Two nights in a row
I came home to the panicked
Flapping of wings
In the garage.

A bird,
Crying and flying
Circling the garage ceiling,
With the door
Wide
Open.

I picked up a mop
Hanging on the wall,
Brandished it like a saber,
And ran in circles around the car
Trying to convince
The sparrow
That there was
A way of escape.

Panicking,
Crying,
Flying
In circles,
And all you have to do
Is leave.

It’s a beautiful ride.
Everything that only matters
To you is there.

My drive has shoulder kisses,
And my favorite beer,
Jasmine tea,
And honey.

There’s miles and miles of green leaves,
Look up at the sky
And there’s snow encrusted trees.

Pots of coffee,
And smiles from practically strangers,
But at the end?

What’s at the end?

No where.

All the way things I find
Joy in,
The things that I live for,
Don’t take me anywhere.

Your words
Painted my face and body
With dull
Ugly colors.

My thoughts
Painted my face and body
Into a garden landscape.

I couldn’t get the people in my life
To care,
So I tried winning the hearts of strangers.

The sky is a beautiful blue
Above this field of dandelions
Gone to seed.
I laid down in them,
And the soft puffy seeds flew around me,
I breathed them in
And they filled my lungs.
Now I can’t breathe
I’m suffocating,
And it’s so beautiful.

I read pages and pages
Of my life from years ago,
And the realization
That was so alone
Was so loud.

Two years later,
Some things have changed...
But tonight,
Hell...
Tonight I shouldn’t have been alone,
But I am again.

People do talk,
And when they talk,
They ask me why I bother with you.

Because it stings
When I walk away.

My siblings,
Looking so far
Down their noses
The rest of us
Look small and insignificant.

I learned a very important
Lesson
When I almost succeeded
In committing suicide.

Suicide wasn’t about how I felt,
It was about how terribly uncomfortable
The attempt made everyone else.
How utterly inconvenient.

I lack finesse
And social grace,
I’m not particularly smart,
Or pretty
Or interesting,
And that makes me
Uncomfortable
For them.

I looked in the mirror
Last night
And made a detailed list
Of all the things I wanted to yell
At each
And every one
Of them.

Then it occurred to me,
Something amazing,
Fantastic even...
Something I should’ve understood
When I tried to tell people
I had been *****.

They
Don’t
Care.

I will destroy myself
In a million ways
To take care of people
Who won’t care about me.

I can throw love,
Money,
Everything
At them,
But nothing matters.

I told people I would’ve cut myself open for
That I tried to **** myself.

Not a call,
Or a text,
Or anything.
Nothing.
Radio silence
Fuzzy in my ears.

Because I don’t matter.
I’m not one of the important ones.

When I was just a girl,
And my face was being freshly painted
By puberty,
They each
Took a knife
And carved their names
Into the bottoms of my feet,
So it would always hurt
When I tried to walk away.

I made my own medicine,
Found the antidote
To the poison.
I’m wrapping my wounds
In bandages,
And I
Am walking
Away.

Do you feel that?
It’s hunger.
Plain, raw animalistic instinct,
Hunger.

The fat girl wants her fix.

The ex
Skinny
Queen *****
Is hiding away in her room,
Dreaming.
Dreaming of trans fats and sticky
Perfect
Corn syrup,
Of powdered, fluffy,
Luxurious sugar,
And crispy, crinkly,
Crackles on your tongue,
Against your teeth
Deap fried
Junk calories.

While she lusts after that feeling
Of being too full to be awake,
Drifting off into sleep,
Entrancing herself with flavor and sensations,
She pinches the skin over her ribs and stomach.
She rolls the soft fat
In her hands,
To remember.

Remember you’re fat.

Remember you aren’t enough.

Don’t eat.

It isn’t worth it.

Oops,
She opened the door.
The gates have swung open
And out spills grease,
And glorious salt,
And sweet confections.
The sweet taste of self loathing.

That *******
Build up
To the cravings finally being met.
That comfort of knowing there’s food,
there’s food that no one can take out of her hands.

Do you feel that?
Hunger.
Basic survival
Reminder
Hunger.

Dear Deb,
I moved out,
I have my own home.
I make dinner
And have friends over,
I support myself.

