Driving. With rain sliding down the windows, too dark to see much beyond the headlights and taillights rolling ahead and towards me.
I have the music turned too loud to really think clear thoughts, it almost stings my ears a little.
Pin picks of memories are pushing through the lower subconscious of my mind
I can feel the cavity below my ribcage expanding slightly as I'm trying to let everything in.
Stuck between shallow breathing and taking too deep of raged breathes.
I never liked the sound of my own breathing.
It always seemed cruel that I was allowed the one natural courtesy that my father was eventually denied.
Sometimes I hear the ringing of hospital bells in my ears when it's too quiet.
It's been 7 years.
This can't be it, this can't be it I think as I slide my hands over the wheel turning too hard onto my street with itching palms and dry lips
This can't be everything that we are lined up for marching in and out of office buildings and hospital waiting rooms, born to live, live to die hands turned up and out pushing past the next person in line because
when I was younger
I used to stand in the middle of my backyard
and hold really still
staring at the sun motes that twirled in the leaves of the trees
holding really still until I heard a hawk scream loud enough to send my heart sky rocketing and knees driving through the grass and to the front door
They call that "Checking In"
a way 6 year olds way of making sure I was still alive
It's been 7 years
I don't know how to be still anymore.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
You curled your hand around my chin and told me to "never change"
and I don't know if I can do that because
I think I've got hurricanes in my hair
and the graveyards of shipwrecks in my ribcage
with the force of ten thousand years of tides crashing against
the hulls of my chest
and you are the lighthouse glaring through the storm
you always chide me for opening my mouth and shutting it before emitting any words
I'm just trying to keep my head above water
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
when i'm choking on the right words to say I use my fingernails to trace them into your back when you sleep
words like "I" and "you"
I hope when you dream you hear all the words I never got to say to you
I wonder if you tasted black ink when you kissed me
sometimes I think my heart is just an inkwell
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
I can't waste any ink to spill about you because I can't find one poetic thing in our beginning, middle, or end.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
Swear to God, they would toss every firecracker aside if they saw just how fast you spark up.
Faster than the blink of your tear thats slithers down your weathered cheek you can go 0-80 miles an hour, all screeching tires and pumping veins.
Let them see how quick you shatter glass and then how you'd cut your own hands just to put it back together before anyone saw the blood.
Tell them about the screaming lions in your chest.
I wish you never caged them.
Shatter mirrors and arrange them back in jagged order so they actually reflect the same thing you see.
I saw you crow counting, heart pounding, sirens sounding lying in the grass.
Did the earth ever speak to you? Or were the wolves howling too loud.
I wish you never caged them.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
It's been two weeks
four days and
seven hours since you left
It's cold in the bed. I can see the fog unfurling on the floor around the bed posts. The morning sun burns through the blinds and unspools like liquid metal in patches on the quilt.
*"You're acting crazy" You told me
"I am crazy" I said*
I threw a glass at the door after you shut it. I heard you laugh as you walked down the sidewalk. I heard you laugh as it shattered across the tile.
I fed the cat. Sat down on the floor next to her while she ate. Watched the steam from the teapot tumble through the air. She doesn't purr like she used to.
It's been two weeks
four days and
nine hours since you left.
I'm still picking up pieces of glass.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
I have poison in my veins
I am dark matter
I have shadows in the curves of my collarbones
switch blades tucked into my hips
I am venomous
I am a viper
a black widow
and I am so, so sorry, my darling
that you are the only one that I strike
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
I hope
(with a fire that consumes my kindling of bones)
that the first thing to strike you
when you run your hand down my back
is not the stretching of my rib cage as it settles around my lungs.
I hope you are lit,
with a ******* wildfire,
when your fingertips alight upon my skin.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I have created a yellow house
(with open windows and white curtains)
It is always summer here.
It is always sunny here.
Bruce Springsteen plays in my barefoot kitchen
and I have breakfast and tea for three meals a day.
It is always summer here.
I am never lonely here.
There are no fire escapes, winter winds or clocks.
I have created a yellow house.
Created it years ago.
I have nothing.
I have everything.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
1. The force that propels lightening and hail to the ground is the same force that sends me crashing into your arms at the end of my thundering days
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC