my stomach muscles retract
bruises on the beginnings of my ribs
i can’t fight the deafening freight train engine
blowing my hair wildly
as i try to cross the tracks
barbed wire enclosing me in
the factories around me crashing and burning
i think i saw the devil in the train’s headlights.
i can’t make up for lost times
caught in the convenient current
washing my body like an entity that doesn’t deserve to be cleansed
the train horn is ear-piercing
like off-key violins in a symphony
the blood pumping quickly
my redundant diction
i ask for permission
from conductors and fakers and liars and schemers
and apparently they’re all good people.
i deserve to be lost in the wide expanse
of a generation
i can’t accept.
shattered promises and limbs
sprawled out on the train yards
as the stopping vehicles sound off their alarms
i am alarmed
but i am stapled to the tracks
by a woman who told me that it’s not that hard to overcome your fears
how do you feel now
with me bleeding out of my eye sockets
all over your precious property?

i went to the trampoline park yesterday
and let me tell you- i have never felt more free
bounding and jumping into the air
i felt my soul condense and release
and turn into flames and dragons and mythical creatures
i felt the pressure leave me
it escaped from my gaping mouth
i stopped caring for a few hours
and it felt as if time was going super slow
it’s funny how today
the next day
i feel sore
as if it hurts me to be free
as if it is detrimental for me to get ideas about escaping
like i should be trapped in this crammed atmosphere
sore and beaten, nothing more than a menace
i can’t be free
i can’t be free
i will never be free

it was panic, it was silence, it was machine gunfire ringing in the insides of my ears.
it was sheer destruction, it was pain, it was so much blood spilled in so many years.
the sky turned black, heavy droplets landed on top of my skull,
begging to wash away the manipulation, but they never could.
it was hurt, it was unapologetic, it was of malicious intent.
it was brutal, it was barbaric, it was all stored in the back of my head.
the fire burned ravenously, chewing bones, teeth, and leftover fragments of me,
charring parts of my flesh that bandages can’t cover up.
i tried to make it stop with my own two busted hands, but repairing doesn’t come overnight like closure.  
it lingers like a wildfire in the winds thousands of miles north,
and most of the time, the repair was in vain or couldn’t be held in a forest fire’s limp hand.
ashes settle, but you still smell the smoke.
it was twisted, it was calamitous, it took a piece of my remaining soul.
it was blinding, it was irrevocable, it was constantly taking a toll
even after the ‘sorry’s’ and ‘can i make it up to you’s?’
i still grew maggots all over my skin where they placed their bitter fingertips,
where they designed the monster embedded in me.
i breathe fire, i inhale smoke, i exhale ashes from my bleeding throat.
it was mistakes, it was casualties, it was shattered narratives and sovereignty.
it was vicious, it was surreptitious, it was trauma and warped realities.
suffering came like waves from the most caliginous seas.
i tried buying myself safety, eternity, and apologies,
but nothing ever seemed to work in my favor.
i have been trying for so long, for so many years, for so many lifetimes, for so many ages.
i hope it’s soon time for me to be laid to rest,
with no panic attacks, no strangers, and no reason to hurt anyone.
i was once the enemy of the world, but i don’t wanna be him anymore.

He’s confusing
         I sure am stumped
                As if a puzzle came to life.
  Unlike a book
          I can’t read him
                 Maybe I don’t speak his language
   Yet I still try
          Which proves that I care
                  And I’m not scared
    Because people aren’t open books
           You have to discover them on your own
                     I love that one person could be
    Rocks to me
             And gold to you
                    Even a crescent moon
     And what I see in him is a tree
               With moss, with roots, with leaves
                     Don’t cut it down
     Because someone out there might want
          To plant a thousand more seeds
   From your sprout
                     And grow a society of trees.

the ocean is still.
the birds fly gracefully over the fjord.
the snowflakes glisten during their time of the year.
the delicate warbler chirps, singing to himself.
the cows run home for milking.
the flowers whisper in the meadows.
the wind becomes a choir.
the sun waves to the whole of nature.

           and i stand here alone
i am only me inside of these harbors
inside of these ecosystems
i don’t dance
i don’t sing
i tried to be anything
but me.

i tried to be still
but i lost my patience.
i tried to fly gracefully
i fell down at my feet.
i tried to glisten like the snowflakes
i was still a mute color.
i tried to sing to myself and the trees
but i sounded like i was dying.
i tried to run home some day
but my enemies chased me away.
i tried to whisper in the meadows
i sounded like i was yelling.
i tried to become a choir with the wind
but i failed miserably.
lastly, i tried to wave to nature
they just turned their backs to me.

so i stopped trying altogether
i even stopped wishing
until i realized
i didn’t have to be the calm of the storm
i could be the eye
i didn’t have to be the breeze
i could soar on my own wings.
i could make a poem
about how the leaves twinkle like stars with the morning dew inside of them
about how the moon dreams of me
and how i dance for the rain
about how everything belongs in nature
and how i can fit in too.

that hour is black
it is the hour to singe clothes, arsonists
the hour to burn houses and towns

that hour for children
to bolt from their swing sets for cover
the hour to board up windows

girls with guns
pistols in sweaty palms
deliberately weaponizing silence

that hour is red
a baleful war fought with ****** fists
sanguine faces flushed

that hour for isolation to prevail
to spread and slither into the crevices
the hour to bathe in ***** waters

cleanliness is seen as abrasiveness  
shadows of girls with guns
vile offspring with foul mouths

that hour is emerald green
months fly past like moths
roots sprout with intensity

that hour for desperation
the hour for skeletons to roam
piles of revengeful bones

the flies are swarming
on corpses

the hour is black in shadows
red in ****** waters
emerald green in dying beginnings

i want to love you

i want to hold you during autumn by the fireplace

i want to cuddle you in the pitch black and know that i am safe

i see plenty
thousands
of people my exact age
with people they love
or they wanna spend
more time with
i ache
i want you so bad
but
who the heck
will you be?

i want to be so engulfed in you that i can’t speak to you
dream of you
or lay awake with you
cause my heart will burn
and cause the cream bedsheets
to become the same exact color
as the fire my heart contains

i want to be able to kiss you
in the midday rain
pieces of you fit in me
glued together

i want to be so far gone
that if you break my heart
i will throw a fit and tantrum
resorting back to who i was
at five or six years old

i want to talk to you for hours
upon hours
forgetting that time means
anything more than numbers
becoming so invested
that the words i write
can only ever be your name

i want to walk with you
in the gloom of the
three a.m
drunk hour
wasted on each
other’s smiles
giggling and chasing
after one another
like in a chic flic
dreaming in
radiant
and gorgeous colors
all over
our clueless yet
satisfied expressions

and all i really want is
to be able
to lay by
you
and not worry
about not making
a peep
be whole
be full
be you
around me
i didn’t sign up
for another
you are the only
you are you
and i am in love
with the ashes
and madness
and nightmares
and insignificance
and flashes
and outlandishness
and you
mr. beyond sadness
lay with me
in the hush
of the nighttime
your flesh
and mine
and only
two hands
holding the flow
together
you and i
once i have
no worry
or anxiety
that’s when
i know
you will
love me
unconditionally

the red light distorts the cigarette smoke coming out of your nose. in the haze, i’m caught up writing prose with a bottle of coke in my left hand. trying not to choke on the heavy smoke ruminating throughout the suffocating room. your eyes the same shade of blood red as the lights. i’m boarding windows claiming i need no fresh air in my paper mâché lungs. pollute me more.

i could never touch anyone with holy hands
with sacred blood dripping onto my feet

i could touch someone with hateful hands though
these tortured hands that i never chose in the first place

some say God isn’t real
but i see, hear, smell, feel Him EVERYWHERE,
EVERYWHERE He walks, every path His holy feet tread