My heart aches for my family,
I miss them so much,
It’s only me to take care of now
And how
Do I do that?
It’s never been
Just me
Before.

The more time away
The more angry I get
At my brother
For what he did.
I can think clearly now
And I can see
Where mistakes were made.

I walked out of a sushi restaurant
Tears dramatically streaming down my face,
A man held my hand
And said he would miss “this”,
He would miss me.
And I walked out
Wordlessly.
I could hear you
In the back of my head
Saying I wasn’t a child,
I was a strong woman.

I let myself start talking to
This much older man,
Letting him feed
My need
For validation.
I could hear you asking why.

I’ve lost my center lately,
I miss having a good perspective.
But most of all,
I miss you.

Something wicked this way waltzes,
Through the clouds of dust
And lazy warm sunlight.
Twisted with your breath
On my cheek,
Tangled up between your whispered
Words
In my ear.

Something wicked in your fingers
Holding mine,
Something dangerous in our closeness,
Something intensely painful
In your "love".

Something wicked in you comes,
So something strong in me
Helps me leave.

Last night.
It was as if we were strangers
Passing each other
On the street,
Instead of almost twenty years
Of history.

But it didn’t hurt.
It felt...
Okay.

Have you ever seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?
It’s a classic.
It’s a classic because of the intense plunge into chaos.

The mean reds.

The mean reds is what she called it,
And I can’t think of a better term.

Heart pounding,
Face flushed,
A cavity
Where my stomach should be,
And I can’t find a distraction
That works.
No music can play back
This shaky yet still feeling
And make it make sense.

The mean reds she said.

I have a case of the mean reds

This is a message
To the me
That has been left
Switched to “on”
For what feels like
Too long.

The me
Who’s held a lot in lately,
And is afraid to release.

The me
With the noisy engine
Left running.

The me
Who is frustrated and tired,
But tries not to show it.

To the me
With the circuits whirring,
And the fan buzzing,
Yet still too hot to the touch
From being “on”
For longer than ever before.

The me,
Who’s head and heart
Are heavy,
Who sometimes feels ready
To give up.
But doesn’t.

The version of myself
Who’s smiled more
Than she wanted to,
And made more small talk
Than she thought
She could stand.

The me
Who doesn’t know
What she’s doing,
But is trying to keep
From looking too bothered by it.

To the me
Who’s been “on”
For what what feels like
too long,
Who’s batteries are drained
And doesn’t know how
To recharge.

You’re doing okay,
And I’m proud of you
Even if you’re tired.

Naked felt good
When my consciousness
Was just a kite
I flew far
Above my head.

The feeling
Of revealing
My darkest secrets
To a crowd of people
In a dimly lit pagan bar
Used to be the things
Fantasies were made of.
Because they didn’t matter.

The darkest parts of myself didn’t matter for a moment
Because I was so far away from the world,
So detached from myself,
That the adrenaline
Almost roused me to wake up
From my daze,
And the feeling was addicting.

I fell down from the sky.
I fell hard.
I came back,
Hardly able to walk
For a few days
It was such an impact,
And suddenly things matter again.

Strangers kissing me in the dark
Doesn’t sooth me,
It hurts to even consider it.
Because I was so lonely,
And it was just a glaring reminder
That I was so
Lonely and dissatisfied.

But you carefully unwrapped me,
Gently tugged at the folds
So not to rip the paper,
And you looked at the bare body inside.
I’m raw.
My skin is pink and burned,
I feel pain even at soft touches.
I left my body behind
For so long
I didn’t even know
The damage that had been done.

You run your hand
Along the curves,
The cuts,
And the bruises.
You kiss the dry
Cracking skin,
And I feel truly
Naked,
Vulnerable,
And released.

I used to walk
Down the street
With a smile on my face,
When I was young,
And foolish.
When the world
Felt safe.

When I drive,
And you get excited
About what you see out side,
Because you can let your mind wander.

When you put your fingers
Inside
The rips
In my predistressed jeans.

When you show me
A movie,
And watch me
With hopeful anticipation,
To see if I like it.

When you get all dressed up
In your favorite
Hawaiian shirt
Or flannel.
And that spring in your step
When you wear your black converse.

When you start falling asleep,
And your body twitches.
Then when you bury your face into my shoulder.

