I'm watching your features fade
From our children's faces.
The pieces of you
Are flitting out
Of their personalities.

I can see our daughter's face,
My mother's curly hair
Framing it,
And your eyes blinking at me
From underneath it.
Her fingers are fast
On frets and strings
Like her father.
And she jumbles up the digits
On her math pages
Like her mother.
I can feel us hold her for the first time,
I can see you kissing her forehead.

The hardest part will be letting this go.

I can see our firstborn son,
Running up to me
For a kiss after he scraped his knee,
With Starwars temporary tattoos
Climbing up his arms.
I can picture the freckles
Sprayed across a nose like mine,
And a brave smile
From thin lips like yours.
I can see you running his dumptrucks
All over the house together.

I'm not just losing you.

I can picture our second daughter,
With fine hair from you,
Colored ginger from me.
I can see her muddy footprints
Tracked through our kitchen,
From staying out in the rain,
Just like her parents loved to.
I can see her toddling
Through our home,
My eyes staring up at me
Filled to the brim with tears
When she falls,
Your nose all red,
And my mouth
In a pout.

I'm losing them too.

I can imagine our youngest son,
Snuggled up on your lap,
With his daddy's scowl
From drowsiness.
Then my smile, and your laugh
As you blow on his belly.
I can hear him crying
In the wee early hours of the morning,
I can picture you holding me,
As I hold him,
Rocking him back to sleep.

I can see our children
Gathered around the dinner table,
And I know,
The hardest part will be giving up
This dream
I built with you,
This future we'll never have.
I'm watching them
Fade away.

Among stone walls,
And sunlit lawns
With trees that light glosses,
I am a scenery.

There's a fresh new currency
In the world,
But maybe it isn't so new,
We pay each other attention,
And collect bills
From our needy companions.

I lose myself,
In the chaotic storm
Of the attention economy,
I lose myself,
And become a person
I like to keep in the closed room
I go to therapy in.
There's children's art
Everywhere,
So I fit in,
I'm the sculpture of a man,
Who never grew out
Of jealousy and revenge.

But in a mystical land,
Where our property is made up
Of wit, and hate, and chaotic tendencies,
My other side
Comes out,
As hungry for payment as the next
Person.

I try to explain to myself,
I don't mind,
I'm enough for myself,
But we are creatures
With a herd dynamic,
And I fall into
The pyramid scheme,
That is
The attention economy.

Climbing

D
O
W
N

A rope
an ancient plastic
rope

Tiny pieces come off
stick to your hands
to your fingers
and your palms
they itch

Makes a
scratchy
scritchy
noise
rubbing against your jeans
as you
slide

D
O
W
N

here and there
there's a knot
stop and rest
sit
for a second
not the best
but it's all you've got,
start climbing again
You can't stay there
forever.

Lose your grip
slide

D
O
W
N

Too fast
your hands burn
red
so do your legs,
your cheek scrapes against
the rope
it feels like it's on fire.

Brace yourself
for more pain
squeeze
your fingers tight
so you can slow
you scream
in agony
but you've stopped.

You reached
another knot
look down at your hands
and bite your lip
hard
******,
salty,
taste.
One by one
little blisters
newly forming
dotted
across
your palms
throbbing.

Continue
your
journey

C
L
I
M
B
I
N
G

D
O
W
N

A

R
O
P
E

Staying up all night
traveling
is normal now
you've learned to ignore
fatigue

You don't even look

D
O
W
N

Anymore

You've accepted this
as your life
Never ending
Pull of gravity
Calling you to
It

You notice you've hit
A knot again
You sit
But something feels
Odd
You glance down for
The first time in months
Startled by what
Greets you

Below you
Is a hangman's noose

So you've reached
The end of your rope.

“Remember
Remember
The fifth of November...”

Opportunity grew
Like a dandelion in a cracked
Sidewalk.
I had no idea how life would go on,
But ***** dishes continued
Getting washed,
Wind kept blowing,
And cups of tea
Still were made.

It’s only a couple of days shy
Of a year
Since I tried to
Take my own life.

It’s been the best year of my life.

There are still parts of that night
I don’t remember...
I do remember the days following.
How every
Single
Part
If my body
Just ached,
Like nothing I had ever felt before.
And it felt as if
Nothing would ever
Get better,
That I could never be
Better.

