Treat me like i'm wild.
Like i know the stars by name
and wander far away on my own,
digging my nails in the dark red clay
But remind me of our home.
Where you will feed me cake
and hear my bright-eyed tales
with patient ears and lips.
But please please please -
Treat me like i'm wild.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
You sat in my chair
against coats + sweaters + pants
with your shoes on.
And I couldn't breathe.
I went to my funeral last night.
They all talked about her
and she was like me.
I knew I was dead
by the twist of your mouth.
Now we're lying together.
Naked. Between cheap sheets.
I don't know if I'm living or not.
I hear the train whistle
And wonder who wanted to die.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
one two three with fire
heavy with your memory
thick silhouettes peer
&
the sax next door sings
you, blown away by fusion
of my tongue to you
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
My lips are thin
like the cheap sheets
we slept under last night.
Noses cold and pressed together,
transforming the AC into waves
and ourselves into nobodies.
Nobody sees me punish my lips
for being so small and disappointing .
Tiny pale flakes lie lifeless
on the barely pink slits;
a testimony of my brutality
and the precision of my teeth.
............................................................
Teeth clenched and eyes wide,
I hold the goods in my palm.
Firecracker, Ravish Me Red, Red Door Red.
Ravish Me Red sounds like a good time,
so Ravish Me Red it is.
but I wish I had a fourth.
Four minutes until I see you.
You're always exact.
The clock pleads for me,
but I'm busy glaring at
the familiar rouge strangers on my face
that I can't deny are mine.
My teeth try and fail to resist
The taste of my scarlet-smeared skin
they gnaw and gnaw at their treat,
dressing themselves in Ravish Me Red.
They refuse to be satisfied
until they taste blood.
Blood doesn't match my ruby lipstick
It's smudgy and ugly and I am ashamed.
My face is wet when I open the door.
You ask what's wrong, but you already know.
Through your smile I hear,
"Red isn't really your color."
Color now on your wrists and nose and knees
The red marks you as mine.
It fades from me to you
and leaves my lips naked
but you kiss the tiny pale flakes
that I used to hate.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
I can tell I'm depressed
When I don't take the laundry
Out of the washer,
Where it has been cleansed of its sins
Of passion, or rage, of greasy fast food.
My filthy hands would ruin them.
So I wait for my roommate
To baptize his own spotless hands
With MY damp boxers.
The habitual thuds of my soggy clothes
Against the back of the dryer
Are a nice distraction.
My favorite flannel dances
With her tiny lost sock.
But 45 minutes isn't enough.
I don't want to end their fun,
So I leave them there
And hope that they'll fuse forever.
He tosses the clothes onto my floor,
Scattering them, wrinkling them, freeing them.
Corduroys atop henleys under crew socks and tees.
Folding them would be a waste
Of a catastrophic masterpiece.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
My jeans between the sheets
Feel like strangers on my legs.
All six of my dollars,
Wadded and shoved in the front pockets,
Smell like last night's soiree.
I get up,
It's 2 pm,
And glare at my half-naked body
In the blurry mirror.
I like myself when I don't eat,
But I swallow a handful of cereal from their kitchen
For Mom.
I can still taste the cigs that he hates,
And old beer is sticky between my fingers.
I can't remember getting this bruise
Or this one. Or this one.
I bruise like a peach.
I do remember sloppy kisses
With my roommate,
How her lips were softer than mine
And I remember feeling full
Of love and of *****
I am happy.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Two cigarettes
Because one is not enough
To forget the void
Nor discover the luxury.
One cigarette leaves my mouth watering
For the bitterness of us.
One cigarette doesn't cloud the sky
For me to drown in you.
Two cigarettes
Because three is too many;
I'm alone with myself.
"I'll **** this up" and "I'm not worthy."
Three cigarettes, and it's easier
To burn myself with the ash.
Three cigarettes leaves a taste too sweet
And I crave more and more and more
and more and more and more
and more and more and more and
more and more and more and more
and more and more and more
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
I'm growing old.
God don't plant in straight rows,
And weeds won't hear my temperate pleas.
But harvest comes, wailing like a freight train.
I thrive in the ghost town I built.
Regret crowds the crosswalks.
I wait for you.
Hurry.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
We call her name like she's the queen.
Lips quiver with understated pleas.
So this is what "your highness" means.
The analog clock wails 4:18.
Our voices muffled in this cool sea.
We call her name like she's the queen.
You, my own porcelain figurine,
Each tiny chip of you impales me.
So this is what "your highness" means.
No room for time here in between,
All else I've known has been set free.
We call her name like she's the queen.
Quake my pulse like a tambourine,
Let me teach your mouth to see.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Powerless when she intervenes;
Royalty lives between the knees.
We call her name like she's the queen.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
My soles and my hair,
Searching but never landing.
Sister Solitude
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC