair fanned out
On the chest I once used
In place of a pillow
And you will only
Think of me on rainy days
When you feel as melancholy
As the girl that once had
Dreams in her eyes and
Your world in her hands.
You will sip your coffee and
Longingly reflect on
Where the time has gone.
9.
I would love to
Buy dishes with you
And argue over
Who used the last fork
Or plate. Or spoon.
It would be my honor
To
*f
a
l
l*
Into the normal
With you.
10.
There will come a day when
These words will count time
Like I count the steps
From your heart to
Mine.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
I.
This is how it ends:
Two sneakered feet pounding
Staccato hearts into the blackened tar
Of the streets, yelling.
*(But what are they yelling?
A name. My name.)*
And my platinum hair is up
Out of my face, so the wind kisses
My cheeks, turns them red and blue
Like me: Red, for the number of times
He will one day turn the color of my shame
To a scalding hot 10; and blue,
The cloud that lays
Over me, when he proves my instincts right
When they told me to run.
This is how it ends
And I’m six and overhearing
My mother tell my dad to
Do a different dance on
Someone else’s blackened tar,
And now they live in a cute house
Under a cloudless sky
With my dog and seven reasons why
They never look up and see me there,
Older and darker but
Always running to the south,
Away from their winter.
This is how it ends.
But not for him.
This is how it ends:
Pictures on a feed
Spinning realities you’ll never taste
And never need
With slings and smiles and
Canned joy, selling success for a nickel
And sadness for a dollar.
It ends, and you see her
With her dyed hair and lipstick
*(Red, to remind you
And red, to forget you)*
And you pause – because, really,
Did you expect that you couldn’t?
And suddenly you start seeing her
Silhouette in every doorway and
Hearing her heavy steel words
Laying like anchors on your heart
Always pulling, tugging, moving towards her
And that beautiful sunny day when
She looked through you for
The last time.
*(You wonder how a ghost
Could feel this heavy)*
II.
This is how it begins:
One coffee full of
Too much cream, and laughter
Ringing too loudly
In your ears
Because of something you said.
And footsteps slapping on
Wet concrete, meeting tiny slippered
Eager feet, feeling safer now
Hugged by tiny hands
Than in his strong arms that left you
Bruised.
It begins in the quick silences
Between sentences, and meanings
Upon words, and breaths
Between kisses
Atop laps,
Atop chairs,
Atop wishes.
It begins when you listen
And you’re sitting in your car
Watching dusk paint the sky
And you can feel the groan of the earth
Beneath you, see the planet revolve itself
Into darkness, and you can’t hear her
Caustic voice and
The way she sounded when she left, and
You can’t feel his hands on you or his
Beard where it chafed your thighs – no,
That is where it ends.
And this is where you start.
(Unload the anchors from your heart.)
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
I am not broken anymore.
I am not the shadow
Waiting for the body
To wrestle me to the ground
And tether me to shore.
I am not broken anymore.
I am not fragile anymore.
I poke and bite and hit
And hiss when you provoke me
And purr when you stroke me.
I am not fragile anymore.
I am not waiting anymore
I run when there’s open
Ground, and I scream
Into empty wind, and I
Live in this body, and
I am not vacant anymore.
You do not live in me anymore.
Your words cannot hurt me
Your fists cannot reach me
And your soul may lie in pieces
On a stranger’s ***** bathroom floor –
But I do not live there anymore.
I am not broken
I am not damaged
I am not unlovable
Anymore
And your fists do not
Caress me, and your
Insults do not
****** me, and I do not
Thank them for contact
Anymore.
I am not yours
Anymore.
You can no longer make
Me bleed,
And the funniest thing
About losing my Home is
I keep finding Home
In me.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I keep flashing to
Candlelit quarters and
Cramped pockets of privacy
Where you exchanged love
And exchanged it for history.
And pieces of memories
You forget about in time
Will decay into silence
And a decently put rhyme.
I keep flashing to
Sidewalks lit by
Young love and infinite
Possibility,
With cracks in the cement
And holes in the hearts
That skipped over them.