“Remember
Remember
The fifth of November,
The gun powder treason
And plot.”

But it did.

The feeling of being in way over my head
Has hardly ever gone away,
Yet things still keep being okay.

The world changed,
And I changed right along side it.

I woke up the morning after,
And I woke up a little more
Each morning following that one.

The decision had been so
Matter of fact...
“I am going to **** myself later tonight.”
I walked down the street through the crunching leaves.
“I have to remember to hug everyone when I say goodbye,
Because I am going to **** myself tonight.”
And the thought had been such a relief.
Imagining letting go,
Was such a relief.

And deciding to take my
Second chance
Was also
So natural,
And obvious.

I built a life
I like.

I made myself
Someone I wanted to be.

I took what I wanted to be an end,
And made it a new beginning.

“I can think of no reason
The gun powder treason
Should ever
Be forgot.”

I remember,
Yes,
I remember,
The fifth of November.

The Fool signifies new beginnings,
Because only a fool would want
To start over.

I feel like a fool.

I told your mother
My plans for our wedding,
I named our child,
And dreamed up fantasies
To whisper in your ear.

I imagined
A magical land,
A large bed in a small apartment,
Fat cats to purr beside us,
And warm blankets
Tying our bodies together
As we twisted and turned in our sleep.
And windows,
I would have to have windows.

They say life is a highway
We’re in two cars
Speeding toward each other
With our necks sticking out of the windows,
Trying to find a way
To gently collide
Without dying.
But we’re going too fast,
So fast
The breath has been ripped from my lungs.
Get ready to crash.

My older sister said,
“Everyone has a list.
Every person has things about them that are bad,
You’ve just got to find someone who's list you can deal with.”

You’re passion.
You are filled with passion in every thing you do.
You have passion in your loneliness,
And in that you have desires.

Beginning again is horrible,
It’s erasing the bad with the good.
It’s seeing where the beautiful memories and the horrible mistakes weave into each other,
And burning both.
Only a fool would begin again.

But I’m a fool.

A fool
For you.

Your hands had become a comfort to me,
So when you pressed them to my chest
I wasn’t afraid.
But you didn’t stop
At my skin,
You pushed through my flesh,
Bent my ribs back
Like wire,
And pulled my heart out.

You dropped it on the ground,
Repulsed,
As if it were a spider,
Or some other unsightly pest.

I healed my chest without it,
Sewed up my flesh,
Because I didn’t want you to see me
Break myself more
Trying to fit it back into
The grotesque cavity.

It hurts more without it.

I tried to swallow it down
With my pride,
Down,
Down,
Down,
The dark well.
So at least it would be safe inside me.

It lives now as a lump in my throat
That I feel constantly
And won’t go away.

Once upon a time,
A flame clear and bright
Fell in love with kindling.

He asked her
To hold him
With her burning arms,
She touched the kindling gently,
And left a black mark
On his chest.

She backed away,
But he grabbed onto her hand,
She watched
In horror
As his fingers went up in smoke.

She didn't want to hurt him,
But he didn't want her to leave.

Now she's watching
The tiny fire
Slowly burning
Up his limbs.
Her own love for him
Orange and dancing in
In the dark
Blackening his
Heart.

We could laugh at anything
When we were young,
Even ourselves.
We’d sit on your kitchen floor
And drink coffee
While listening to colorful music.

It was always the kitchen floor.
Your parents never understood.

We could talk about anything
While sitting
On a magical kitchen floor.

Last night
Is a blur.
I’m told that I was found
Laying there
On the kitchen floor
Covered in my own *****,
Muttering incoherently.

I thought if I drank myself to death
It would look like an accident,
But I mostly did it
Because we didn’t have enough pills
For a cocktail of medication
To put me to sleep.

I remember I was trying to open another bottle
As I slid
Slowly to the floor,
And then
I know I ended up in my bed.
With two friends,
Neither you,
Pushing water into me
While I told them over and over
I was sorry
And I love my family.

On the kitchen floor
You and I found peace of mind,
And on the kitchen floor,
Is where my first true attempt
At death
Ended.

My secret inspiration?
I’m painting a memory.