Hell,
You’re so cute,
I feel it in my gut.
It’s been a little while,
And you’re so precious to me.

Home smelled
Like ginger
And cheap liquor.

Like stir fry
And dish soap.

Home smelled
Like saw dust
And cotton yarn.

Like night time showers
And cups of herbal tea.

Home smelled
Like three different fall candles
All lit at once,
And bleach.

Home smelled
Like soy sauce
And garlic.

What was it she used to say?
Like a Chinese
Grocery store..?

Home smelled
Like Warm Vanilla Sugar
And Endless Weekend.

Like pumpkin spice
And stroop waffles.

It smelled like paint
And dried flowers.

When I walk in,
It all
Rushes
Back.

Stir fry,
And pumpkin spice,
It fills my nose
And makes me choke.
My head spins
And my stomach
Feels heavy
Inside me.

Home doesn’t have a smell anymore.

Those are now
The smells of yelling,
Of attempted suicide,
Of loneliness,
And betrayal.

Those are the smells
Of sleepless nights,
Of being called a *****,
Of dreading the sound his clunky boots make against the wood floor,
And their laughter.

Home doesn’t have a smell anymore,
Because I don’t have a home anymore.

I don't see the dead look
in my mother's eyes
so often anymore,
but I remember it.

I remember her being nothing.

I remember how she would sob,
full
body shaking,
lung-crushing,
sob.

I carry those memories of her.

It’s a cruel mistress.

It airbrushes our stomachs
And our thigh.

It becomes friendly between our legs,
Under our arms,
And I’m our heads.

That dark thought is always
In my head.
Like an air bag ready to go off,
A “just in case.”

It’s the words that function
As padding in a cell
I’ve trapped myself in.

“If it gets too hard, I don’t have to be here.”

Have you ever seen
A pumpkin spice
Volkswagen van?

Have you ever smelled
The sick scent
Of your best friend
Laying on your kitchen floor
Covered in her own *****?

Have you ever seen
A girl naked
Having her stomach purged
Of all the poison she put in her body?

Have you ever been too shaky
To walk in a straight line
The next day?

Have you ever gone to work
The day after you tried to **** yourself?

Have you ever told your boss
You might be gone for a week
Because you needed to go to the psych ward,
And had her angry with you
Because she was going to be short staffed?

Have you ever had someone who was once
One of your best friends
Tell you he would do the bare legal minimum
For you?

Have you ever known
That you will never trust anyone
Ever again?

Have you ever woken up
Next to a man who
****** you
After you finished puking your guts out
Because you tried to **** yourself?

Have you ever only remembered
Bits and pieces of having *** with him?

Have you ever seen
A pumpkin spice
Volkswagen van?

Every fiber of me cried out
In that moment,
“You don’t want to drive away,
You just don’t want to hurt him with the dark thought that took up your headspace last night.”
But that only made me cry harder,
And drive faster.

I want to fly away
On wings of disassociation.

Dunk my head under sunlit water,
With my eyes wide open,
Breathe in the perfect blue water
And watch the shimmering colorful fish
As I lose consciousness.

I want to float into the sky,
Have the sun turn my skin pink
As I float higher
And higher
And
Higher
Up into the stars,
Until I reach the blank black space beyond,
And can no longer fill my lungs.

I want to lay on the mossy
Forest floor
And feel vines wrap around me,
Plants take root inside my carcass,
And moss cover my skin,
As the plants claim me.

Most of all,
I want to tell someone,
But I don’t want to admit it.

Whiskey kisses my lips,
and tickles the back of my throat
in friendly warmth.

My fingers are cold in the rented room I live in,
typing all feeling left in them into my laptop.

I am writing.
Writing hard about the things
that deprive me of sleep.

I am drinking,
just a nip here
and
there,
To trick my brain
into letting the truth escape.

I finally figured it out.
Put my finger on the rotting tooth
That’s been causing me pain.
I’m all cut up inside
Because I’ll never be enough for them.

I couldn’t tell from so far away
Whether he was a star
Or a satellite.

I’ve become too used to you.
You can’t be my life,
You’re only a person.

My life is my own,
It’s not made of your love.

I must somehow face being alone
And be okay with it.
I have to embrace the nights that you aren’t here.

