It’s okay, I only cry sometimes, I lie,
Because being honest and admitting to
Days filled with endless tears is
Unattractive
And nobody likes a weak girl with wet eyes
Tears mean
Instability
In the eyes of stones who masquerade
As human beings.

It’s okay, I only cry sometimes, I say,
Like when reading a book and it hits me
Harder than expected
Like on drunken nights when I’m lonely and
My past haunts me
Like the times when I’m really, truly, kind of
Very happy
Or when I’m numb to everything
And sometimes when nothing at all
has happened but I’m still moody

But it’s okay,
because honestly,
*I only cry sometimes.

I've started hating all
of the music that
I love
and maybe it’s because
I hear you in every
song

I belong surrounded by tall trees
And babbling brooks
With green grass
And picnic lunches.
I belong in dusty bookshelves
And worn out couches
Patterned rugs
And book marks
I belong in warm living rooms
With the fireplace going
Hot chocolate in hand
And family movies.
I belong in smiling faces
And drawn out hugs.
I belong folded between
The cracks in fingers and toes
Wedged inside bright eyes
And eyelashes.
I belong in all of these places
But
Above all
I belong with you.

You call me precious
Like you can see through all of the scarring etched along my spine from countless nights spent awake and drunk and lonely enough to talk to strangers who never cared about what I had to say
Precious like a stone sitting on the edge of the water and you help me forget the times I wanted to jump off and dive into the darkness, the cold depths of the sea.  I've been tangled up and turned into knots for a decade but you came around and I'm all just strings now, ready to be braided into something beautiful by your hands as they caress me in the most innocent places, my collar bones, my cheeks, along my arms and sending goosebumps over my skin.  A physical reaction showing what your touch does to me.
You call me precious, the freckles across my shoulders and nose, and you squeeze me hard, not enough to break bones but hard enough that I know that you're as close to home as Ill ever be. 
You call me precious without knowing the extent I've went to in order to correct everything wrong about me and the under construction signs that are still littered across my mind and sometimes when you look in my eyes it feels like I'm being looked at for the very first time.

You told me you loved my hair
And you would twirl it
Between your fingers
While you sat and stared at me
With that smirk I knew so well
You hated when I talked of
Cutting it off
So I kept it long and always clean
So you would have something
Beautiful to look at
Whenever you looked at me
My hair is still long
But you can no longer see it
Because you are gone
And I've thought of chopping it
All off
So I couldn't remember the feel
Of your hands running through it
But I know I would still feel you
On my scalp,
No matter how short I cut it

I will take my time as I unravel the binds
That you laced around your figure,
My fingers handling the intricate knots with care,
And I will be attentive to every truss,
Making sure I get each one undone.
Slowly, you will disentangle from the
Untidiness that restricts and I will witness
The birth of your galaxies as you finally
Take a step out of your restraints.
You are my work of art,
My beautiful silhouette of an angel that
Was trapped far too long by the weight
Of the world that you encompassed.
I knew all along what lay beneath the cocoon
That you sheltered yourself in and,
As you take your first step with no hindrances,
I watch as you blossom into radiant colors,
Abstract light that brightens your face
And reveals your true essence.
I know in that moment,
That you are the most stunning butterfly
I have ever come across and
Every knot untied
Was worth it.

You laid in my arms and tears dripped down your face,
each droplet containing all of the things you didn't say,
but I knew as each one slid across your skin and landed on mine
that you were what I've always wished for,
and everything I never knew I wanted,
and I could have died happy right there
all tangled up in you
So I cried, too.

You call this art,
My constant need to write things out
For better understanding, to map them
Out on pages covered in watercolor
Paintings, my use of anything I can get
My hands on to create something
And you look at me in amazement
When I show you what I have done,
When I show you how I took all of my
Emotions and turned them into
Projects that some may find beautiful
But you don’t see the pain behind
Every word I type and each stroke
Of my paint brush or each eraser mark
Littered on illustrations I try to complete
And you don’t see that I try to mend
My broken heart with artwork so it no
Longer bleeds, this papier-mâché
Creation is all that I have that keeps me
Pieced together and
Sound of mind
And you look at me in amazement
And call it art
When really it’s just my attempt
At surviving.