I’m painting sun soaked
Pink skin,
And rough wave soaked docks.

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.

Old men
Sitting in the freshly brewed
Sunshine,
Sipping their black coffee
Talking about copper wires
And rusted cars.

We have a wonderful
Amount of windows,
And a musical tin roof.

Coffee and butter
Are the aromas that waltz together
And scent the morning.

Everything is warm here.
Warm, white, silver, and blue
From the sunrise.

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

Two brothers
Side by side,
One shining like the sun,
One hauntingly, glowing
Like the moon.

Resentment could've boiled up,
Seeing the extra love
Extended to the elder,
There could've been
Hatred,
And distrust,
But there are two brothers
Bound in love.
Despite their parents wanting
Another
Sun.

I loathe
Watching it happen,
The obvious
Favoritism
Pounds in my veins,
When I'm tangling
My fingers with his,
How could
Someone not love the moon
As I do?

I'll stroke his cheek,
And breathe in
The aching thoughts
In his head,
Until the day is done
And he can shine.

And I will love
With all I am,
The other son.

The early hours of the morning
Are a floor stained with Coffee
And fifty cents in change.

The sky is still dark,
And people are still whiping
Sleep from their eyes.
I’m going to miss her.

I’m going to miss her.

I thought therapy Thursdays
Would never end.

But no more tea in colorful mugs,
No more tears to match mine,
No more meditation together,
No more coming in
Just as you finish your coffee break.

For five years
I wasn’t alone.
For five years
I told myself to just breathe
Until Thursday.

Now it’s ending,
And it’s a Tuesday.

Red curls,
Tied loosely behind your head.
Isn't it strange
That we both know
How we spend the hour
Between three and four
Every Thursday afternoon?

We both wore maroon today,
Contrasting against my short orange strands
And your orange kinked locks.
We both have therapy today.

We waited for our rides together
In the autumn sunshine,
And tried not to make eye contact.
Isn't it strange to see
We both exist outside
Of the
Office?
See us out of our
Safe places
Where the real world
Hurts us.

Dust off your hearts,
And your smiles,
Because you're coming home.

Paint your face
Like a China doll,
And cut yourself out
Of your own life
Like a paper doll.
Brush your matted hair.

Make a ginger bread house
Around yourself
For protection,
It doesn't have to be strong
They won't try too hard
To get in.

Wrap yourself
In a package
With a bow to be
Festive,
So they don't actually have to
Invest in you.

There's no place like home
For the holidays.

A sweet
Sad Christian girl
Walked into a bar,
And tending it
Stood
A disciple
Of all cautionary tales
She’d ever heard.
And he poured her a drink.

She sat,
Legs crossed
Tied in a bow,
And he pulled the string,
With just a smile
And a few looks
That lasted too long.

In the arms of a sinful man,
Is where I
fantasize
about being.

Remember me?
It’s me.
That girl from high school
Who wouldn’t date you.
I work at a gas station now.

I grew out my hair,
Gained thirty pounds,
Never got to college,
And I got *****.

How do you like me now?
Are you still irresistibly attracted to me?
Dodged a bullet, huh?

I hope it helps
That angry fifteen-year-old
Inside of you
To see me like this.

I’m twenty now,
And I still live at home,
I don’t have a car,
And I’m only working part time.

I want you to know
I never thought I was anything special,
I simply wasn’t attracted to you.

I bet it doesn’t hurt you
So much anymore,
Seeing me like this
Makes high school seem further away...

Seeing you?
Just reminded me that I’m a failure.

I'm walking on
The yellow line
In the
Middle of the road

A car goes by,
                        Lean
                                     To the
                                                Side
And hope that you don't
Die.

Every time I
Try to
Run to the side
Of
The road
A truck zooms
Past.

Here comes
Two cars
Got to
Time it just right
Lean to the left
Lean to the right
And hope you can
Make it
Pray it
Isn't too
Tight.

Hey
There's a turn
Onto a
Quite road
Try to run
For it
But
           You're
                    Trapped.
                      Lean
                  To
          The
Left
       Lean
                To
                         The
                               Right


I'm walking on the
Border
Of two
Directions
Feeling the sting,
Of rejection
From the one
I
Turn away from,
I will never truly please
any member of my split family,
So take turns
Trying to
**** me.