He didn’t give me holy hands
but He gifted me a holy heart
a heart that loves every little inconsistency in humanity’s despair-filled eyes
and maybe i don’t like myself too much
but that’s because my heart is too holy
to brave my ugly touch

good souls live on, but so do bad ones
sadly
death lives on and life dies

my unholy hands will never be able to strip death from my skin
not even my holy heart could conjure up enough power to defeat such a tough barrier
   but maybe if i tried to find death, she wouldn’t want me to discover her

the buzz in my ear settles when i step foot in the garden i cultivated
out of my love for tranquility
i trace the water with my ***** fingers
and i replenish the desperate and diffident soul inside of me
clearing the scabs i collected from the hail storm
the rain never comes after
the clouds just stay dark, hovering around me
the clearing in the forest is just from demolition sites
the unholy hands of stone cold zombies chopped down these evergreen trees
holy hands could never do such a barbaric thing

some still say God isn’t real
but how can He not be
when i see Him in the wind, in the whispering creek, in the mountainsides, in the gold mines, in my mind, in the garden i cultivated myself with my two impious hands?

how can He not be real
when i hear Him in the silence, in the ruckus, in the schoolyard, in the pigeons flying across the city scapes, in my sister’s voice, in waterfalls, in “i love your outfit” compliments?

how can He not be real
when i have a holy heart?
who gave me these ventricles
these blood vessels, if not Him?
who gave me this haven, this place for my fears to be put to rest?
who sheltered my body when i was a complete mess, if not Him?
who never struck down on innocent men
but taught them how to enter the place of rest to inhabit for when their bodies are too frail?
how can He not be real?
you tell me

my holy heart will never shatter, will never be stomped on
by a bitter boy with blue eyes and a bad bearing
his fiendish hands shriek with iron vines cast upon his knuckles
in desperation, in trepidation, in complete and utter fear
i wish i could heal him with the touch of my hands
but they are unholy
and they aren’t worthy

i can place him in my garden, feeling God in every breeze that whooshes across the lawn
he’s asking, “why does this place feel so familiar?”

“i’m not sure,” i mumble as i clutch my chest, feeling my holy heart beat warmly for the first time in the longest time.

i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he believed we were going to be inseparable lovers encaged inside of barbed wire
he believed i would be his muse,
till his last breath

but i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he breathes in rose blossomed newlywed smiles
he dances in spite of the acid rain

he believed we were an unstoppable tsunami
destined to keep growing and growing
enveloping all things into our youthful hearts

i believed we were a radioactive volcano
tension, tension, and tension
until suddenly we burst
into violent lava
and wreak havoc on the binds that hold us
together

he saw our glowing embers
never yet thought of the impending destruction
we would cause
with our hurricane stubbornness
and tornado hotheadedness

because

i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he breathes in idealistic remedies
he dances on stage as the curtain draws

he believed we would face this world together
like uplifted doves carrying olive branches in their beaks
i believed we would crumble
like every clumsy ancient civilization

but still i rest here,
with eyes devoid of aurora borealis projections
and i wish
that i would have
surrendered to his tsunami

i need to grasp the feeling of being washed away instead of hanging on to loneliness like it’s the last straw of my far fetched happiness
wash me away
i am useless if you cannot love me

when you figured out i could drive
you took advantage of me real fast—
“i love you’s” and all that fake allegiance.
well, guess what—i will burn the town we found leave it in wreckage
i will be more than who i am around you;
spirit sucker
undercover.
i hate how you talk to people
all crass and aggressive.
selfish little clinger
i’ll leave these daggers in my flesh
that you placed there for me
after you got mad i didn’t give you everything.