I have to remember
That when I cry on the bathroom floor
Until I make myself sick
No
One
Is coming.
No
One
Can
Hear
Me.

You told me once,
It was in the middle of winter
And we were driving home
In the truck that belonged to your grandfather
He had just died...
You told me that I was your resting place.
I told you that you are mine.

I don’t know exactly what I’ve become lately,
But it isn’t a resting place any longer.
I take up too much space.

I’ve been terrified of that
since I was a child.
Never having enough space to take up,
Being too much,
Or too little...
I can’t really find an in between.

You can’t be my life,
It isn’t fair.
I have to learn how to be alone again.
How to love my time by myself so much
I don’t want to leave again.

But I tasted what it was to not be lonely.
And I crave it.

That summer
you were jealous
That I had found a yellow sun dress
with tiny blue and white flowers.
Yellow,
your favorite color.
They didn't have one left
in your size,
and you were angry.
Like,
actually angry,
and mostly at me.

I'm folding my laundry,
and a shirt I bought
a few months ago,
back when I still
cared
about your opinion
landed in my hands like a gold finch.
A gold finch
with bright white polka dots.

"I saw her a few weeks ago,
she said she thinks about reaching out
to you
sometimes,
and that you don't seem as if
you're in a good place..."
My old roommate shifted uncomfortably
in his chair across from me
as he said it.

"I'm good."

I am good.

And thinking about it
isn't good enough.
Doing it wouldn't be good enough either.
Because I like myself without you.

The color yellow
used to make me think
of your bubblegum pink hair,
and your taste in music
when you were having a good day.

Now it makes me think
of how seldom
the good days were.
How you picked yourself a part,
as well as anyone who got close to you.

Yellow once made me think
of sunsets and evening dog walks.
Of converse sneakers
and paper cranes.
Yellow made me think of the
best parts
of you.

Now my face falls
as I remember
how angry with me you were
because I had a pretty dress.
The poor girl
who never got anything
she didn't pay for
got a pretty new dress,
and you were angry.

You've lost the privilege
of knowing me enough
to talk about me,
but I know you're still doing it.

Eventually I'll stop writing
brokenhearted poetry,
and maybe you'll stop talking,
but I doubt it.

All talk and no action,
it was one of your worst qualities.
But now I'm grateful for it.

If you think
of sending a glowing text
my way,
remind yourself
of when I told you
I tried to **** myself,
and you hid from my face
behind your phone.
Why change now?

I like myself better
without you.

I was a barefoot
Mismatched child.
My hands were grubby and calloused,
My legs were scratched from the bracken
In the tall grass.

I grew slipping between the cracks,
Carefully avoiding the hot concrete,
Thirstily drinking up the rain and sunlight.

I’m not afraid of surviving,
I’m good at surviving.

My legs grew,
And my jeans didn't.
My feet didn't fit their shoes,
And I recall hiding food
so no one else could take it from me.

Weeds are not afraid to grow,
The only chance you get
Is the ones you make.

We have so many windows.

A grey cement floor,
A bucket, a mop,
My red happy shoes are squeaking
On the damp floor.

Making circles
Of magic mirrors
Around where I stand.
The sunlight reflecting
On the glassy floor
Distorts my vision
And my image in the water

The water and soap
Scrubbing away
Coffee conversations
Of past days,
And mud from boots
That carried the forest in.

There’s a magic in the bubbles
And the water
Dancing with the light,
Becoming one.

We have so many windows.

I thought we could be
Maybe I thought
Happy

I give up a little piece of me
In my moments of anxiety.
Then take comfort in the idea
Of murky dark nothingness
To take the edge off of the pressure.

I close my eyes,
And succumb to the darkness,
Letting myself
Float above my body,
And away from worry.
Or, as the experts call it,
A depression nap.

People keep telling me they’re worried about me,
But they don’t actually try and do anything about it.
Saying it to me makes them feel better,
And we’re all so incredibly selfish,
That’s all they’re after.
So they worry at me,
And I nod, saying something polite...
And they feel better.

I’m not completely oblivious,
I know the signs
When I’m emotionally crashing.
I understand when I can hear the constant background sound of a
car wreck
Inside my head
That there’s something
Wrong.
I know I’m crashing right now.