      Lean                        
To                              
The                                        
Left.                                                  
Lean
             To
                       The
                                  Right

Walking on the yellow
Line.

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.

The first sip of wine,
The first and last
Sentence
Of a book.

The ending and beginning note of a song.
Last words,
First words,
Gravestones and last meals,
Vows meant to last forever,
And whatever song
Is running through your mind
At two AM.

And your smile,
When you feel listened to.

"Layna, this is Seth,"
Our father breathed into
My ear.
"I think you two should play together
For a while."

We were only children,
Toddling around
With wild fantasies.
I was bashful and shy,
But I always tried
To make you laugh.
And you always gave me
Reasons why you weren't a good
Playmate.

We played tag,
And the wind would carry
Your feet
And push my hair into my face,
I never liked this game.
You always got so far away.
I'd only catch you
When you were out of breath,
You'd stop short,
And I run into you
Hard.
"Father she pushed me!"
"I did NOT! He's lying!"

Our small high voices
Would rise up the chimney
Making imperfect
Melodies together,
And not hearing a thing
The other said,
Too caught up
In our own disassociative
Play land.
"Daddy he won't listen to me!
He ignores me!"
"Father I can't get her
To slow down and think!"

Our amusement
Of one another
Started getting rough,
You didn't like
How I'd started getting more
Boisterous,
And confident.
Unafraid to poke the bear with a stick,
And I loathed your timid
Out look on life.
"Father she scares me! She plays too rough!"
"Daddy he won't take chances! He's still so shy!"

But then there'd be a blissful
Moment
Of perfect harmony,
Under a canopy of tree branches
Woven together,
You'd dare to hold my hand,
And I'd slow down
And breathe it in.
"Daddy why can't he always be like this?"
"Father will she calm down
With age?"

"I love him daddy, he's good sometimes."
"I love her father, she's beautiful when she's gentle."

We built things together,
Crooked buildings out of
Sticks.
You found it funny when they fell through,
I saw it as a problem
To solve.
"Father she's too driven, and bossy. She wants everything just so."
"Daddy he doesn't care if it all falls apart."

We'd wrestle in the grass,
It started out just fun,
Then your pride was damaged,
And so was mine,
And I couldn't let you win.
"Father I don't know if I want to play anymore, she never lets anything go. She won't let me have my way."
"Daddy he thinks I have to be something else."

I would giggle at foolish things,
And sang silly songs,
And you watched me with slitted eyes, Unamused.
"Father she's overwhelming."

"Layna he isn't happy,"
Our father murmured softly.
"Well I'm not happy either!
So he can just leave me alone!"

"What? Why?"
"Because you don't like me anyways!"
"Fine!"

Our inner
Traumatized children, didn't play well together,
And they were determined
To come out
And have their say,
So when they couldn't get along,
I realized,
Neither could we.

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.

Linoleum floors,
And water damaged ceilings.
Second hand clothes
Riddled with an array of allergies
To choose from.

When I was a young girl,
I was very firmly warned
That no good and godly man
Would want a woman
Who was
“Damaged goods.”

The isles of plates and cups
Look like a glass castle.
A shining fortress
Of colorful china
And distorted reflections.
Chipped,
And worn paint,
Or just out of style.

No one wants a woman
Who’s been used.
Your body is not your own,
It belongs to your future husband.
At least
That’s what they told me.

Leather jackets
That smell like cigarettes,
Boots with scuffs,
And faded curtains.
Always inspect CDs before you buy them.
An army of electronics
Lined against the wall.

Behave with a man
As if your future spouses
Were in the room with you.
Don’t touch each other too much,
It leads to
“Other things.”

Obsolete books
Colored on
And ripped.
A used book tells more than one story,
The one written out in ink,
And the history
Of the hands that have held it.

Hold a flower
In the palm of your hand,
Now crush it.
It will never be
The same again.
That’s how it is
With your virginity.

Dolls with faded faces,
Aged and off colored plastic.
Suspiciously sticky children’s toys
From the eighty’s.

I think I belong here,
I’m used.

First,
Second,
Third
Hand.

But I love thrift store finds.