sometimes the pain sits lightly atop my hair
never flowing past my shoulders
never dipping down below my collarbones
but sometimes the pain envelops me, knee deep
it buries itself in my shabby shoes
touching each toe and its nail, not leaving a part of me out

sometimes the pain leaks into my mouth and becomes a weapon wielded with regret
stains form on my clothes from ****** bullets ricocheting
sometimes the pain becomes my voice, hijacking my speech and blending it into violence

my flesh the proof that pain once owned me

but it doesn’t
it doesn’t own me
i let it think that it owns me as it terrorizes
each and every salty tear i let tumble bears witness,
but they know it’s just a way to get me to stray from the stability i deserve

the pain isn’t who i am
it doesn’t define me at all
it doesn’t make me any less strong or brave or fearless
it gives me reason to believe
that although pain does not own me
neither does happiness
a state of limbo, sometimes suffering
i own my pain, giving it power ever so often
giving it the chance to destroy me, yet it never does
it never comes with blades or doubt or anger

no matter how brutal the battle,
the pain will always crumble beneath my feet
and i will not let it crawl up my spine
and rest atop my hair from now on
i can be free from the pain that confines me
from the false happiness that life begs you to accept
i can be free in the choice to believe
to believe
to believe

i would like to love you like everyone else does
like a morning dove
awaiting morning
like a beautiful sunset
still forming
i would like to love you easily and breathlessly
count all the syllables in the words you say
watch you walk
watch you stay
watch you walk away anyway.
i’m so difficult to love:
i move in rhythms
i push away—i shove
i erode the land i pave
i can’t mend the things i break.
i can’t be in love with you—
that would mean i would have to stay.
i am disgusting, you are ravishing.
you are hourglass sand in my hands
and i have stab wounds too
you fall through
every time
through every corner of dying skin.
you would abhor me if you could just stop adoring me—
i haven’t felt useless since the day we met
but i have a selfish need to push, pull,
yawn and stretch
and move violently in indignation.
you were in the wake, you moving piece of innocence
you had no clue who you were meeting
and now i’m sure you regret
it.
i can’t be who you want me to
cause then i’d have to stay
and i’m not sure how not to move these legs.

in the end, i know that
i will watch you watch me walk away.

why can’t i be as pretty and translucent as water?
the little tiny ripples
the mistakes
the errors- they are beautiful

when i am worried
the tears fall out of my eye sockets
the only part of me
that i find admirable

water, why can’t i be exactly like you?
melting into different shapes
and sizes
shimmering in the strawberry light?

why can’t i be as beautiful?

it was the greatest
a fairytale in front of my very eyes
theme park joy and bubblegum
my favorite destination was you
with your arms wide open like angel wings
patient and kind, never filled with pride
as i weeped on your shoulder,
yeah, i might have seemed cold,
but i didn’t mean it

you were ruthless
cut my wings just to prove your “innocence”
you’re a flute playing hypnotic tunes
but i’m not amused
with your faking and pacing and erasing of me
at the party when you stopped talking abruptly
and left me standing on the porch by the lamppost that moths were glued to
shivering in a state of paranoia
hearing the droning sound of voices unfamiliar
from the curtained window

perfume stuck in your hair
our promises float in smoke rings around us
it’s the holidays and you look as handsome as ever
i borrowed your sweater
and it feels like a warm hug
your nervous laugh, it’s so wholesome
the candlelight bounces along the wall
what would i ever do if i lost you?

a mirage of you
i sat on the docks
december rain poured on my back
an ache never soothed
a pathetic ruse of a love you tried to convince me we had
an empty fireplace
the moon a distant creature, she reaches out to me
but it’s violence and anger and blood on my sweater
you stole it, “control,” you wept
i lay in bed so afraid of the morning’s first breath
just nightmare fuel left

trust in the palms of your hands
you told me you don’t wanna leave me
it’s summer sunglasses weather
love you forever
in hazy afternoon smiles
your forever wild child
alive on the porch in the breeze
drunk on liberty
in between a quick kiss on the cheek
what a lovely rapture
intensity, love me, your silk shorts and pillows
you make me angry sometimes, but just for a while
you’re always apologizing for your wrongs
so easily, so selfishly