I’m poisonous, detrimental
I will destroy you and I won’t
even glance back to throw
Pity your way.
I am the tornado that sweeps
up the city without hesitating
Lightning crashes that shatter
The sky, thunder that shakes
Rooftops and terrifies small
Children laying in their parents’
Beds. I am the monster that
Hides underneath those beds
And grabs small feet as they
Hang down, I am the eyes in
The closet that haunt you
When you’re sleeping and I
Am the nightmares that keep
You awake at night. I seek
To demolish, I seek to scare,
I seek to tear apart your pieces
And fling them into rioting flames
I will mutilate, decapitate, violate
You without sympathy and I will
Watch as you cry out in pain
And wither away.
I am everything you’ve always
Feared I would be
And worse.

You brought me a bag of journals
And told me that I had enough books
Written by other people, it was time
To start writing my own.

So I tucked that sentence into my heart
For safekeeping because it was the
Prettiest thing I had ever heard and
It sounded like poetry to me.

“Please don’t talk so loudly, these walls are paper thin.”

You’re huddled on my bed,
Crying like a child, sobbing
(You’re shaking with every gasp of your shallow lungs)
Warning me of the boogie man
Hiding behind the door

“Please, I think he has a gun!”

You slur your words as you
Open yourself up to show your scars
(I already know they are there, I have the same marks)
I hush you, soothe you,
Try to keep you quiet

“It will be okay, he will be gone soon, I promise”

Somehow I became your protector
From the bad guys who seek to destroy
(You have a thing for the bad boys with hard hands)
So I hide you in my room and
Stretch my arms over your skeleton
(That’s all you are now, a pile of skin and bones)
And my heartbeats are used
To keep yours going
(I hope it’s strong enough, God, I hope it beats harder)
I coax you, encourage you
Attempt to mend you

“Lay your head on my chest, everything will be alright.”

I hope you will keep going
Because I need you
(I love you, I love you, I love you. Please stay with me)
I busted down that bathroom door
When you were locked inside
(I could hear your demons laughing right inside, next to you)
I bled for you, I bruised for you
I broke myself down to give you my pieces

“Please don’t do this, please give me that knife, don’t use it.”

You needed patching so I
Glued you back together again
(I stitched the pieces that wouldn’t stick and hoped it wouldn’t come undone)
And then the boogie man and
The bad guys disappeared

“Oh sweetie, they’re no longer a problem to deal with!”

So you took all of my pieces and
You left me behind
(I wasn’t needed as your protector anymore)
No bad guys to stand up to,
No demons to stare down
(You disappeared without a trace just like they did)
So I sat in my room alone,
Crying like the child that I was
(Wishing my mother needed me again)

"Please don't talk so loudly, mommy, these walls are paper thin."

The sun shines on my petals and I open up,
Drinking in the daylight, my leaves stretching
Towards the clouds, soaking in the warmth

How blessed I am to finally have a break from
Stormy days that damaged my stalk and shook
My foundation, almost ripping me from the soil.

How blessed to be free from the torment of the
Raindrops as they fell and shattered on every piece
Of me, leaving me breathless and beaten, shaking

How blessed to still be alive and well, despite the
Abuse of the storms and the lack of shelter. I see
That I can always remain strong and tall and glorious.

Despite any storms that may come my way, I remain.

All I do is sleep and cry
My bed has become the quicksand I feared when I was younger
The sinking pit hidden behind bushes deep in the woods that
****** you in before you could scream for help
My blankets wrap around me and constrict
A boa prepping me to be its snack
An ocean of fabric that refuses to let me swim
I sink in, I cant move, I cry.
The tears fall down my face as if they are lubrication
To help me out of the tangled web of black and white flowers
Covering my sheets
As if to try to coax me out from my hiding place,
My hole,
My life.  
And I cry a lot.  
I cry until my eyes are the size of golf *****,
Until the elephant in my room is now sitting on my chest
And I cant breathe
And I gasp through the tears
And I want to die.  
I will take anything over this pain in my chest,
This shaking in my hands,
These wild and manic thoughts that make me feel like
I've finally, completely broken.  
Gone off of the deep end,
Right into the hands of the quicksand that is my bed.  
The quicksand that is not hidden in some woods
But is right in my living room,
Right in front of my front door,
So easy to fall into,
So easy to succumb to,
So easy to die there.  
If i wanted to.

“We get it, you write.”
What a laugh
You get it that I write
But you don’t understand
That this is the only way
I can say how I feel,
Say what I think,
And I can say it masked
By metaphors or
Similes
That would leave the
Reader guessing what
I mean.