Time is the difference
Between crying when a boy
Touches you between your legs,
Because he wouldn’t listen to no,
And laughing when a man
Traces gentle pictures on your skin
Because he waited for your yes.

It's nights like this
That I remember there's
Tinted glass
Between us.
Our lives
Our worlds
Go through a filter
Before touching each other.

It's nights like this
I rememer that I'm the one
Banging on the glass
And screaming your name,
But either you can't hear me,
Or you
Don't
Want to.

Sometimes you glance up
And I ask myself
'What does that look mean?'
Or I internally shriek
'He actually sees me'

I've spent I don't know how long
At this point,
I've lost track,
Desperately trying
To get your attention.

I want to tell you.

I want to walk miles
And miles
To you,
And yell everything
I've never understood about you
And demand answers.
But that's selfish.

Right now it'd be selfish of me
To voice
What is going wrong,
And that reminds me
How trapped I am.

On the other side
Of tinted glass

Touch her spine,
Feel the cracks
And the bends.

Breathe her in,
The soft vanilla-earthy smell.

Open her up
And feel her softness
Within her bindings.

She’ll tell you stories,
Trap you in worlds with her words,
Paint a paradise out of paraphrasing
History.

With time
Her precious smooth exterior
Will be cracked aged leather.
But loving attention
Gives her smile lines,
And she’ll never lose
Her seductive allure.

She’ll leave you,
Feeling that you’ve finished
With her,
But you’ll be left lonely
In your own head,
Longing for her
To weave you
More wonders.

She’s a temptress,
She’s a liar,
She’s knowledge,
She’s wisdom,
She’s a universe,
She’s a limitation,
She’s an opinion,
Or a truth.

She’s a book.

I’ve been locked out of love,
Hands pounding on the doors,
Wearing a straw dress
Soaked in kerosene,
Standing on hot coals.

If I could brew
Relief into
His cup of coffee
I would.

All I do
Is make the coffee in the morning,
And ring him up for a dollar fifty,
I’m not really part of his life,
Just his morning routine.

But I’m the one he tried to buy
Yesterday’s paper from,
Because it had his son’s obituary,
And I refused to let him pay.
I wish that wasn’t
All I could do.

I’m sorry Tom.

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.

It turns out you were right...
No one is ever going to want me.

I've seen traces of you,
Perhaps smelt a hint of your
Perfume...
Seen your curling
Handwriting,
Other woman.

Did you see the startling red
Of our front door?
The crumbling plaster
Of the walls climbing next to the stairs?
Did you partake of the lingering smell
Of my mother's baking?
Did you feel the bright purple
Cotton sheets
On my parent's bed?

What did he tell you,
Other woman?
That he couldn't leave because
Of his kids?
That he'd marry you if he could?
Did you dream of being our
Mother,
Other
Woman?

Your finger prints
Are somewhere here.
Your ghost is woven into
The carpet,
I bet I could find it
If I wanted to...

Other woman,
I'm sorry he lied to you.

My skin is rough like asphalt,
I'm scratching at it
With my finger nails.
My hair is a mess of knotted
Together chains,
I'm pulling at with my hands.
I want to claw off
This prison of a body.

The inside of my skull
Is a series of shadows,
When you enter the first
It burns,
The second
You can't breath,
As you go on
You'll feel like you're
Swimming through molasses,
And collapsing,
And crying,
And freezing.
I hide in these shadows,
But I'd give them
All up
For you.

I want to burn myself
Into ashes,
Because I'm made of
What you can't love.

My hands are burning
Hot iron,
And you're made of fragile
Ice.

You cut toxic people
Out of your life
Like paper snowflakes,
I knew one day
It would be my turn.
If I cut myself up
Like a paper craft,
Carved out the parts of me
That hurt you,
Would you want me?

Would there be anything left?

How does it feel
To wake up one day
And realize
You're in an abusive relationship,
And know you aren't the victim?
Like dying.
Over and over
And
Over
Again,
Because you hurt them,
And you don't know how
To stop.

Bare skin in the snow,
She wasn’t prepared to be here.
Something decorative, out of place
In a transitioning landscape,
The darkness hides her footprints,
So she doesn’t have to remember the wrong turns
When they’re hidden in the night.

