one time i woke up alone
and it was cold-
                          -er than ice
the air
held its breath
and my own
suffocated
          as it escaped
          frozen lips

s i l e n t

i woke up with
the inside of my head
and the outside of my heart
        s
           p
        i
           l
              l
           i
         n
          g
                         out
onto the hard cot and
it was like
                          i was screaming

silent w h i t e screams
in my misery

alone.

but then someone came
with a warm blanket
     wrapped it around me
     gave me a warm mug of
     tea
and also

a black
box

so i threw everything away
and the box was
          heavy, but i
             haven't seen it since

       i wrapped myself tighter
       under the blankets
   retreated back
with my
steaming tea
and i couldn't see anyone
      but

i could feel
       His gentle stroke on my cheek
                        as i breathed
                 softly
           back
       to
sleep

And the blackberries would arrive
With the close of summer
Then a change in good things
That flutter behind wide eyes would begin

And the pungent fresh morning mint leaves would shrivel and die
Replaced with heaps of golden and brown coffins
Like broken limbs from a basket case heart
Littering the garden path with those memories
Which I would stamp on hard with my feet for bringing me here at all

And the doors would be locked
So tight that not a word of grief could escape them  
And then the sun would begin to  drop
Eventually leaving us apart in the dark where I would not hear a word of anything said
But would train my ear to pick up the small whine from the grandfather in the lower hall

And I would press my face so close against the thin glass door that I would go numb
And then for that second I would not think about anything
and I would live in bliss for that small moment
Savouring the lack of feeling

It was cute the way she smiled at you,
in faded tee-shirts that matched her eyes.

That white washed blue always lingered,
pressed behind my eyelids.

I could probably,
try and forget the image,
if I really wanted to.

But I didn't.

I wanted to remember everything about her.

Her smile,
her tee-shirts.

Her college sweatshirts,
("my dream colleges, I'm not smart enough to get into these places.")
And how I would just stare at her because she didn't seem to realize that
she was a genius.

But she's gone now.
Washed away,
blown away,
written over.

There are so many ways to say it.
How she ******* died.

But I prefer, "******* died."

Because I don't want to forget out childish memories,
our late nights filled with pointless conversations that led to
more meaningful ones.

She was the one that made me realize I was lesbian.
All I wanted was to kiss her.

She would wrap her arms around me,
just in goodbye hugs.
And I wished I had the courage to tell her,
"I love you. And I want to kiss you more than
anything right now."

But I'm not a brave girl.

I'm a girl who writes on the back of menu's and notebooks,
the girl who wants to forget things before they are remembered.

But I guess she was my weakness, she was many people's weaknesses after all.

I wanted to remember her before I forgot her.

Those white washed eyes,
straight white teeth smiles.
College tee-shirts with mascara stains.
Late nights where I wasn't brave enough.
Early mornings when I bid her farewell.
Mid day's where I regretted letting her go.

But I would remember that to let someone go it means to have had them be yours in the first place.

She was a free bird that one.

And I like to think that right now, she is flying with the flocks of geese.

Which were her favorites, despite my hatred.

So whenever I see the flocks of geese dotting the sky.

I like to imagine that she is one of them.

I like to imagine that she ******* cares.

But then again, I want to remember her.

And when I remember her, I remember that she didn't care about anything.

And that's why she jumped.

And that's why she cut.

And that's why she cried.

And when I remember her,
I seem to forget those parts.

the celestial bodies
float
above my
flummoxed
thoughts
as another drag
of
this

                        ember-encrusted

  stupor-e­nhanced

                  fear-suffused


stick
brings
life and
death
and oblivion
furthermore