two years ago my body was anything but. i built bridges
into my heart and burnt them down
just so all the memories couldn’t pass

this is an apology for all the good things i left stranded,
for the massacre inside me,
for the worst parts that survived the war

i never intended to grow outward instead of up –
just wanted to be a part of the needed,
of the appreciated and loved

i stopped playing the piano when i was nine years old
because i hated the emptiness that filled the air
in between each note

one night my dad slammed the door so hard my mother
shook for days, i made her coffee in the mornings
because she couldn't bear to sleep in a half empty bed

those were the first nights i spent writing
rather than sleeping. this an acknowledgement for the words
that never made their way onto paper

to all the bridged dreams and deserted soldiers -
i am coming back for you, all of you,
and i will tell your story

the first boy i ever loved had a freckle under his eye
and i swore
i'd never forget how that looked
and now, i have forgotten which eye it was under
and what color they were

but this, this is not a sad realization
this is not justification
this is an explanation of a simple thing:
i was not in love
but for the life of me, i could've been

and for reasons that i can't quite explain
we drifted apart
and truthfully, this may have been because he called me names i cannot repeat
and he broke me in ways that i'll never be able to fix
as ****** as it is, i stayed for a while longer
even though i knew i shouldn't
because
god, i thought i was in love
i swore i'd never forget that

but i did and i have
and sometimes these "goods" and "bads" come to pass
and all that's left is a fading memory
a fleeting feeling
not of love, but of longing
to be in love again

and this freckle under his eye, well i haven't seen it in seven months
and i don't really care to
because i've seen other beautiful things
things that would make that freckle seem
ugly
things that would make that freckle seem
insignificant
things that i swear
i will never forget

and this, i know
is not forever
i am not in love with the world yet
but for the life of me,
i could be

Today I saw the strangest thing--
Do you know what I saw?
It was a bird, without the wings
His song was just an awful, "Caw!"

I tried to hold it, pick it up,
But all he did was peck
I took him in, gave him a home
He left his room a wreck

He felt too good to help with the grubs
Among the plants in the garden bed
And when I offered him meals at night,
He felt too proud to let himself be fed

He couldn't fly or flap or sing
Or learn to heed man's law
But should a friendly dog look to me for a pat,
He'd let out his boisterous "Caw!"

After months of the mercy I'd felt for this creature,
I had been much more patient than most
But that morning he'd gone,
all he left was a note, and it said,
"You're a terrible host"

The drip sunk in his arm
he looks out; sees the bone beneath the nurses’ skin,
loose in their leanings.  

It is over : death
out of his vein, the drip
sunk in,
the drip with its minced ******* of blandishment.

They will save his life,
abort a quintessential,
struggling gentleness, a life he has
placed in her womb,
a tiny pulse too light.

“It is ridiculous,” he murmurs,
as the pretty nurse leans over, tightening the band.
The blood thumps into strained normality,
the overdose has petered out in yellow urination

dripping tears.
A pull, and it is out
in the bucket.

Squashed, he continues,
suicidal, for tumultuous reasons, small abortions, live.

There were long nettles, sharp thorns, a wasp’s sting;
bruises, cuts, a piece of paper torn, a broken ring;
grey trouser rags and still, pale lips.
We stood quietly. Long mute hours passed.
Someone scattered dark petals from dark, crimson flowers
upon his hair; he being ours.