I took a deep breath in
Smelt wet pavement
Weeds
Heard the pouring rain
Watched the windows fog
There was a delay
Then
And now
My body slow like molasses
I could taste you on my lips
Before I even knew what was happening
Before I even knew you
I wanted to taste her too
Her hair
A white blonde
His eyes sown shut
I wanted you
Just like this
One hundred days short
Somewhere
A week
Nestled between
Before I even knew you
You were mine
You made me weak at the knees

I awoke on my back
out of a nightmare
above me
the shadow of a man putting his shoes on
my body
dense
jaded
stiff
I felt trapped
paralyzed
heard the door click shut
began to cry with the force of a person vomiting on all fours

blinking back salt
I saw them
a thin pair of black rimmed glasses
to me
a beacon of hope
I rushed to stand
spilling cold water on my feet
electricity

staring through the peephole
(into the grey foggy morning)
I waited
then finally
he emerged
shivering
the moment came
went
so I slithered back to bed
for some time
I lay there
unmoving
like a fallen mannequin
but then
once again
the door smacked shut

I lie in vintage floral and breathe in the musty smell of the "yellow bedroom"
The room is pitch black and in the distance is the blaring of the 11 o'clock news echoing on two televisions

I toss and turn in my bed
Its mattress much firmer
than I am used to
It makes my bones ache so I crack my feet
and stretch my legs
I hear footsteps coming down the hall so I shuffle in my place and quickly click the lamp beside me off
I lie perfectly still
Rubbing my tongue against my teeth

A small white sore formed on the tip of my tongue one week ago and it won't go away
When I eat sugar or spice
it burns
Sometimes I stick it in the air and feel the cold **** up all the moisture
Drying and healing the spot
But only momentarily
Until I place it back in my mouth, and the stinging returns, two fold

The sounds of steps again,
this time departing
Then the sound of the microwave

My eyes are swollen from lack of sleep

I lie and think of the summer I slept in this same bed
After a long days work in the heat my skin was blistered
from the sun
I took a photo of my tan lines to send to someone
My back
bright red
I can still smell the scent
of weeds
and freshly dug dirt
underneath what fingernails I had left
I could feel the dirt spill out onto my pillow as I rested my head on the back of my hand

I adjusted my position and suddenly felt the space between my legs burn
Earlier, in the shower, I attempted to shave with a cheap pink razor
It mutilated me
Left dozens of little pin ***** like wounds
The rush of discomfort caused me to sweat profusely and the combination of the perspiration and heat almost created a cool tingling sensation that reminded me of dry ice

I laid still again until the pain went away

I could feel my eyelids
getting heavier
Sleep beckoned

I recalled a happy memory
from a few days prior
As I closed my eyes
I imagined myself
back in my own bedroom
My own television
Its volume barely audible
On the screen
A film entitled
"To Catch A Thief"
My head burrowed
in a mans chest
My arms wrapped around
his neck
Swirling the ends of his hair
in my fingertips
I would drift in
and out of a dream
Each time, waking with a jolt
After some time,
He announced his departure
pulling himself out from underneath me,
kissing me softly
and slinking out the door

I yearned now
for the sort of sleep
that followed then
A heavy,
almost drug induced sleep
My body dense and soupy
My mind delirious
My dreams
Rapturous

But the elation of this idea
was short lived
And instead,
I was back in stiff sheets
Once again,
I could hear the televisions
This time;
the sounds of late night infomercials

I had always hated falling asleep alone
It was tedious
as a twice told tale
And desolate
as a desert
Back and forth
My left and right shoulder occasionally
exchanging the weight
My internal organs
sloshing in me
from one side to the other

Finally,
I found a comfortable spot
And decided
I had better force myself to sleep
On account of an early wake up time tomorrow
I took one last long breath
in through my nose

I was wearing his sweatshirt,
In the hopes his smell would waft in and put me right to sleep like a lullaby
but instead all I could smell was my own perfume I had spritzed earlier

The image of his face would have to suffice for now
I closed my eyes and imagined the small dimple in his chin and the sound of a door closing shut.

Soon I was fast asleep.

Am
I'll let you sleep
F
I'll let you sleep
C
Cause I can feel the anger
G
swelling in me
Am
I'll let you be
F
I'll let you be
C
Cause I can feel my
G
body shaking
Am
I'll let you dream
F
I'll let you dream
C
Cause my fists
G
are aching
Am
From holding on
F
From holding on
C
To you
G
too tightly

(Bridge) x2

Am                         F
But Tuesday is coming
       Am
and i've gotta let you go

gotta let you go

(Chorus)
Am                           F
But i'll wear a black dress
            C
And pearls
                  G
To your funeral

At twenty two I tried to die.
I looked into a silver bell.
Swallowed until I was sick.
In the bell,
A kaleidoscope of colors.
A boy with red hair.
Eyes kind.
Lips thick.
Said every time he saw me
I was sitting in a row of white,
crying.
I laid awake at night.
In a green posy bed,
soaked in blood.
Blue from head to toe.
The boy with the red hair called me true.
Told me horror stories.
Said he bled too.
Why are all the most beautiful men bruised?
When he kissed me I could taste the cat he killed.
Then he pulled my hair,
bit my neck
and eventually I forgot the cat.
Made him promise only to write love on his arms.
In the morning I left with four bags.
Two under my eyes.
He helped me carry them to the door.
I let him sleep.
And took a flight back to you.