Every time I try to dig myself out
I find a new reason.

Wake up,
Brush teeth,
Don’t act to sad or it becomes the discussion of the day,
Go home to an empty house that’s filled with holes meant for people who are gone now,
Brush teeth,
Go to sleep,
Rinse and repeat.

I want a place
To rest in,
A home
So badly
It makes me ache

It used to give me a sinking feeling inside,
A fear.
I would be happy, and my first thought would be that
Something
Bad
Was going to happen.

But not this time.

This time I know,
Something bad will happen,
And then that bad thing will end,
And then something good will happen again.
But it’s not the external events
I can’t control
That make me content,
It’s me.

And I’ve decided to be content.

Stop making decisions
You know are bad.

He’s beautiful,
Isn’t he?
And for once in my life
I feel as if
I may be on the right path,
Even if it happened by accident.

He kisses my hand
Every few minutes.
He lets me be
Whatever I need to be,
And he’s always there to open the door,
Or help me close it.

His room is a museum
Of curiosities,
They make me feel at home.
Like something inside him
Matches something inside me.
Every detailed interest,
Every phase of life
So lovingly given a home
And displayed.
I want to run my fingers
Down the spines of his books
For the simple pleasure
Of the feeling.

It’s the first time
I’ve felt calm,
The first time,
I fit in a family,

I’m not afraid of any
Monstrous part of him,
Only praying nervous prayers
That I get to keep him.

He’s my
Good decision,
My happy thoughts.
He’s my love.

You were my dream
When I was sixteen,
And my nightmare
Three years later.
Every time I think
I’m starting to forget you
I wake up from a nightmare
Facing your
Cold
Blue
Eyes,
And
Hot
Hot
Breath,
And I know I can never forget.

Remember not to forget
This is why you’re leaving.
Because no one truly
Wants you here.

Remember not to forget
This is why you run to men
Who don’t look at you
As more than just
Young meat
Ripe
And vulnerable.
Because it feels better
To experience
Their desire
Than to feel alone.

Remember not to forget
This isn’t your home anymore.
No one wants you here,
They’re counting down the second
Until you’re gone.

I knew what men were made of.
Clunky boots
And booming voices.
I knew that alcohol
And smoke
Ran through their veins.

It was truth to me,
Reality.
I understood
That men’s hands were rough
And unrelenting.
That comic books and video games
Are a tempting guise.
Men were made of anger
And demands.
***, power,
and the confusion of the two

But then I met you.
And you’re made of cigar smoke
And cartoons.
Flannel shirts and midnight laughter.
You’re whiskey neat
Gently touching my face
Simply for the pleasure of being near me.

You’re conviction
And ADD,
Religion and cups of black coffee.
I keep waiting for a break
In your love.
I search for the lie
In your kindness.
But you watch TV with your baby sister,
And look for solutions to my worries.
You laugh when I get hot under the collar
And insist on buying me chocolate,
Because you know I’m too polite to ask.

It’s nothing earth shaking,
It isn’t running to each other in the rain.
Not a dozen roses,
Or diamonds.
But I know now
That men aren’t made
Of scary things in the dark.
I know that you’re you,
And I’m yours.

His face is sunshine
and his hands are kindness,
his body is warmth,
and his smile is relief.

She used to be the one
who was by my side
through all of my potentially
bad decisions,
but now it's you.

She was there through
bad haircuts,
tattoos.
piercings,
and daring outfits.

But she always held me back,
****** back the chain
and reminded me
that I can't just do things,
I have to be afraid first.

Now you
cheer me on,
and hold me
when it doesn't go to plan.
The decisions I'm making are better,
and I'm less afraid.

His mouth opens slightly
Releasing smoke
From the big cigar
To float away
Silhouetted by the small town lights.
Windows rolled down
We shiver against the winter air
Blasting into the car,
Puffing cigars
And holding hands.

I have a workshop,
With a circus of colors
To preform and entertain.
Sheets of stained glass
In every color
Only limited by my imagination.

I cut the pieces in curly shapes
And faces,
Into smiles and frowns,
Into leaves or flowers.
Slowly
Arrange
The perfect picture,
Then stand back to look at my masterpiece.