“We get it, you write.”
But you don’t understand
That the words flow through
My head every waking moment
And I’m constantly thinking
Of the next line to be typed,
The next word.
I can’t go a day without
Thinking in poetry,
Without wanting to express
Myself with these paragraphs,
Without needing to release these
Feelings.

“We get it, you write.”
You get that it’s frustrating
That I take a random sentence
You may say that intrigues me
And turn it into something
That you never noticed when
You were saying it.
You don’t see the world of
Possibilities
That are unleashed with
Each word you mutter
Under your breath
But I do

“We get it, you write.”*
And I get it that you will
Never understand that
It isn’t just writing to me
Because, after all,
I am the
Poetry
And the poetry
Is me.

my words drip
drip
d

r

i

p
into these emails
and fill the cup to the brim
and I let them drown me
in their tide
the dam is shaking
it's breaking apart
and soon everything
will be
u
n
d
e
r
the flood
u
n
  d
   e
    r
     neath the
prevalence of my
thoughts and the
o n s l a u g h t
of the emotions my
words provoke
and you could be
the
(life vest)
thing that saves me
maybe
if you wanted
but these words
don't really make
sense
and how can I
gasp for air
when really air
is the only thing
filling my
lungs to
c a p a c i t y
and the
d
  r
   o
     w
       n
         i
          n
             g
is
(all in my head)

Fallen words like skyscrapers
Bludgeoned by airplanes in the sky
Toppling over, creating destruction
When did this become my life.

Floating in a world destined to be
neatly labeled and stacked on shelves
in the back of the pantry,
settled in nice and snug,
Im the awkwardly shaped fruit
that you cant cut and seal.  
I stick into fingers like
diabetic pin needles
and make blood bloom on your hands
when you try to sort me.  
If you get past my rough exterior
I have a hard shell that cannot be
cracked simply,
you wont get through that easily.  
My structure refuses to bend and break
at the touch of those who
find love only in words on fragile pages
dictated by men with silver tongues
and false embraces.  
I am the fruit that was bitten into by Eve
on that fateful day
from the forbidden tree,
sexuality.  
I am not so easily stored into
nice compartments,
brand new tupperware arrangments
that find a home in the
cold confines of your refrigerator.  
I cannot stand the cold or the dust
of your kitchen appliances or cupboards,
I cannot sit quietly with the
tucked in things, the organized,
and mantained items.  
My juices, when open, stain and drench
all surroundings
despite the care you take in handling
and I will ruin your precious dress.  
I am volatile, I am awkward,
I am beautiful, I am inconvenient,
I am art.  
I am the awkwardly shaped fruit that you
cant cut and seal.  
I am real.

And we sat on your couch
Making out
While La Dispute sang in
The background

Spoken poetry
and
Tied tongues
Blended together

And became hands
On bodies
And heavy breathing
Touching in all

Of the right places
And I was consumed
By fire in my belly
And you stared

At me with the same
Fire in your eyes
And your fingers
Were greedy

As they discovered
All of my secrets
And my creases
And you kissed me

I brushed my shoulder off
And the boulder that was you
Fell to the ground

My neck feels better now.

I am a total wreck of a person
A five car pile up stuck on the side of the highway
Windows caved in and smoke billowing
The ambulance is on the way
To pick up all of the fragments that are
Left on display and to
Remove all of the glass that has the
Potential to pull at my insides and
Tear me apart.

I am torrential rain in the middle of night
The lightning cracking across the sky and
The winds whipping through and breaking the branches that land on your porch or
Crash through your front door and
Leave puddles behind that you have to clean up in the morning
I am falling and pouring and
I am terrifying to those few who
Still hear their own screams in the thunder
And who know what the rain feels like
When it leaks from your eyes and
There is no drought in sight.  
The flooding that drowns from the inside out.

I am an icecream cone on a hot day,
I melt easily in the sun but
You cant resist me,
Three scoops of chocolate and vanilla and strawberry,
An assortment for the assorted,
The sticky sweet sugar on your tongue,
The rush of cold going straight to your head and
Causing a headache
Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth
And hope the pain goes but
When it finally does,
You take another bite and there's that cold again
The desire you can't quench so you
Lick and lick and lick
Despite the repercussions because
You like the way I taste.