I don’t know how I ended up lost here,
But I can’t remember not being in this wood.
The air tastes like decaying leaves
And attempted young life,
The barren trees scratched at the sky,
Trying to hook their branches into something beautiful,
Perhaps because they remember that they too
Were once beautiful,
And harsh reality made them envious.

The trees were once breathtaking,
My youthful thoughts and emotions
Were once a kaleidoscope of warm pleasure
And entertainment.
But that’s all I remember of them,
I cannot remember comfort, or the introquet
Design of enjoyment.

It’s been what seems like an eternity now,
This place of cold wandering
Feels like the only life left to live,
It was hard enough to become accustomed to it,
How can she let all she knows be taken from her again?
She built her own small fortress out of branches
To keep her from having to look at the unsettling
Righteousness.

Trees are like emotions and circumstance,
The thicker they are… the more dense,
And you cannot see a way out of where you are,
You cannot possibly know
That there’s another way to go.
It makes it tempting to leave it all behind,
Bathe myself in the tranquility of nothing,
Feel the complete apathy
Wash into my mouth,
Flood my brain,
Swirl my hair around my forehead like a halo
So that I might tell myself
It’s right to not try anymore.
Cloud my vision in murky water I can die in
Instead of harsh branches, I can hide in.
All I am is lost.

She had found a way to feel comfortable In ice,
If you don’t know what it’s like to be warm,
If you don’t… Remember.
Why would you leave certainty for the unknown?
She became at ease in her woodland,
Her lost disposition,
Her unclear decisions.

I stumbled upon death on a path in the wood,
Examined the inky black
Soft and littered with water droplets on the ground.
It was only a piece of what had once been free,
And here it was,
Unresigned to it’s fate.
I turned back.

The wing flew back into her mind,
She knew in that moment
A lit up pathway out of the place of in between
Was a gift
That others lost here
Had fought for.
It was time to move on,
Even if it wasn’t clear where.

Not the prettiest
Or the skinniest
Or the curviest,
Not the insane party girl with a brain,
No growing into my looks,
Or glasses to take off,
Or mini skirt to don,
No pompoms to wave,
Or dying of cancer relatable teen story,
Or whatever is in style these days.

You’re not quite the reformable ****,
Just good from the beginning.
Not the cautious nerd
Who can’t talk to girls,
Or the bad boy with a heart,
Or the secretly smart prep,
Not a lonely outcast,
Not the most popular guy in school,
Or the least,
Or whatever is aimed at insecure teens these days.

No peers to tell us
We’re from different worlds,
No exploitation of a killer illness to make us more romantic,
Neither of us can dance,
You were never my best friend’s boyfriend...

Just two people,
Not dramatic enough
For a teen movie.

Just two side characters
Who fell in love.

I can’t stand to be forgotten,
But I don’t want the responsibility of existing.
Maybe I would prefer
That the world
Would just disappear.

I found my solace today
In the green grey
Of the rainy day outside.

I lost the feeling in my fingers
This early afternoon,
I lost my breath
In the steam of the ratatouille
In the shining ***
As I stirred it.

“When you’re not feeling good,
You have to treat yourself
Like a baby.
Did you eat? Did you sleep? Did you drink water?”

The problem runs deeper than that.

The problem is I still smile at strangers
Even though what’s going on inside me
Is terrifying.
The problem is,
I had to tell a very polite detective
What my high school sweetheart did to me,
And I can’t stop feeling his hands,
His mouth,
His breath,
God,
His breath.
His *****,
On my body.

But I found solace in the rain today,
I found solace in an orange tabby
On my lap,
Content to sit there
And purr.

Somehow I will conquer this.

I'm currently assisting
My sister
In pretending
She knows my mother,
I'm listing the little things about her
That I take for granted.
It's amazing
What someone will do
To make believe they care
For just a day.

I want to stop
Feeling things
In the way that I do.

I took what hurt me the most
And I embraced it.
I took *** into stride,
Even let it attach itself to my identity
Like a burr.

I welcomed men between my legs
To trick myself into believing
That I’m in control,
And then I got I sharp reminder I am not.

I am full of a lot of
Different people’s
Pain.
I drank until it didn’t hurt
I smoked until I couldn’t remember
Why I was sad
I let myself
Die inside.
Burned my body
From the inside out
Just to forget.