I can never take my eyes away...
Sunlight bringing it to life,
Lighting the reds
On fire,
The blue turns to water,
The faces are are angelically glowing,
And I can’t stop looking,
I’m so lost in the picture...

I can’t see the world through it...
I forget there’s a world through
It,
It’s so beautiful,
Everything I ever wanted...

CRASH.

A hailstorm crashes through,
Shattering the glass,
And the hell storm
Out side blows where the beautiful
Manufactured image once stood.

I find myself a home,
And I fill it with stained glass.
I refuse to see anything around me
Except the picture I’ve dreamed into my reality.

And then the true reality crashes through,
It always does
Eventually.
Destroying almost, if not all, the wonderful things I’ve been so focused on.

I’ve found myself a home,
And I don’t remember building windows,
But the real world outside
Looks beautiful.
It’s full of flowers and leaves,
Sunshine and rain,
Faces with smiles,
And tears,
But no hell storm.

I know in the pit of my stomach,
That it’s going to be shattered,
And I don’t want to be caught off guard this time...
I want to catch it in my hands,
All the awful things,
And hold them like a struggling scared animal
So they can’t surprise me this time,
So I don’t feel like the stupid one
This time.

I’m wandering around
With a rock in my hand,
Going from beautiful thing,
To beautiful thing,
And trying to hit it with the rock,
Trying to break the illusion
Before I love it too much.
I may not remember,
But I must have built the image
In my wondrous workshop,
And tricked myself again.

But no windows are breaking,
And I’m shaking.

What’s wrong?
Why can’t I escape the illusion?

Because I haven’t realized,
Maybe it’s just a plain old boring window,
Not stained glass,
But reality.

“I want to be friends again...”

That’s all I wanted.

“...for her sake.”

That’s when I realized
I cared a hell of a lot more
Than he ever did.

I hate my body.

I hate the curves
And bulges,
I hate the fat
And folds.

I hate the stretch marks
And freckles,
I hate my round plump face,
And my puffy chin.

I hate my short neck,
And my uneven *******,
I hate my fat thighs,
And saggy ***.

I hate my stomach,
And my chubby arms,
I hate my calloused feet,
And my small hands.

But most of all...

I hate not being enough.

A full stomach
Feels like giving up.

I’m a rain cloud today,
Low hanging,
Dark,
Heavy.
Full
And trying to release.

I found a piece of you
Stuck to me
Today.
Like a bee sting,
With the poison still inside.
Throbbing and itchy.

It’s easy for me
To forget the severity,
Until the tunnel vision,
The shaking,
And the vomiting
Start happening.

It’s easy to brush it off
And call it an old problem,
Just because the triggers
Are becoming fewer and farther
Between.

But they still happen.
They still hurt.
I’m strong,
And I’m fighting to gain control,
But losing it feels like failure sometimes.

I wore red
Thigh high
High healed
Boots
Last night.

“Could I please get a whisky neat?”

The night was deliciously cool,
The air was fresh and green.
Twinkling soft yellow lights,
And neon signs.

I just want to forget
The lonely feeling in the back
Of my head
As I watched you two
Play darts
For the first time,
Laughing and kissing.

“Could I get another whisky neat, please?”

I laughed with a girl at the bar
Who had bright red hair.
I’m trying to learn how to do this,
How to meet people,
How to find someone else
To help me forget about him.

The two of you
Fit together so neatly,
So effortlessly.
You got nervous
(We’re only just twenty-one)
And forgot to order
The shot to go in your Diet Coke,
So he ordered you one,
And dumped it in on the sly,
So you wouldn’t be embarrassed.

“Another whisky, please?”

I made it down the stairs
And pretended
I was in control.
I didn’t want to be in control,
I don’t want to be in control,
I’m so controlled.
My heals tapping
On the bricks outside,
I merrily lead the way
To bar number two.
I want to do
Everything he said I couldn’t.

“Could I get a pint of the Hopshire beer, please?”

New places,
New faces,
Movies make this look so easy.
Soft yellow light,
Exposed brick walls.
It’s a little fuzzy...
I don’t want to think about him.

I don’t want to think about him.

I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT HIM.

I always thought I
Was above this sort of thing,
But my head was spinning,
Our glasses were clinking,
And my boots
Got harder to walk in.

You’re so happy together,
And I wish I had that.