His eyes are hazel
Witch hazel in the bathroom
He tells me stories at four in the morning
Reads my poetry
His too
Says I need a purpose
He's got tattoos
On his shoulders
On his back
He asks me to scratch
In Vietnam
They cursed him
Four broken ribs
He still wanted a fight
In Marakesh
The women wouldn't look at him
I worked in Marakesh once
By the water
Making leather
The smell of fish
Baked bread
His father worked in a bakery
In Philly he said

The air is thick like smoke from a forrest fire
The sky is grey and there is lightening
I can still see the burn on my right wrist left from a hot kettle
There are some burns you can't see.
Voices in me, thundering.
My eyes beg for sleep
I can still taste you on my lips like a cigarette
Tingling.
I like the way you looked at me last night
The way you tussled my hair
A man across from me is reading "kiss or ****"
I wonder which one it will be.
You tell me I terrify you.
You're terrify me too.

I can feel you fleeting
Oh the things I do to get to you
My palm pressed up against white brick
You are a great wave
and a great drought
You give and you wait
But you never take

There's been a rattling in my ribs since I met you.
My skin, paper thin.
The wind wraps itself around me the way you used to.
And when you're here, I'm see through.

She says "he's still in the jungle"
He owes her five hundred still for all the little ones.
There's an owl in a gold frame just staring at me.
And this golden poison is deep in my veins now.
My face,
slimming
puckering.
What have I done?
Who have I become?
Sat up against a brick wall.
On the back of a napkin the words bleed.
I feel queazy.
Will I bleed too?
Like pink and red roses.
She says
"I already have some"
But I have nothing and no one.
I am light.
Air.
But thick as bone.
As wood, creaking.
I can feel him.
I can feel everything.
I'm sinking.

"I practically threw my remote at the television screen after seeing Insider's depiction of the prep school **** case. Why did it matter that he was top of his class? One station said she called him an angel. And left her earrings behind. Another, a gem. All that mattered to me was that she was faceless, and afraid. That her word, her crackling deep voice, wasn't enough. Even behind a shadow, she was under a spotlight."

"My hands hurt. I have blisters on my thumbs and the sides of my feet. My back is covered in red, with the exception of two thin white lines where my blue straps lay on my shoulders. My fingers pulse and burn as I write, holding a wooden pen, gnawed and mountainous. I should stop, and sleep. But there's a churning in me. A need. So I scribble on. My thumbs throbbing"

I found myself comfortably slipping back into the skin I used to wear. When I loved a man fiercely and from afar. It was so easily, and fitting. But something was different? Perhaps it's as if I knew now, as I never did before, that this was just a gown. And that there were plenty of other gowns I could be wearing. Some of satin and lace. Some of cotton or wool. Suddenly, I realized how scratchy this skin felt. Had it always been so rough? I slipped out of the skin-and hung it up in my wall like a velvet black dress. 'Does that even fit you?' The words rang in my head. They were jarring and accusatory. I crawled into something warmer. Something new. It smelt of magic soap, the kind that came in a bottle covered in scriptures. 'This is better' I thought, with an unfamiliar grin on my face. I thought it to be odd. Even more odd that it felt genuine. 'This is much better'

"You are my favorite poet" he says
Then curls himself around me
I sit and lick the sugar from the glass
Saturated in self pity
I like the way he looks at me
It's almost as if he's pressing his eyes against mine
My chest feels tight
My stomach churns
I don't want him to go
But he can't stay here with me
Maybe he's right?
Maybe I'm comfortable being alone?
Being sad?
Being un
comfortable ?
I ask him what he means
Its morning
I should know by now
Not to ask questions in the morning
His eyes match the fog now
And we both reek of yesterday
His oversized sweatshirt keeps me from shaking
I still tremble
There's silence that you could cut like a knife
I take off the sweatshirt like I'm shedding my skin and head into six thirty
Sniffling
I feel blind
Afraid
I'm not sure what of?
He's not him
But he sure snaps like him
With big goofy teeth
I'm all chewed up
It's too early for this
It's always too early

Scene VI – The Car Ride


Location notes: Quai Henri IV is located on the Right Bank just west of Pont d’Austerlitz.

Jesse: Glad somebody does. Now, this is better than the Metro, right?

Céline: Definitely!

(The camera cuts ahead of the car, leading it as it pulls onto the main road. The conversation continues.)

Céline: I was thinking...for me it's better I don't romanticize things as much anymore. I was suffering so much all the time. I still have lots of dreams, but they're not in regard to my love life. (Cut to interior of the car.) It doesn't make me sad, it's just the way it is.

Jesse: Is that why you're in a relationship with somebody who's never around?

Céline: Yes, obviously, I can't deal with the day to day life of a relationship. Yeah, we have, you know, this exciting time together and then he leaves, and I miss him, but at least I'm not dying inside. When someone is always around me, I'm like suffocating!

Jesse: No, wait, you just said that you need to love and be loved...

Céline: Yeah, but when I do it quickly makes me nauseous! It's a disaster... I mean I'm really happy only when I'm on my own. Even being alone...it's better than...sitting next to a lover and feeling lonely. It's not so easy for me to be all romantic. You start off that way and after you've been ******* over a few times...you...you…you forget about all your delusional ideas and you just take what comes into your life. That's not even true I haven't been...******* over, I've just had too many blah relationships. They weren't mean, they cared for me, but... there were no real...connection or excitement. At least not from my side.