I am a dandelion flower waiting to be picked
Waiting for wishes to come from someone's lips and
Feed my seeds so I can explore
But i am easily torn from the ground, out by my roots, without my choosing to
And i am easily cut down by blades pushed by those who dont
See me or
Dont care
And I am easily tossed aside once all of
My seeds have taken every wish to
Their destination and I am just a ****
And I will turn brown and rot and disappear
and will be forgotten.

You told me you loved me
And then took it back
“well, let’s talk about that”

You said
“See I have a fear of jumping in too soon
because the water could be too deep
or too cold
and I can’t swim in your eyes
any longer than I have to”

You said
“but I still care about you”

And you cried

But my tears drowned you out of
my vision and I wiped my face with
my hands that only wanted
to lovingly touch you

But you took it back

And now I’m not sure
what I’m supposed to do
because I didn’t take it back and
I didn’t want to

I guess I’m just a fool
who isn’t too terribly afraid of drowning
as long as I’m beside you.

Or maybe I'm just
braver than you.

Too much to go on
Too much to write
And my hands are tired

Unfortunately you give me
Such good reasons

To break my hands
On pens and paper

(I wish you didn't)

I spend so much time
putting you back together
but when I fall apart
you can’t be bothered.

I jumped head first into
The ocean that has your name
And I tried to stay above the
Waves but the current
Dragged me out of my
Comfort zone and my toes
Could no longer touch the
Sandy bottom
I jumped in before and
Almost drowned until I
Was able to pull myself
Out and I thought I had
Learned my lesson, but
Here I am again, trying to
Stay afloat in your torrential
Water because I thought
That maybe the swimming
Lessons I took after the first
Time would help me keep
My bearings, I was quite
Mistaken, and now I’m fighting
Once again to save myself
From your depths
The thought of drowning in
You was once so appealing
But now I just want a breath
Of fresh air and a life jacket.

drink drank drunk
the night was young
but I woke up feeling
20 years older
right back in that place
where my wrists feel
sensitive to the touch
because my mind
has lashed them
over and over and Ive
thought of how the
blood would taste on
my tongue
and if it would still
consist of the liquor
I drank
that ruined everything.

“What’s your secret to being happy?!”* you asked
I smiled and replied,*“I’m not.”

Too many hands
have ran their fingers
through my hair

Leaving traces of
themselves behind

Too many memories
are embedded in
each strand

Individual moments
in each dead end

So I will take these
scissors where my
hair begins

Directly at the
roots

And I will chop away
until all of the fingers
fall to my shoulders

Finally releasing themselves
from my mind.

The waves keep crashing over me, making breathing difficult.
Any moment I hope to wash up on a shore that I can call my own,
Make my home, but for right now I float.

Like a piece of driftwood that was led astray from the ship it was
Attached to, I no longer have a vessel that serves a purpose and
I’m slowly warping and decaying with every wave.

The sun glares down at my floating body as if it knows my deepest
Secret, it’s glad to see me struggling in the dark water, hoping that
I will eventually drown - I don’t blame it.

I would have sunk a long time ago but the air in my lungs keeps me
Afloat and I can only wait to see when they will eventually deflate
And I will be sent to the depths, where I belong.

I imagine myself, pale and freezing, slowly sinking towards the
The sandy bottom that awaits me, arms raised at my sides, glassy
Eyes opened wide, watching my descent.

The thought of giving up grows stronger every second my cracked
Skin is left in this water and I have to force the images out, seeking
The resolve I must have stored somewhere

It’s a difficult task but I keep my head above the water, my lungs full
Of air, my heart on the same rhythm it was in before, and I wait for
The shore that is sure to come at any moment.

I got a really pretty dress the other day
that looks like a painting
and I thought, how fitting,
because all I ever wanted to be
was a piece of art on your wall
that you could admire whenever
you wanted.

You're sweet like candy
And I've always had an intolerance for sugar

The skin on my wrist feels sensitive

As if just a brush of my finger could cut it open

And let lose the emotion that I have built

In my chest that is screaming to get out

And I could cry an ocean if it wouldn’t cover

My desk and distract me from work that I despise

And I could sleep for eternity, never blinking

My eyes, never seeing the light if it meant

I didn’t have to deal with the burning sensation

In my pupils as they try to expand and contract

And take in my surroundings that seem drab and

Gray on days like today when it’s cold out but

My heart is colder and I’m freezing to death

No matter how much warmth my sweater provides

How do you heat up an empty shell of a girl who

Despises the sun and prefers the rainy nights to

The broad daylight of the afternoon and hides

In darkness

You intrigue and inspire me
And I want to explore every inch of you,
trace my fingertips over every curve of your body,
the creases of your lips, twirl my fingers through your hair,
plant kisses along your collar bone so my adoration
will grow there and flourish,
adorning you, blossoming under my touch.