I blink and I am
At your door, to say goodbye,
Though we both don’t know it,
And I’m holding some ******
Hallmark Valentine,
Cradling rejection in the palm
Of a well-turned hand that
Knocks – one, two, three – at your door.
And what will happen if
Instead of your smile I see
A million reasons why we Should Not,
And in lieu of flowers
I get extra gas money and a new future
With one more poem
And one less You?
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
If I’m being
Completely honest
The days sometimes feel like years
Since I’ve seen your
Smile, the kind that lit up the room
And saved me from the darkness
Wound tight ‘round my heart
Like stiff, bloodied bandages
From a war never resolved.
Sometimes
When the sunlight streams
Through my dusty blinds
While the heat releases a
Shuddering exhale
The room feels like
A forgotten tomb
And I am the wailing ghost
Knocking on my door –
And who can hear me
But my knocking heart?
But if I’m being
Completely honest
You should know that
I can blink and
Find myself in Paris
Among the scarves and berets
On darting, frenzied bodies
And I will have
Nicotine on my tongue
And a dark coffee in hand
With soft-spoken sounds of
Electric words
Ringing in my ears.
But when I
-blink-
I’m in Barcelona
Where the language lifts you up
And dances around you
In a thick cloud of intoxicating beauty
While you’re
Tangled up in words
Until I
-blink-
And, there I am,
Spread-eagle
At the top of the Empire State –
At the top of the world,
On the land we once conquered
In the name of a deity
That once conquered us.
And then I
-blink-
And I am in
California,
In a city far away,
Where rows of brightly colored houses
Remind me of you
Because houses can be home
And you are always where my heart is.
And the door will have flowers
Tucked into the windowsill
And there will always be a candle
Burning,
Pining
For you.
And sometimes I wish
I never learned to
-blink-
At all
Because the only place I ever wanted to be
Is next to you.
And I
-blink-
And there you are
In your multitude of colors
And clothes and attitudes,
With your disheveled hair and
Hatred of mornings and your
Smeared eyeliner from
That time I saw you cry
When I wasn’t supposed to,
When I didn’t think about the future
And I didn’t fear the present,
But I was still running from the past
As I filled the holes in my shoes
With weary feet,
And the holes in my heart
With you.
I want to
-blink-
And open up to you
For the first or
Second time
So you can pour
Into me
And fill the empty parts
Left so long to neglect
But instead
I will
-blink-
And I will find myself in Spain
And I will get drunk on
Wine and words
And find myself in verse
And I will fill myself
With heady fumes
And a nightly muse
And a shorter fuse …
Anything at
The thought of you.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
Your electric lips
Powered mine
In a rhythm unbeknownst
To me;
And this fire
So named Desire
Was given power
Over me.
You moved like a storm
Trapped by flesh,
A slave to jerky mindless steps,
Earthbound and dry;
And I watched your eyes,
A dark, churning sea,
Hum with a vibrant, pulsing
Life.
I watched your hair
Dance in the wind
A frantic tango with sea
And sky;
And I imagined the jolt
Of an electric kiss
With lips that would send me
Shocked sky-high.
But I thought of myself
Powered from within
Strung up like the stars –
Or neon lights;
And the image of me
Powered by passion
Was enough to make me
Afraid of heights.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
I.
I lodged my soul
Into the tube of lipstick
I left at your house
Hidden beneath
The jeans and white blouse
I casually drowned
In careful disarray,
And I’ll silently pray
That you find it nestled
Next to the dusty chest
Of old love letters you’ve compiled
From people not me–
I’ll lay on your lips
To your ignorant bliss
Long after I’m gone
And we’ll have moved on
And you’ll smile at the
Luck you had at finding the perfect match
To your skin tone:
Red as sin
Against white like bone.
You’ll taste me as fast as you’ll forget me.
II.
I pressed my lips
Against your sweater
And murmured thoughts and
Recited letters
I’ve written in secret
And I whispered my heart
Into the stitches and seams
Until the fabric marked
Everything I felt but couldn’t say.
When mere words got in the way.