the thrashing and pounding from downstairs i hear
there’s a window pane and there’s not a single speck of dust there
a hush and covers going over my head as the stairs creak from a weight under them
it’s so quiet in Heaven
so silent in my reveries
but soon covers are pulled
legend of
cruelty  
lended itself to me
voice cracks and wine bottles broken
i shouldn’t have made the point to correct you
out of turn, out of time
always tears in my eyes
holes in the drywall  
trusting you is a mistake maybe i was willing to make
was it my fault?
it must be
it’s so cold in this room, so unfathomably freezing
but it’s summer; the time for believing
the time to find reason,
but i’m just a shell of a man with no guts to fight back when the pressure attacks
like a shark in the water
a bear hungry for flesh,
a lunging beast
beneath the undergarments
there are bruises and echoes that don’t show themselves
how could they?
no one would comprehend how fires diminish with enough wind

you’re overreacting, it’s just a simple scolding
let’s go on a ferris wheel and see how you just need a bird’s eye view
you’re the reason i wake up to chirping and coffee mugs and salvation
you’re the reason the day is bearable
to someone like me, how could you leave me in the dust
on the side of the unforgiving road?
i will be a rain puddle if leaving suits you best
you’ll never be happy
without me
over and over,
find a lover,
then they disappear behind the grocery store
you’ll never find satisfaction again
doomed to wander and wander and wander
but i am right here
with my arms open wide like angel wings
i’ll give you the strength to fly, just stay or there’s no point to do anything but—

“will you just listen?” stays my internal monologue
“if guilty had a soul, it would be yours.”
a worn down heart, so low in the ocean
i still will lift the blame from your shoulders any day if you desire
if it hurts you to realize the pain you caused me
it’s a black night and it’s cold, so terribly freezing
i can’t see life through the windshield foggy with rain
what am i if not a ghost in the dark of the night, looking for others like me
who cry in secrecy
and hide their nerves in scratched up arms?
what am i if not bent like a willow to your whim?
who am i if not alone in my own sorrow, begging to be yours, even when i want to be as far away from you as possible?
so easy to forget me
in story, you would have been kind to me
living in harmony
live for me, never laying a hand on me
but anger won you over and wrecked you
are you just as lonely as—

what did it give to learn and unlearn and learn it again just to unlearn it on purpose?
what did it give to make friends strangers to make strangers friends and then turn them inside out again?
what did it give to live within a dying house without ever exposing yourself to the outside world?
what did it give to push and punch and **** the love inside you just for simply existing?
what did it give to jail the one person who gave you wings and labeled silly old you a friend?
what did it give to dig only one hole in the backyard when you knew there would be too many bodies to hide and bury?
what did it give to sing and sing and giggle and smile when it was all for nothing?
what did it give to kick the benevolent for just being there
to hold your sore arms
and hold you till the damage almost disappeared?
it lingers still without a halo hanging like a poster over the bed.
what did it give to end up being alone in the end?
what did it give to end up exactly like you had always planned?

i never liked myself.
barely picking
myself
off the shower floor.
now there’s a storm
and it’s within me—
a dull buzzing
of a radiator
and a quiet alarm
singing its apocalyptic peace.

what would you do with all the sand in the world?
if the tides disappeared, a dry land appeared
what would you do?
would you pile it on top of me to smother me?
would you put it over my head to taunt me?
or would you make it fall, ever so slightly around me, filling up my space with sandy fumes, glass trapping me inside?
would you give me a slow death, watch me suffer?
or would you pull me out after seeing me take the brunt of it?
what would you do with all the sand in the world, one may ask?
nothing, just leave it put

when the wind whistles through,
poking, prodding,
doesn't even see
every minor infraction, even after plentiful inspection
in that it has touched me more than anyone,
has known which direction it would blow my hair
in that in no time has it made assumptions
nor presumed
only moved
about with a firm motion.
that just the other day, anger had gotten the best of me,
wishing the wind would stop reminding me of my existence
in that the bitter cold reminded me of every thought
that had been digging at the surface of my skin
and the wind did not know that i had not wanted
to be understood
in that moment.