I want to write letters for you to float on,
to tuck into your dreams,
to keep close to your heart at all times.  
I want you to melt onto the pages when you think of me
so you know how I feel,
constantly being a puddle at your feet.

I will leave you with little bits and pieces of my mind
throughout the day and you may find it entertaining
or you may realize that my mind is far too unhealthy
to work properly (this is more than true)

I’m afraid that I’m going crazy and these three cubicle
walls are doing nothing to help me find my placing among
these phone calls, but it’s hard to find your footing when
the voices of the patients consistently knock you over

And you want to hide underneath your desk for fear of
your sanity finally leaving out of the door because it
couldn’t take it anymore and it’s bags were packed
already.

I’m writing this in the form of a poem but we both know that
the pleas of the insane could never truly be beautiful and
that is what this is, a documentation of a young woman
finally coming to terms

With no longer having all of her marbles, she lost them in a
game amongst children in the school yard but thought she
had gathered enough, since, to maintain herself (she was
wrong)

And now she is scattered across a Formica desk surrounded
by voices that are not in her head but actually in her vicinity,
all saying the same things she says, all answering the same
messages

All of the same thing over and over again every day and we’re
back to the monotony of the situation at hand, no excitement
resides inside of these walls just like they cut all contact off
to nature

No windows located anywhere near, can’t catch a glimpse of
the outside, lord forbid, you may decide to skip out in the
middle of a berating phone call so you can walk in the sun that
glistens on the pavement.

Too much fresh air is bad for cubicle robots, too much freedom
leads you to believe that you are not just a drone that they
trained to avoid any interaction at all costs, just put it off, put
it off, put it off, wait for the call.

"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die"


You blossom

Your warmth
glows

Under my touch

And I can’t keep my
fingers from

Tracing poems

Across your skin

As my eyes travel
deep into

Yours

And drown

The sweetest death

I could have
imagined

im losing weight

dropping my skin like
last night's wine stained dress

i will lose enough

that no one can
retrace their fingertips steps

i will shed the residue

of every finger and each
breath that still lingers

i will rid myself

of the mistakes that are
laced in each of my seams

i will disappear

so no one can see how
damaged i truly am.

"You set on me, but you are not the sun."* - Brand New, Not the Sun

I wish I could turn everything into a poetic statement.  I wish, instead of saying, “You touched my hair,” I could replace it with how it felt as though the world would crumble if you ever stopped touching me, how every single letter in your vocabulary always had me on the edge of my seat, hoping that they could form into words that said something along the lines of you need me like the sun needs the moon in the sky and the elephant never forgets those types of things.  

I wish I was articulate enough to explain in a way that wasn’t too emotional how I held my breath waiting for your calls until my lips turned blue and I grew a little fuzzy around the edges.  How each time my phone rang with you on the other line, I could finally take in that fresh air and smell you even though you weren’t there.  How many lonely nights I sat with that bright light in my eyes, looking at every incoming message with malice as not one of them had your name on it.

Even if I could form all of this into a lovely form of poetry, free flowing and wild, I would never be able to tell you how much I thought of you before you disappeared like the sun right after it set and how now I sometimes feel like my life is filled with unbearable nights with no hope for the morning rise.

I still miss you sometimes.

Will I miss you
or just the feel of
your jaw cupped
in my hand
and my fingers
tracing through
your hair
and your soft
soft skin
I wanted to
feel forever

I.
The window will always be closed between us -
you never gave me enough room to breathe.

II.
"Open the window,” you laid on my chest, suffocating me
and I needed some fresh air to get rid of your scent

III.
I leaned out and peered over the edge,
wondered just how long it would take to finally meet
The ground below if I leaned a little bit further and
Just let go, attempting to fly like the baby bird I
Always pretended to be.

IV.
The light filtered through and
The sound of traffic (brake squealing and honking)
penetrated my mind, knocking all
Thoughts of you (laughing and talking)
Out of my thoughts
Good riddance
Car accidents always sounded better, anyway

V.
My breath fogged up the glass
and I wrote you love
letters that disappeared
just as quickly as you did
But we were always meant to be
temporary just like
notes made out of
warm breath and window panes.