Jesse: God, I'm sorry, is it...is it really that bad? It's not, right?

Céline: (Shaking her head with eyes nearly watering.) You know...it's not even that. I was...I was fine, until I read your ******* book! It stirred **** up, you know? It reminded me how genuinely romantic I was, how I had so much hope in things, and now it's like...I don't believe in anything that relates to love. I don't feel things for people anymore. In a way...I put all my romanticism into that one night, and I was never able to feel all this again. Like...somehow this night took things away from me and...I expressed them to you, and you took them with you! It made me feel cold, like if love wasn't for me!

Jesse: I... I don't believe that. I don't believe that.

Céline: You know what? Reality and love are almost contradictory for me. It's funny...every single of my ex’s...they're now married! Men go out with me, we break up, and then they get married! And later they call me to thank me for teaching them what love is, and…

Jesse: (Smiling sympathetically.) Oh God. (Rubs his face with both hands.)

Céline: …and that I taught them to care and respect women!

Jesse: (Pointing at himself.) I think I'm one of those guys.

Céline: (Yelling.) You know, I want to **** them!! Why didn't they ask ME to marry them? I would have said "No", but at least they could have asked!! But it's my fault, I know it's my fault, because...I never felt it was the right man. Never! But what does it mean the right man? The love of your life? The concept is absurd; the idea that we can only be complete with another person is...EVIL!! RIGHT??!!

Jesse: (Sheepishly.) Can I talk?

Céline: (Speaking more quietly.) You know, I guess I've been heartbroken too many times. And then I recovered. So now, you know, from the starts I make no effort…because I know it’s not going to work out, I know it’s not going to work out.

Jesse: You can't do that. You can't do that, you can't live your life trying to avoid pain, at the expense of en...

Céline: (Interrupting.) OK, you know what? (Moving her fingers to mock the movement of Jesse’s mouth as he speaks.) Those are words! I've gotta...I've gotta get away from you. (To Philippe.) Stop the car, I want to get out!

Jesse: No, no, no, don't...don't get out.

Céline: You know, it's being around you...

Jesse: Keep talking...

Céline: (Jesse grabs her arm) Don't touch me! (Slaps his hand.) You know, I wanna get on a cab...

(To Philippe.) Monsieur! Arretez-vous! Non, non, c'est bon, au feu la! Juste au feu, au coin, il y a un metro meme! Je veux prendre le metro. (Sir, please stop! No, no, it’s okay, at the next traffic light, at the corner, there is even a metro! I want to take the metro.)

Jesse: (To Philippe) No, no, no, keep going... (To Céline) No, listen, I'm just so happy... (To Philippe) Thank you, just keep going...(To Céline.) Alright. Look, I am just so happy, alright...to be with you. I am. I'm so glad you didn’t forget about me. OK.

Céline: No, I didn't...and it ****** me off, OK? You come here to Paris, all romantic, and married, OK? ***** you! Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to get you or anything. I mean, all I need is married man! There's been so much water under the bridge, it's...it's not even about you anymore, it's about that time, that moment in time that is forever gone, I don't know!

Jesse: You...you say all that, but you didn't even remember having ***. So...

Céline: (Flatly, with resignation.) Of course I remembered.

Jesse: (Confused.) You did?

Céline: Yes! Women pretend things like that. I don’t know…(Laughs.)

Jesse: (Still confused.) They do?

Céline: Yeah, what was I supposed to say? That I remember the wine in the park and...us looking up at the stars fading away as the sun came up? We had *** TWICE (claps her hands), you idiot!

Jesse: Alright, you know what? I'm just...happy to see you, even if...you've become an angry, manic depressive activist. I still like you! I still enjoy being around you!

(Reaches out to touch her face, but pulls his hand back quickly, before she notices.)

Céline: And I feel the same. (Laughing.) I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. I just...I had to let it all out. I...

Jesse: Don't worry about it.

Céline: I'm so miserable in my love life, in my relationship, I always act as... like...you know, I'm detached, but I'm... I'm dying inside. I'm dying because I'm so numb. I don't feel pain, or excitement. I'm not even bitter, I'm just...uh…

Jesse: You think you're the one dying inside? My life is twenty four-seven...BAD.

Céline: I'm sorry.

Jesse: No, no, no...I mean, the only happiness I get is when I'm out with my son. I've been to marriage counseling, I've done things I never thought I would have to do. I lit candles, bought self-help books, lingerie...

Céline: Did the candles help?

Jesse: HELL. NO. (Plaintively.) Alright, I don’t love her the way she needs to be loved, and...I don't even see a future for us. But then I look at...at my little boy, sitting at the table across from me, and I think I would suffer any torture to be with him for all the minutes of his life. You know, I don't wanna miss out on one. But then...there's no joy, or laughter, in my home. You know, and I don't want him growing up in that!

Céline: Oh, no laughter? That's terrible. My parents have been together for 35 years and even when they have a bad fight they end up laughing like crazy.

Jesse: I just...I don't wanna be one of those people who are...getting divorced at 52 and falling down into tears admitting that they never really loved their spouse, and they feel that their life has been (waves his hand, as if being pulled) ****** up into a vacuum cleaner! You know, I want a great life. I want her to have a great life. She deserves that! Alright? But we're just living in a pretense of a marriage, responsibility and all these...just...ideas of how people are supposed to live. Then I...I have these dreams...

Céline: What dreams?