I don’t believe in happy endings.

I don’t believe I get to have everything
I ever dreamed of.

I believe in self destruction
In holding what kills you close
So you know when to keep your guard up
And that’s always.

I believe in God.
But I believe he made me as a side character
In a story I keep trying to be the protagonist in.

I believe in me
On my own
Without someone,
Because me
I can control

I’m actually not okay.
I’m saying I am,
But I’m really not.

If there was anything I used to believe
It was that he loved me.

It's a rainy evening in January,
And Dexys Midnight Runners
Are flirting with Eileen.
There's fettuccine bubbling away
Over the blue flames,
And I miss you.

It's the kind of night that needs
Tea,
And spicy food,
And whiskery kisses.
I made steam scented with strong spices and herbs
Curl around the kitchen,
And weave around me dancing
To help keep me from noticing
You aren't here.

But you aren't here.

You don't need me to feel weak,
To feel like you can love me,
And I don't need to feel like I can't protect myself
In order to feel protected by you.

I like CDs because they feel more real,
And I like you,
Because you feel more real.

You slept next to me last night,
And your soft breath in my ear
Made sleeping
Less terrifying.
I'm trying to drown out the lack of your voice
With old music,
But it isn't working
Because you love old music.
I woke up and you were gone,
Waking up is a colorful explosion
Of soft kisses and and gentle
Touches with you,

But you aren't here.

Window panes let me watch my breath,
Through my car window
I wish I could see
A speed limit for breathing,
I've Lost control again.

If I hide,
If I'm very careful to stay away
From the things that keep me up
In the dead of the night,
I can say I'm doing fine.

Through my rose coloured ears
I listen to the music
That's gotten me through the years.
If I could be comforted it would be
By the voices
Of people I've never met,
So let me comfort you,
Let me hold you for a moment,
And I'll whisper my stories in your ear...

Human beings scare me,
Like maybe they scare you,
Strangers dictate my mood,
Control my breathing,
And the fear in my belly.
You aren't the only one
Who hates going to work.
If I could see your fear
Painting gruesome pictures
On your face,
And up your arms,
I'd hold you, dear.

I'm watching the glass
Fog up
With my quick breaths,
This is just another sad poem
In a see of unhappy people,
That doesn't make much sense,
But if it slowed your breathing,
Like it did mine,
If it helped you lost track of your
Panic
For a second,
Maybe it was worth the hurt
Of walking myself
Through a panic attack

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 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.

The ugly Monster energy hoodie
She wears every day,
Her hair swept back in a greasy mess,
A knife with a mushy handle
That was left in the sanitizing water too long
In hand
As she gingerly dices lettuce.
She always gets quiet when she criticizes me.
I’m just trying to earn my minimum wage,
But she had a bad day at home,
So she’ll find fault in whatever I’m doing.

Go home and fall asleep,
It’s only 10am,
My sheets are fresh,
And my clothes aren’t.
Then he calls me and tells me to wake up.

The kitchen has miniature milky ways
floating around in the sunlight dripping from the windows,
It smells like dinner from yesterday
And alspice.
My mother is still wearing her maroon bathrobe,
Her hair is a tangled halo framing her face in imperfect curls,
She’s sorting the spices.
She doesn’t understand why I’m unable to keep up with her busy chatter.

It’s a habit to repeat what I must do to stay alive to myself,
As if I’m both child and mother, giving a list of instructions and dragging my feet to follow.
“Brush your teeth,”
“Wash your face,”
“Take a shower,”
“You haven’t eaten yet today,”
“Do laundry,”
“Go to sleep,”
“Talk to your friends,”
“Pay your bills,”
“Go to work,”
“Wake up,”
“Don’t go back to sleep,”
“Drink water,”
“No alcohol before 5pm.”
Keep going.
Somehow, keep going.

My evenings are spent
With my hands tenderly ******* the long neck
Of a beer bottle.
My lips pursed,
Kissing the brim
And savoring every golden drop.
I try to distract myself from the absence of company,
Tell myself I like to be alone.

I go to sleep alone,
I try to fill up
The part of my bed he should be in,
And not think about it.
The cotton covers wrapped around me
Mummifying myself
In mindless sleep.

4:45am alarm,
And it all starts again.