I don't know which year I died
If it was when my mom tried to pick me up in kindergarden, but was to drunk to take me home
Several times
Or if it was when I had no friends and got bullied every day
But I sure as hell do know one thing for sure
I revived from the dead
I raised from my grave
stood with broken bones
Dried blood
And scars
I will have these scars for life
But today, I realized
This makes me who I am
And I'm **** proud of myself
Because I survived.

I climb into the tub filled with water
Hoping it would cleanse me of our memories
Our history,
Hoping it would get rid of moments I crave to forget.
I run the soap along my body,
Cleaning out your fingerprints,
Rinse,
Smiling because I think I'm finally free.
But we all know how baths work.
I sat there in my dirt,
Your dirt,
Our dirt,
I sat there in the midst of our memories
Stuck with you
Surrounding me
Once again.
Like you never left.

Eva comes home from work to where there are many flies
and slaps my brother side-headed because he left the back
door open,  she is bovine heavy and limps to close it.  We eat

Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and it is soothing like peanut butter
fudge or Pepsi-Cola.  Eva says do the dishes up boys,  goes
to bed and cries.  Me and brother go to sleep and I dream

of a burning house.

the ghost of you lingers on my lips
the echo of your touch on the curve of my waist
I remember every shaking breath,
every sweet nothing you whispered between my thighs...
with every kiss I could taste little bits of me mixed with little bits of you mixed with the liquor you had been drinking that night
and I remember thinking that I liked the way you tasted.
then you took my hand and held it and I could see a spark in your eye that hinted of mischief and carnal desire.
and so you traced every curve of my body with your tongue
and then you painted my chest and my neck with marks that screamed, "she's mine," even if it was only for a fleeting moment.
and then the night grew old and the sun began to rise and I found myself stumbling out your door, newly addicted to the way you had made me feel.

tonight
i think of love as
a quiet cloud of
cigarette smoke sneaks in
through my
bedroom window.

when i say i love you
to my friend
it means my voice on
the other end of the phone
when the shadows from your head
are now dancing on your walls,
and i will talk you through
the revelation that fear and awe
are not far off.
it means i will accept
the weight you throw onto my shoulders, gladly,
when it gets too much to bear.

when i say i love you
to my family
it means mountains
and oceans and
existential planes
cannot separate us.
it means state lines
may exist on maps,
but my love will cross boldy,
any border.
it means you are my home.

when i say i love you to her
it means being buried alive
underneath layers of
frantic heartbeats,
bedsheets,
and a love that transcends love
and becomes one single
shared breath
inhaling late night epiphanies
and coughing out
paper hearts.

i love you in very much
the same way the stars shine for the earth, the way the oceans gently kiss the shore

the way smoke sneaks in through a bedroom window