Jesse: (Looks away distantly, eyes starting to water.) I have these dreams, you know, that I’m…I'm standing on a platform, and uh, you keep going by on a train, and...you go by, and you go by, and you go by, and you go by, and I wake up with the ******* sweats, you know? And then I have this other dream, oh...where you're...pregnant, in bed beside me, naked, and I want so badly to touch you, but you tell me not to and then you look away and...and I...I...I touch you anyway, right on your ankle and your skin is so soft and I wake up in sobs, alright? (Inhales deeply.) And my wife is sitting there looking at me, and I feel like I'm a million miles from her, and I know that there's something...wrong! (Céline reaches out to stroke Jesse’s face, but pulls her hand back before he sees her.) You know, that I ca...that I can't keep living like this, that there's gotta be something more to love than commitment. But then I think that...I might have given up...on the whole idea of romantic love. That I...I might have put it to bed that...that day when you weren't there. You know, I think I might have done that.

Céline: (Eyes starting to water again.) Why are you telling me all this?

Jesse: I'm sorry. I don't know, I'm...I...I should...I...I shouldn't have.

Céline: You know, it's so weird...that people think they are the only one going through tough times. I mean when I read the article I thought...your life was perfect. A wife, a kid, a published author. (Jesse laughs.) Your personal life is more of a mess than mine! I'm sorry! (Both laugh.)

Jesse: Well...I'm glad it's good for something.

Céline: (To Philippe.) Oh, monsieur, c'est la! Rentrez dans la passe la. (Sir, this is it. Pull into the alley right there.)

(Camera cuts to exterior of the car pulling into the driveway of Céline’s apartment.)

Six Cigarettes
My Stomach Churning
Sipping
For The First Time
In A Long Time
Watching
Yellow So Bright
And Mellow
A Strike
To Match
In The Night
This Is Where I Release
Where I Am Relieved
I Open Myself Completely
Only Laughter Exudes
I Didn't Mean It
You Lay Horizontally
Pull
Flip
It Aches
I Twitch
Strumming
Come And Kiss Me
Sometimes Life Is Romantic
But Not Always
Sometimes Life Is The Disease
Come And Lay With Me
I'd Rather Not Be Lonely
You Know Me Already
In My Marrow
It Stops
I Won't Call Myself By Name
I've Told You almost Everything
You Tell Me
Nineteen
Quite The Impression
We Both Escape
The Room Is Foggy
Sometimes We Are Restored
Come To Me

You breathe in.
And I breathe you in.
One last time.
I still haven't let you out.
I taste you in the pavement.
See you
In the rain.
In the passenger seat.
I hear you in every word.
Every syllable and sound.
My stomach coils.
Is that you too?
Wrapping around me?
You slither up to my heart
And squeeze
But not tight enough to ****.
I beg for mercy.
Pray to a god in whom I never believed
You have already let me go
So why am I still not free?
When will you return to me?
After you have crossed seas?
After i have licked the plate clean?
What I would give.
My friend.
What I wouldn't?
The bottle isn't yet empty.
Anything that will keep me from calling you.
From crashing this car.
With foggy vision from tears so salty they could fill lake city.
Tell me old friend.
If you never return.
Will you die inside me eventually?
It seems now
That if you do
I will too.

Tie him to a rock & throw him into the spaces you could be.
Between a mass of green.
Down a stairway of boulders.
Over an edge.
Into the soft hum of a city
that hides behind taiga.
Throw away the words she would say
"Do not wait"
She likes to tug at you.
Tries to rip out the way you look at him when he's turned his cheek.
She wants the memories wiped.
Break lights. Stop lights.
The way he touched you then.
Now you have dirt on your knees.
And he will be too tired to touch you again.
Throw away the possibility.
That they might be right.
Tell yourself
"There is hope"
Even in the grey he likes.
Breathe in the elevation air.
Let go of the need to be.
Exist only in this moment.
Side to side.
Where the branches make a deep scratching sound.
And so do his jeans.
Exist in the in between.
In the uncomfortability.
Only then will you see.

I can see you.
In a one way mirror.
You're looking at you.
I'm looking a you.
You don't know I'm looking.
I press my hand up against the glass.
I can feel you.
I can feel your elbow against my jaw.
I can hear you.
I can hear myself.
I hear the sound of my teeth chatter together.
I can taste you, you remain on my lips.
I taste metallic.
Was there something I said?
Something I did?
Even before four in the morning mistakes?
Before you told me you ached?
You said: "for a moment, i forgot the pain."
I should have said: "mine never went away. "
I wish you wouldn't have left so suddenly.
I wish we had a little more time.
I wish you were here now.
Are you angry?
I can't see you now.
Now I'm the one hidden behind a glass pain, disguised as a mirror.
I can't stop staring.
Who is this woman?
Make her go away.

I can't sleep.
Paranoia creeps into my bones.
I can feel my body coil.
It hasn't even been 24 hours and look at me.
I'm pacing back and forth.
Imagining.
Worst case.
I lose you forever.
Worst case.
You hate me.
What a catastrophe that would be.
Earth shattering.
Best case.
You're busy.
The more likely scenario.
Why am I going so crazy?
Please say you'll forgive me.
Come back. I'm lonely.

3 months from today and it will have been one year since the first time you kissed me. That moment feels so far away. In my mind. And in reality. It also feels like just yesterday.
We are not the same. Yet, we haven't changed. So who are we?
I hate this place. Forever bound to you. Blinded. You say: Don't associate. Don't speak. But I have so much to say, and I've totaled so much already.
I didn't want to be right. But I knew I would be. I knew you would recede. I knew you would dissipate. When you got your way. But what do I get? I'll just keep quiet. And hope that you'll stay.

I'm learning to trust you again. It comes in waves. Some moments, I trust you too much. Other moments, I pull back because I'm afraid of those contrasting moments. Those moments when the wave is high. I'm so afraid of it crashing down on me. So I pull back. Like the tide.

Felt sweat on your back. Exuded sweat. A wave washed over me. A box opened, then shut. I smelsomething sweet turn sour. Asked you a question with teeth clenched. Then you asked me. We sat in silence. Your fingers in my hair. It didn't make a difference. I wasn't there. I fell asleep listening to you breathing in and out. You never stopped. Neither did I. We both continued to turn wheels. Went around and around again. Saw the world. Every inch. Still, you decided you didn't want me. I sighed. Then dreamed of a place we hadn't yet explored. A place without gravity;
It always brings me back at your feet. Feet that drag me through thick. The clock reads; 11:11. "Make a wish" And I do. I wish for the clock. And for you.

Nothing changed,
just returned to the way it was before.
Before five nights.
One day.
Then suddenly,
we weren't the same.
You're dragging your feet.
Must you drag me?
What am I worth?
If anything.
Chaos came knocking and we answered.
I went mad
trying to find your face in the dark.
You said you would stay.
Instead, you depart with good news.
You've known me.
Seen my skin.
Felt it sweat.
Watched me tremble.
Ache until I can't ache any longer.
Still, you wait.
What are you waiting for?
I am here. I have been. Will always be. I am here. Take me.

Shadows on your back.
Branches.
The colors change.
If you wanted me, why did you leave?
Dust swirling in the light.
By the blinds.
If you wanted me, why are you asleep?
You: white t-shirt
Me: your striped sweatshirt
Declarations.
Never made.
Just your hand in my hair,
never on my face.

He is a makeshift man.
Trapped between two teeth.
Unyielding.
I remain very wary and expect revisions.
We bleed into one another.
Fight back noxious fumes.
Still, I am the one that ache's intensely.
"Unhand me!" I cry,
clinging to him.
I beg this make-do man to stay.
Beg him to hold onto me.
Through fire and flames.
Vapor and smoke.
But he dissipates, as ad hoc's always do.

When I moved to this town, I dreamed that one day I would own the little yellow boathouse that sat on the riverside (the one with the white trim) From what I heard, it was abandoned years ago, and no one in the town had bothered ever fixing it up, so slowly it decayed. But I always pictured myself making the repairs necessary to turn it into the beautiful home I imagined it once was. I would turn the corner room that faced the water into an office and spend my summers working on my novel.
But today, Caleb, the youngest son of the neighbor boys who lived in the house down the street told me it had been destroyed by an old oak tree that stood behind it. When he told me the news, he and I were standing out in the long driveway, my hands wrapped around my coffee mug.
‘There’s nothing here’ I thought. ‘Just him and I’ (and I was air) ‘so it’s just him here.’
I dropped off my cup inside and headed across town to see the damage. I reached the house by noon, and as I stood, staring out at what was left of what was supposed to be my home one day, I began to sob. I felt like a child. All of my dreams had been crushed, literally. The tree reminded me of a giant spiderweb, it was bare and it’s branches stretched out like long fingers, wrapping themselves around the house. Besides the river, the wind was the only sound I could hear. It whistled and howled at me.
I had given up the one thing that inspired me: my city. For this. A little house on the river. It’s like I ripped off my skin, and all that remained was my bones, and all they could do was clank together in the cold like a wind chime.
Everything was upside down. This is not how I imagined my life. I had nothing mapped or planned, but where I was now seemed so far away from where I envisioned myself being. Everything was unfamiliar to me, and it frightened me. All I wanted to do was take gasoline to whatever it was I had created here, and start a new. But this tipsy topsy life was mine, and I had to make do.


He picks me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminds me of crinkled paper, or mashed potatoes. We sit silently in the car at first, then he begins to tell about a woman he had encountered today. The word ‘*****’ comes out of his mouth so smoothly. But when I hear it, I feel it’s sting on me like wasps. Is there something to be said to prevent me from becoming that woman? (if i’m not already) A woman he hates? A woman he resents? A woman who’s dry in the morning and too boring in the evening? My tongue curls and I feel my stomach coil. Men use the word ‘*****’ to describe women who are strong. Women who are assertive. And when men feel threatened, or rejected or emasculated by a woman, all they can say is “that *****”. There is no male equivalent. There’s no word like “*****” for men. Sure, there’s ‘*******’ and ‘*****’ or ‘******’ but none of them feel as harsh. None of them sting like ‘*****’ does.


We pull into the long driveway, and pass the other neighbor boy who’s name I honestly can’t remember. When we get into the house, he pulls me into the bedroom.
“I need you” he says.
‘What’s the difference between want and need?’ I ask myself. There isn’t much we NEED. To eat. To sleep. To drink. I NEED a drink. He WANTS me. It’s a primal thought. Instinct. I am not a need, not really. But he knows how I think. He  know’s “need” works on me. Because I hear “need” and feel desired, until I’ve been had. And then I remember “need” means “want” and I remember “need” means he’s tricked me.
I think what we all REALLY need is a day. Spring cleaning for our insides. Be it your body or mind. For the housewives of Castle Creek, that means cleanses, and binging. For me, it means sitting down with a leatherback journal and a good pen. Scribbling down everything and anything that comes into my mind. No filtration. No distractions.

He finishes, kisses me on the cheek, and disappears. I’m left on the bed, my dress pulled up, exposed. And so, a few minutes later, after I’ve collected myself, I head down the hallway to the kitchen. I have become the woman I never wanted to be. The woman who’s making dinner for her husband as he sits and watches some terrible Tom Cruise movie. It makes me sick how average my life has become. ‘What a sad way to live.’ I think. Just like everyone else. But I am not everyone else. If I were, perhaps everything here would be so much easier. I am not the woman the people of this town want me to be. I am far too artsy. Far too independent. When I walk into the grocery store, people stare at me. As if they were looking at a wanted poster. The worst part of going to the store isn’t the weird looks. I’m used to that by now. It’s the music. Smooth jazz. It makes me feel like i’m in an elevator. An elevator that’s stuck, and i’m waiting for someone to come and rescue me. But no one’s coming. I’m stuck in Castle Creek. The world’s smallest, ******* elevator in the United States.

This place
knows my body.
All my bones
may they be broken.
They don't long
to be shaken again.
My heart knows
these sheets and wooden floors.
I stand sobbing.
Won't you stop my suffering?
You hold me here.
You say you are
in fear.
If you only knew
the way my blood boils and aches.
Would you relinquish
your heavy hand ?

The sea separates our skin.
We feel closer to moon
then begin to bleed again.
Pulling ourselves in two.

Hearts and minds,
I promise you
I won't resist
or turn away in time.

You remind me of a place I knew
With no street lights
interstates
or signs.

Who knows where we are going?
Who knows what we will find?

Take a deep breath in.
Try not to drown yourself.

I hate to see you scream.
Your pain turns to suffering so quickly.

I am trying to help you here.
But you see me as ghost.
A darkened figure in the night.
Who holds you like a rope.

You live in constant fear.
Claim what’s beneath your bones.
Aim for his heart with a sharp arrow.

All we have in the end is our spines
and sternums.
The rest we leave to an exhausted sun.

What moves your body,
may not move mine.

A rose pedaled room with double doors.
Smeared red spirits to be bleached away.
Raspberry.
Melancholy.
Cradle me.
I will cradle you.
Until we part.
Then cradle me no more.
How devine.
How wretched.
Solus.
Yet not abandoned.
Heavy eyes. Heavy hearts.
This brush of your finger on my lips now
will wreak havoc on my soul
when you are abroad.
What a decadent thing.
To cling to a man who consumes you.
My beloved.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
It does not matter.
As long as I am not forgotten.

Wrap me in crinkled paper. In cotton and leather. Feed me the finest fruit.
Give me Magnolia. Lilies. Anything but a rose. Build me something with wood. Something I can keep close to me. With iron legs and copper hands. Sour candy and wool. Woven with fingers covered in clay. A willow tree watching. Standing still like a tin man. Turn him to steel. He will ask you for silk. Lace too. He is more than a man. A beast. He is crystal clear. Like China, covered in a thick layer of dust. On a silver screen. A woman in pearls. Hidden deep under the sea, surrounded by corral. Paint me ruby red, dip me in sapphire.  
We were golden. Diamonds were supposed to be forever. Look at us now. We still play games. What if? Regret. Resent.
There's nothing here. Just you and I. And I'm air. So really, it's just you here.
"You are worthless my dear. There is not enough liquor in the world to hold me to you. Even with a heavy grip around your wrists."
Slip. Disappear.

Vacancy
She smells of sugar
Scrapes at my skin
with long black cat nails
Asks me to stay
With a white dress
Clawing ever so sweetly
Its entrancing
Pointing indirectly
Kissing my cheek
I'm not sure where she's looking
Or living
Somewhere in between dimly lit and too bright to see
Touching everyone
Feeling everything

It wasn't the first time, nor the last. But as you laid against him, feeling tiny puffs of haggard breath against your eyelashes. You thought of this:
"You are always worth the wait"
Any other man would have just stared. Like a poster that reads 'MISSING' on a small town bulletin board. Jaw dropped and eyes wide. But he just smiled, and you  smiled back and then he kissed you.
Not for the first time, and not for the last.

Why is this so much easier now? Why does this feel so much better now? Because it's so new and new is so good?

No expectations: NEW!
No Strings Attached: NEW!
No *******: NEW!

This time, you weren't holding back. You weren't holding out. Hoping or harboring. Waiting or putting in. You were brand NEW! A NEW woman!! And in that moment, where you laid next to him. His back to yours, his hand rested on his neck, between his shoulder and his ear. In that moment: he was new to you too. A stranger. But someone you could see knowing you intuitively. In every haggard breath.
"Don't think past those haggard breaths." You reminded yourself. "Like the way they sound, the way they feel, but remember, haggard breaths will turn to deep, calm, relaxed breaths."
Breaths that say:
"Your body was busy... and now...you...are....tired"
As if it's a surprise.
But it was so onset.
I guess NEW was the surprise.
And it didn't suit him.
For some men, it's easy to flip the switch. But that man would be far too familiar, far too old. recycled.
You scoff at the words;
"would" "could" "should"
"We might as well just say what we really mean."

You ******* failed me.
I'm ******* disappointed.
I'm ******* sad.

And then you thought back to today's trip to the local Grocery Store.
You thought of white suburban mothers in yoga pants, walking down rows and rows of frozen dinners.

And you thought about what YOU wanted.

A NEW man who will stare at you blankly while he ***** you? Almost catatonic?  
Or someone recycled? Someone who looks in you, instead of at you. Someone who falls asleep afterwards? Someone who can flip that switch?

It's worth it. It's worth having someone capable of really seeing you. Into your bones & your blood. Someone who really gets you.

Whatever that means.

It's worth the wait. The lack of sleep.
You may be ******* miserable at times. You may never know where you're going or where you've been or where you are or who you are to him. But at least you'll die knowing someone saw all of you.

This doesn't mean he loved all of you. Or even that he loved you at all. But for that recycled man, you shed every skin. You open yourself wide. You let him climb inside.
Your heart isn't uncharted.
It's just unmapped.

You don't know what he wants. And sometimes it makes your blood boil. But it comes to a cool when you're reminded that RIGHT NOW, he wants YOU. And the feeling, is mutual.

But who knows what tomorrow holds? Or what happens twenty seconds from now? There's always the possibility that he'll change his mind. Theres aways the possibility you'll change yours. There's always the possibility that it will destroy you. But you are addicted to possibly.
So no *******.
Now, "No *******" doesn't mean you get to pour your own insecurities into others. It doesn't mean smacking the word "honesty" over your opinions.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you-"
"I wish someone was this honest with me when I was your age-"
None of that condescending *******.
It means you're real. More than just skin and bones. You're a pounding heart & a thumping brain.
Yes. There's always that possibility that you'll be waiting forever. Sprawled out for your recycled man and everyone else to see.
But wouldn't you rather lay in bed awake next to the recycled man (even if it's for just one night) exposed?
Than to NEW man for the rest of your life? The NEW & exciting? The NEW and frightening? The NEW man who never really understood you. Who you could never really talk to. That never really loved you.

-----------------------------------------------------------­­---------------------------------------


He picked me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminded me of crinkled paper. Or mashed potatoes. I stepped inside with this pie eating grin on my face.
"Good morning" he said, smiling back.
It was afternoon, almost evening now. I closed the door behind me and he started down the street. We hadn't picked a place for dinner yet, so we drove aimlessly around in circles for a bit.
"What happened to your car?" I asked.
His smile was quickly wiped away. I could tell it was a sensitive subject. Which meant it was his fault.
"Ran a red light" he responded, in a mumble.
I bit my lip and looked out the window for a long while. He clicked on the radio. Drum and bass blaring, I could feel the vibrations shake my feet. We pulled into a parking spot in a part of town I wasn't quite familiar with, and stepped out. Locking the doors, he made his way around the car, paid the meter and headed down the street, motioning at me to follow.


--------------------------------------------------------------­­------------------------------------


What else was I to do? I was two steps away from fully falling in love with this man. I did what any sensible woman would do: I ran for the hills. I wasn't going to be "that girl". The girl who got her heart broken, again and again and again. I had been down that road (many times) and all it did was make me look weak. I refused. I refused to be the weak one. I refused to be the one on her knees, begging, pleading. Pathetic.
I packed up my things. They fit in a small paper sack. Tooth brush, comb, respect. I wouldn't let him keep any of it. It was my turn to be strong. My turn to leave. I knew he wasn't broken hearted, and he wasn't going to be. But that would have been something, wouldn't it? To be the heartbreaker, just this once? That would have been a sight to see. A thing to feel.
I rehearsed what I was going to say. Said it aloud. In the shower. While making breakfast. Over and over. But when it came time, I put it in a text message like the heartless, cowardly ***** I was. He deserved better. We both did.

I thought I was prepared.
But who could have known?
You did this to yourself.
You put me on a shelf.
And sowed me.
A dress.
Showed me
who you really are.

In the dark.

When your fears come true
it is who is near to you
that you let out into.

You don't want to be
the man in front of me.

I don’t want to be
just another dolly.
Drinking tea.
With button eyes that do not see
what you are doing to me.

When you're angry
will you break me?

I am fragile.
Even at arms length.
I am porcelain.

The frames
Don't have names.

Just pictures
And some dues.

The way
of the waves.

They will hold you.
Better than I do.

I live in
another.
We breathe in
each other.

She said you've got the eye.
She said you've got to lie.
She said you've got to die.
She said you've got to ask
Why?

What's the use?
We're all deprived.

Put me to work.
I'm alive.

I've got the bones.
Pick me
apart.

I'm a walking work of art.

Lift me
higher.
My heart's on fire.

I'm living proof.

That we all
unwind,
from behind.

You can't
feel the skin you're in.

Until someone's felt you.

You don't know
where to begin.

Until someone's had to.

I sent you the moon
And you didn't respond.
I think you were too drunk to.
I wonder what else you forgot?
If you had hands for another?
I would forgive you.
But please
Don't tell me the truth.
I can't imagine her.
In a hotel room.
It makes me sick too.
Maybe if I lay my head down?
Maybe if I listen to some tunes?
I trust you.
So why am I making up memories?
All I can think about is
the moon.
And why didn't you-
Please
Don't tell me the truth.

One in the morning and I'm wishing upon the whistle of a passenger train that you were here with me.
Counting down the days until I am able to see you again.
I want to say I have never felt this way.
Standing in the shower, water running down my face.
You and I are more than just two frames.
We are supplementary.
You are not just a soul case.

If you ever think of me-
(If there were such a thing)
My eyes would glow so sweetly.
I would stop circling the things I want,
then start grabbing the things I need.
You would be the first thing.
What would I be?
You would the last thing.
There are no words
For what you mean to me.

What does your mind say when no one is listening?
In mine, there are butterflies that escaped my belly.
They swarm inside me, and turn to bees.
When you're not with me
I can hear them buzzing.

I'm addicted to possibility.
The first time I met you-
I will try again tomorrow.
To not forget you.
I'm addicted to capability.
I will try again.
In the morning
After i've grieved you.

I don't want to feel the rain on my skin anymore.
I don't want to wait.
It feels like a thunderstorm.
Like the wind is laughing at me.
These things happen-
Naturally.

It's hopeless.
I tell you these things-
I just want to know.
That you won't let me go.

*This feeling I get when you're near
I'd give up gravity to feel

You said you thought things were coming to a close
I said I couldn't let you go
It's unnerving to know
That it could have happened so easily
That I could have slipped through the cracks
That you would have let me
I thought I meant so much more
When we said those words
Those four
Don't forget me
In the valley
I know the heat is on
But soon the rain will pour
Please tell me I mean so much more

My mind is busy, busy
But my heart will always
have room for you.
My body is aching, aching
But my hands will always
hold you.
Even if we're shaking
And the ground is quaking
Nothing will change
between me and you.
I won't forsake you.
Say you won't too.

Think of me
Not the days in between
When the music
doesn't feel
right
Think of me
Think of that night
When everything seems dark
Let me be the light

Across interstates
New license plates
In a new states of mind

We will take one another
Until the day turns to night
And we'll say

Baby, Baby
Hold me tight
Baby, Baby
Just for tonight

And I will find you
In a sea of faces
That I don't recognize

And You will find me
In the lights of the city
You left behind

And i'll sing
Baby, baby
come back to me
baby, baby
won't you please

Baby, Baby
In a sea of faces
you're all I see

There is a ringing in my ears and the rain sings to me through broken shades.
I lie awake.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of you in the red light that comes from my record player.
But you aren't there.
You aren't anywhere.
I feel you in the shadows.
All around me.
I taste you on my lips.
When the light flickers.
So does this.

Wrapped around the room is felted flowers that turn to white stars.
When the sun is in hiding, little mushrooms bring light.
It smells of fake flowers and another mother.
A small broom for a small room.
I'm sorry I missed you.
I was spending.
Sobbing softly into my high collared coat.
Watching the body
In its stillness.

It's been so long since I've heard the rain.
Since I've smelt it's scent on cement. Since its touched my face.
It was early in the morning.
And you wouldn't come up again. Sitting in a rental car,
I ran out into the street.
Danced like I was in a movie.
Thinking you were going to follow me. When you didn't, I returned to foggy windows
& handed you keys, playfully.
My heart sunk a little when you kissed me.
Everything is different now.

Today fall came and reminded me what it's like to be lonely.
Red leaves reminded me of his sharp cheeks and cigarettes.
Black coffee.
Blue grief.
The rain so heavy, and the wind howling.
His name taste likes sugar and rots my teeth.
The first letter resting on a plain gold ring.
I'll be waiting.
Grasping onto silence.
Under the same moon.
He is chasing midnight lights and drinking whiskey.
My soul calls for him every waking moment,
wandering the streets,
but no one responds.

Thought I missed my city.
Changed my mind instantly.
As he sat, staring at me.
The rain was calming at first.
Now it's only making my brows furrow and my feet hurt.
This crowded space has me rubbing my tired eyes and licking my lips.
Tapping my foot to keep busy.
All I see through the fog of the windows is red and blue.
Thanking the Angels for keeping me safe like my godmother would do.
He won't stop staring.
Through lenses that look like something from a black and white comedy.
I can't laugh.
My gut hurts too much.
Leaning forward, almost touching me. Leaning back.
Looking at feet.
At the lack of trees.
Everything is too familiar.
I feel like I can't breathe.
Now he's standing and I feel guilty for feeling relief.
These buildings look just as lonely as I feel.
Graffitied.
Human work.
On them it's vandalism,
on me its self expression.
No one told me.
I suppose they don't have to now.
I'm finding out pretty quickly.
This is not what I expected.
Not at all what I wanted.
Tonight is the first night I've really felt it.
The distance.
Where does it live?  
In my knees?
In my veins?
In this city.
I want to leave too.
Like you.
If only it were that easy.

A cluttered space and a quickly approaching departure brings silence.
Chords wrap around my gut.
Anger swelling in the belly of my being.
My bones squeak as I tighten my muscles and bite my lip to keep this quiet.
A train passes.
My heart beats in my neck.
My chest is tight.
I squirm a bit and try to shake this feeling out of me.
It lingers in the tips of my fingers and toes.
God knows I'm going to fall apart.
Like ruble.
I will crumble.
But that can wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, we drink and dance.
On top of hotel beds, we bounce and say we're sorry.
Goodbye is too close to fight.
I'm rusting.
Turning a ***** orange and breathing iron.
There's a light that comes in through a boarded up window.
It reminds me that there is beauty in this chaos.
It reminds me that you are beautiful even when you drive me ******* crazy.

I don't recognize you.
In the driveway.
Hidden behind shopping carts.
Underneath the orange glow of the street lamp.
The smoke coming from your cigarette is clear.
It's the silence that's suffocating me.