They told me I was selfish
Cause I had a bullet pressed to my head
With my name on it
They told me I was selfish
Cause I had a knife pressed against my thigh
They told me I was selfish
Cause my legs were bleeding
And I was screaming
They told my I was selfish
Cause my heart wouldn't stop hurting
They told me I was selfish
Cause my bones were aching
They told me I was selfish
Cause my note said I was leaving
They told me I was selfish
Cause they begged me to stay
They told me I was selfish
Cause I needed to go away
They told me I was selfish

She's the kind of girl
Who picks up the peices
After a broken heart
the girl who saves herself
Instead of waiting to be saved
She's unlike the rest
While girls are going out
On Friday nights with strange guys
And drinking laughter
She sits in her room staring into a book
Reading about the world
She's yet to see
But she's the girl
Who will hold your heart
In the palm of her hands
Like she's holding the world
She's the girl
Who walks with elegance
And falls with absolute grace
Who talks like silver
And sings like gold
Except she only sings in the shower
She's the girl that will stand by you
When you need her on your darkest of days
And will cuddle you under
A starlight sky
She's the girl
Who will smell like
Cigarettes and black coffee
And her nails will be chipped with black paint
And her hair might be a little messy
But she will look at you
With striking blue eyes and love you
More than life
She's the girl who wants one red rose
Instead of a dozen

She kisses the boys and girls
that pay the most attention.
The boys play with vapor
and her girls play with tension.
I wish I was the only one
that she will decide to touch
but I am who I am
and, in a way, that is too much.

Sawblade-sunflower petals
wrap around an earthy cushion,
and the humidity hangs in the air
as her beige body is crumpled
and I feel too sober, pushing.

Baby yellow falls apart,
in her hair the flower starts
to trickle onto sheet and pillow,
decorating the absences
that define how hollow
she and I have felt before --
******* like an endangered species
on the killing floor, I whisper once,
I whisper sweet, "Don't you wish
that we didn't meet?"

She kisses the boys and girls
that give the most attention.
I played with vapor
and she played with tension.

this is an alphabet of all the people
who have dug holes in me,
and of all the people
who are still digging.

this is a gardening guide
for would-be lovers and pretty faces
who do not even realize
that they are carrying shovels.

this is a weather forecast written
from past experience,
a reminder that winter
is not kind on crops,
no matter how firmly you pack the dirt.

this is me,
reflecting on seeds planted.

this is me,
reflecting on seeds left to die.

A,
i suppose it is fitting that the first letter
is also the first person to show me what it is like
to have seedlings sprouting up from inside you,
the first person to show me just how deep you really have to dig
to make the sting last.
you never came back to water what you planted.

H,
i’d like to say to that i ripped out your roots with my own two hands;
i’d like to give myself some credit in all this.
you don’t look as lovely as you used to.
you say i’ve grown distant.
i’m sorry.

J,
you always feel like being on the verge of something big.
you feel like summer, like a deep purple,
a bath of darkness.
you are everywhere that plants do not grow well.
and i have always felt — and still do feel — 
that that is such a grave injustice.
still, though you cannot speak the word “devotion,”
i beckon for more seeds.

P,
my greatest heartbreak.
heartbreak, though, is but a flesh wound when seen from afar.
and so i thank god for the miles between us.
i can feign forgetfulness when you are far away.
after all, what is a shovel in your hands if those hands cannot reach me?

S,
you are but a bud waiting to bloom.
and yet again i find myself so very afraid of growth.

(a.m.)

You're punching clocks and he's punching walls because he doesn't understand what you're trying to say. Are you crazy? Boys don't speak metaphor, baby.

He's playing ****** knuckles and you're speaking 10 different languages trying to explain how much you love him without saying it pointblank.

I'm scraping my knees begging you to understand and the only thing you can muster is, "are you okay?" You're putting band-aids on wounds I was never planning on trying to heal. I'm pouring my heart out and you're too busy getting towels to clean up the spill to even notice what I'm saying.

My words hit your ears like fists against cement and I can't keep giving you everything just to watch you break it all in front of me.

I want you to know how it feels to be the shattered glass instead of the hand that drops it.

I want you know how it feels to be a rooftop instead of the nails that bolt it down.

And more than anything I want you to know how it feels to be someone I could never love.

We're both standing on the edge.
You. Me. The void beneath our feet.
People walk frantically down below, rushing to get somewhere they don't want to go, to do things they don't want to do.
The wind blows harder on the rooftops, getting lost in your long, wavy hair like a newborn deer would alone in the forest.
Your eyes take a lingering look at the busy scene the streets are acting for us. Then you gaze at the clear, blue sky as you sigh and ask for forgiveness, but there is nothing to forgive.
I hold your hand in mine, and look into your eyes. They are scared, troubled. They shed a tear for who you were. They are filled with hope for who you'll become.
You smile.
I smile.
We close our eyes, and fly with the wind under our skin.
We soar so high into the sky.
We soar, you and I.