I bend to scoop the sand into my palm,
clutching tightly,
the tiny grains warm within my grasp.
The ocean is calm,
gently nudging my toes as though reminding me of its presence,
begging to be noticed.
It is persistent.

I look back to my fist,
prompted by the renewed emptiness inside,
capturing a glimpse of the last grains of sand
as they trickle from between my fingers.
They lay to rest at my feet;
before, behind, or beside me - I could not be sure.
I never did find out, nor did I care.
They were never mine to hold.

I can't look people in the eye-
I know that it's a flaw of mine;
but he stroked my face
and made it rise-
so that his gaze could meet my eyes;
and that look,
that stare,
it bore a hole-
that saw deep down inside my soul.

*[To see
and be seen;
I think I'll make a little more
eye contact]

We lay in bed, the only place I know him-
Wrapped in each other, legs a tangled heap-
Still sweaty, we are perpetually sweaty-
And he holds me with a tenderness I haven't seen before.

It is these times that we speak French-
During *** he speaks German, I do not know what he says-
But it sounds angry, and I like that.
Afterwards we speak French, the language of love-
and I tell him I'm in love-
but not with him.

I tell him I'm in love with a man thousands of miles away-
who cannot hold me.
And I trace the scars on his arm with my fingertip-
White lines that stand-out against the glistening black of his skin-
Which spell out a name that is not mine
and I know that he still loves her-
Because he tells me.

He pushes my hair behind my ear, and kisses me on the forehead.
It's a gentle kiss, not meant for me-
he knows I like it rough-
But I close my eyes and pretend the lips belong to someone else.
We pull eachother closer.

He came and went;
the smell of burning rubber
strong between her legs.

You inhale oxygen while I inhale strife;
Breathing to keep living but it slowly ends my life.
You say that it will **** me, and I do not disagree;
So hold your breath
And bite your tongue;:
While I breathe misery.

The time had come to submit to
an urge I'd long denied.
Wanted to stop the crushing pain
with a method not yet tried.
So that night I took four Ambien-
didn't care if I lived or died;
and I slipped into a deep, dark sleep-
my fleeting suicide.

I wish that you could have my heart-
in its entirety
I wish that you could have my heart-
but I'm keeping it for me
See, I gave someone my heart before-
but he went and gave it back
Yes, I gave a boy my heart before-
but the ******* turned it black.

She swallowed her birth control
For she has learned the hard way
That it is her responsibility
To bear the burden
Of bearing a child
While the man **** as easily as he goes
To grab a drink with his friends
While the arms that belong to the body of a woman
Cradle a baby
That cries for milk from ******* that will be drained
And a heart that will be empty
And hardened by men
Who will *** and go again.

I wasn't sure
I wasn't sure how
  I wasn't sure how you felt
   I wasn't sure how you felt when your smile made me melt
   Your smile made me melt
  I wasn't sure how you felt
I wasn't sure how
I wasn't sure

Flower child,
they tell me that I can't afford to give my love away for free
quantifying it is a limited good
as though I am passing my self-worth out like candy to greedy children
leaving nothing left for me

Flower child,
they tell me that if I must speak
that I must shout to be heard
should my soft speech and gentle words be swept away
in the strong tide of self interest

Flower child,
they tell me I must dress in uniform
but I fear that I will drown in the sea of normalcy
unable to swallow air through the tightness of my collar and heaviness
of pin-striped monotony

Flower child,
is it so bad to love unboundedly?
to channel strength through vulnerability?
to let one's soul greet the eyes of a stranger?

My town is a time- capsule;
undug before its time.
My town is a familiar song;
with painful, haunting rhyme.
My town is a thrift store jigsaw;
all the pieces don't quite fit.
My town is a holey target;
with the bulls-eye not quite hit.

Failures
Quirks
Shortcomings
Flaws
apparent at every turn.
My town is a heaping bonfire;
a mess destined to burn.

Back hunched,
he carried the weight of the world,
his rounded shoulders layered
with dust left by lavish cars.

Unshaved, unwashed, and unabashed-
he accepted the bag I handed him
and took my hand,
so small and clean within his.
He asked god to bless me-
Still so sure of his existence.

You can hardly sense him coming,
your heart is so naïve--
And his match, struck, lights a burning flame,
With which you now perceive.
But some things can’t last forever
For It has just burnt out, you see.
So the world returns to Darkness
And you’re left with what should be.

Her happiness was measured in milligrams-
the dosage of her Prozac,
or the amount of alcohol she didn't drink
alone in her room
and the number of men who lay on her bed
for twenty minutes-
thirty, on a good day.

The lengths we will go to feel alive
when what we really want is death.

The buzzing of the phone
a hand held device
that gets in the way of a hand holding life
and you can lie awake at night with thousands of "friends"
but I have a **** hard time believing
this was what Zuckerberg intends
when he says "what's on your mind?"
but nobody wants to know
unless your thoughts are endorsed
as was your image which was forced

filtering out reality
true colors getting dimmer
and when you're looking in the mirror
but you can't see yourself anymore
without the edits and "corrections"
and the comments "such a *****"
that creep into your subconscious
'til you can't take it anymore

and somewhere in the iCloud
a thing went very wrong
when you were sprawled out in bed naked
in your bra and in your thong
and now the whole world thinks they own you
and you've gone and lost yourself
and that phone has taken everything
forget connection, where's your health
healthy relationship
why's your bed so ******* cold
you've got your hand held device
but where's your real life hand to hold?

The pixels of the letters-
That flowed from his beautiful mind
Through his fingertips-
Glow, as though each was a small angel
Descended from heaven
With a message, just for me
That was read with eyes blinded
By hopes and expectations.

But all the pixelated angels in in the world
Could not make up for the smile
That refused to reach his eyes
Which always seemed so cold,
And never quite reached mine.

It was as though I had been on trial
for nineteen years,
due process
disallowed.

The prosecution-
my chemical imbalance-
so harsh,
eased up.

The defense-
Prozac-
allowed to make
my case.

I remember it well;
the day
I decided
to let myself live.

I get high off of watching preconceived notions of self go up in flames
Off of knowing that my words were the spark
and the breaths between them the wind that fed the fire
Off of watching the phoenix rise from the ashy remnants of it’s former being
Off of my heartbeat echoed in the beating of its wings

Knowing that I wrote the song this new bird sings.

He was a monster,

but I did not know.


Sleeping.

   I poked.

One eye.

   Prodded.

Two eyes.

   The monster woke,

And so I ran. Too late,

He ate my soul.


I was a monster,

but I did not know.

8.1.14
I felt my ancestors whisper through the trees,
their cold, dead fingers running over me
grasping firmly at my memory,
blowing the tears from my cheeks.

The forrest watches over their grave
as God could clearly not have seen through the canopy

I told you I was lonely
And to please turn on the light
But you seem not to have heard me
Because it's dark as **** tonight

I was wallowing in sadness
But now I've got this anger, too
And the more drawn out this scilence
The stronger rage will brew

You're a selfish *******
And now I'm glad we said goodbye
What kind of man ignores a girl
When she says she wants to die

I can't believe you're so **** cold
A sub-zero arctic freeze

But the fire of another man
Has brought me to my knees

Keep knocking on my door,
pounding till I'm sore
shout at me so loudly-
I can't hear you anymore

Now you're holding neon versions
of the signs I didn't see
And though it's clear you try your best,
You won't make a victim out of me.

I've got a hole in my chest
where my heart should beat,
and cigarette smoke
where my lungs should breathe;
and as my veins over-flow with pure alcohol-
it's clear that sin owns my body
and also my soul.

there's no poetry in perfection