And I inhaled
The cigarette smoke
Til it made me choke
Like the night we stayed up
And star gazed and talked
And you apologized when
I sputtered and coughed –
But you should know, and I’ll tell you
Through my inconsistencies, I do
Not care if your lungs are permanently filled
With toxic fumes that seal your doom –
Poison is how I remember you.
But I’m not sure how you’ll remember me.
III.
I stayed up late, long after you fell
Asleep, and your chest rhythmically swelled
And collapsed with your breathing.
I watched you like a lover is wont
To do, like the stories I read
Told me to do,
Pressed between pages
Highlighted and dog-eared
Like an anxious student’s textbook.
I slipped out of bed
With your letters and your sweater
And I padded to the window
To read them even better
And I remembered that night
You joked about love
And forever, when you said pointedly:
‘My love is only as eternal as me’.
I pressed my lips
To your faded logo sweater
The one you’ll someday wear
When you meet someone better
And I whispered those
Three little words
But not exactly the three
That I really mean:
‘Don’t forget me’.
I wonder how long it took you to realize I was gone.
IV.
My love is only
As eternal as
Me.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
I.
Dear Mom,
We sat around
A table for Grace
And lent ourselves none
When you fell from it.
Now when I stray
To thoughts of God
I always come back
To nothing at all.
II.
Dear Dad,
Congratulations:
There’s nothing else to say
Except that you were wrong
In every
Single
Way.
III.
Dear Sister,
Be ugly.
Coat the room in
Feeling
That bubbles and congeals
On the walls and
Beneath your nails
As you dig yourself out of
Other people’s graves
That would become yours
In time.
IV.
Dear Self,
Stop hating yourself.
You were the one
That cleaned up the blood
And wiped the tears
That fell from stinging eyes
That allowed the flowers to bloom
Around you.
You are not the seed
Of broken bottles and promises
But you will somehow
Grow from it.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
In my head
I imagine the future to be
Lipsticks lined on a marble counter
According to color and mood
And clothes warm from the dryer
Because they didn’t cool in the car
And heartbeats under bedsheets
Imported from Milan
Where no clothes are scattered
Because we always remember
To hang them, properly,
(The way we’re supposed to).
And in my head
You wear a sweater
And I brew tea
In an electric kettle
On a spotless counter
In a kitchen scrubbed clean
Except on the stove
Where a smudge of chocolate
Here and there
Reminds us of
The night before
And you see me clearly
With curious eyes
And I see you exactly as I did
When we first met
On our third date
When you asked me
If I would, please, finish your plate.
And I imagine the future
And I adore the order
The absence of terrifying smudges
Of chaos
Against a marble façade of
Rosy (or pink. or sparkle.) perfection.
I crave the
Nights spread over soft, warm sheets
That I call mine
And warm lips that wake me
Only when the sun is just right
So I see the mischievous sparkle
In your half-closed eyes
Before you tickle me awake.
And in my head
I long for this,
For the perfection of a
Practiced hand.
I want to build myself
Like my mind builds worlds
With one smooth stroke at a time.
But I do admit
As I lay in jersey sheets
That I do quite like
The way the soft lamplight
Falls over my cluttered bedspread
And how my books are stacked
One
Two
Three
Against my bookshelf
Rather than inside it
(The way it’s supposed to.)
And I am fond
Of the sheer lavender cloth
Thrown haphazardly on the lampshade
And tied with a purple cord
From a graduation I can’t clearly remember
And have every desire to completely forget.
And I will rise
On an overcast day
To the cold lips of sea air
On sheets made from
Recycled materials
And I will stand on aching bones and trod
With a limp and a frown
To the stovetop kettle
And I will brew tea
To the gentle hum of the fridge
That was here when I moved in
And I will be wearing
A robe with no cord
And a face with no grin
But I will look to the sky
And see the sun promised in the
Nebulous lining of the silver clouds above
And I will smile and
Stretch my arms
And see myself clearly
With selfish, curious eyes
Amid the ***** pots and pans and I
Will find peace
In chaos.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC