The last girl I kissed told me I have a heart like a colander,
it is 2007 and I have not met you yet
there was no reason for my feelings to be wet grounds in coffee filter
I had yet to need the caffeine, but with you,
it lays there soaking
more than five years of boiling into unattractive brown sequins.

I am still kind of the same: still hear
pinecones hitting the roof and think that rain is falling
still dream about ******* in front of my biggest infatuation.

My heart still strains a bunch of gunk, I think it could be a kidney too
but now it simmers for a while first and stores
images in locket cases, now sometimes I believe in love,
it is 2013 and my name means serene
yours is “wealth” for every bit of love you can collect, are keeping.

The last girl I kissed would not believe I gave any at all
I even rejected the sea
because inside every conch, I heard creatures who could touch me
if I would just climb into their shell-walled places.

When I was thirteen, I attempted to cook pasta without water,
this was also when I was obsessed with
cutting every photograph in my mother’s reserve
either to display it on my white plaster door or to **** those pictured.
I murdered eight different family members and myself
nine times without even sending them through a paper shredder.

I am still kind of the same:
though I soak everything up before I can throw it away.

At nine, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At ten, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At eleven, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no

At twelve, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said maybe later.

At thirteen, I had not shaved my legs
and my mother asked why, everyone wondered why –
that is like asking where I got my molars from
or why my tastebuds sizzle when I drink orange juice.  

Suddenly suddenly I was grown
but I had to hide every ****** tissue in the garbage.

generation of can't
generation of hate
blundering those who
get in their way
go on if you must,
hide your face
lock your doors up tight
the years will drag slowly by
and there
outside
we won't recognize

Cigarettes and I have a
love-hate/hate-love
relationship.
Each drag is like voluntarily
placing my lungs in an inferno to be scorched.
The strongest people I know have
wasted away
because of that cancer-on-a-stick.
I especially hate how
they taint the tantalizing taste
of my lover's lips.
Yet, on rare drunken occasions
or when a thick layer of red coats my lips,
I crave the **** thing.

loads of birthday wishes
already rolling in
you people
need to get
a ******* hobby
it's like super-
insta-
depression...
everyone is saying
how glad they am i was born
how they don't know where they'd be
without me
i know exactly where i'd be...

...happy
somewhere