i desired to be misunderstood,
a presence as unkempt,
as thoughtless, yet tender,
yet warm,
yet violent,
yet soft,
being able to know
the depth of someone's skin--their hair that stands on edge,
each scar and all its painful attachment,
each memory they've kept hidden,
that for some reason stay dancing on top;
and i stayed dancing
as the wind whistled
and
told me of my reasons
and didn't laugh
at a single one.

i’ve spent years being mentally malnourished.
chasing sparks in the dark only to be burned.
on the edge of never knowing what i would do.
i asked myself where my mind was.
probably in a sinkhole buried deep in the earth.
i betray myself before i hurt anyone else.
my mind controls my body.
i’m so sorry…

the moon—she knows of who she is;
i have no idea who i am.

perhaps a jellyfish
who stings when she’s provoked
not always under duress, sometimes
just because she feels threatened by the enormous depths of the sea.
perhaps a lover,
a silly little heart
that glows when it’s full
that beats when nerves flood in.
perhaps a sailor,
wandering and contemplating a world
where one could be free
and devoid of responsibilities,
chasing the stars and seas
yet somehow sees them as omens
she must avoid.
perhaps a daughter
with harp string fingertips
with legs that waltz with no regrets,
who breaks her back to measure up
and sings the craving to bed at night.
perhaps a flame,
one swallowing all the elements
destroying every path,
begging that they’ll stay.
perhaps a girl
who loves unashamedly
and naked and like an ember
like a forest fire
like a jellyfish
like a navigator of the seas
like a throbbing heart
like a delicate daughter,
perhaps everything all at once
everything and everyone that ever breathed in my vicinity
perhaps an amalgamation of all the creatures leaping in my chest,
scraping at my rib cage—thoughts dying to be uttered
said
muttered.

perhaps no one.

she was dreams filled with dead trees and dying bees
she could fake tat her entire skin canvas and drive herself insane cause it looked better that way
older men impressed her, they acted like the ocean in which they caught her up in their tides and then she was trapped
she was twisted headphones pushed deep into her eardrums, blocking out the overwhelming echo of negative voices

she wore basic tops and regular ripped jeans to fit in with the rest of the bleach blonde “be fake friends” squad
but she only ever got glanced at
she was rambunctious, but cautious
she took refuge in greasy hair and cardboard cutouts
her bed sunk where she sat just like her heart did when she would feel worth and then it would disintegrate

she cowered in the dark, shadows looming over her, coming alive to terrify her
she was confusion and crises
her insecurities turned against her, choking her and catapulting her against the nearest wall
she was rabid social anxiety shouting at her 24/7, shaking her, berating her, changing her
hair fell in clumps in the shower, the faucet raining down on her, disguising her tears
she was short curly strung out brunette hair

she filled voids with smiles from people she didn’t even know
painted her walls black to cover up the darkness she could feel circulating in her soul
she was overgrown weeds corrupting luminous gardens, invading the soft soil buried beneath the rugged surface
a balancing act wavering on insanity and death, dithering whether to end it all or to let psychiatrists determine what her main issue is
she had an avoiding tendency, not wanting to hear the truth pour out of choosers’ mouths

she was admirable though, she gathered all her thoughts and apprehensions and threw them on paper using ink pens to secure its existence
she never let it get too out of hand, she returned to her safe haven; her room, where she would make her knuckles sore from bawling cause she would not strike someone other than herself for destroying her pride
it had to be her fault in the first place

she struggled, but she got up, climbed the cliff with jagged edges, arrived at summit with ****** ribs and scraped knees and hands rubbed raw
she swallowed the pain like it was some chalky tasting pill, not grieving herself, not mumbling one complaint
she’s strong
she’s proud
she’s accomplished
she’s alive
she’s who i am now

your existence is a knife in the back;
i can’t complain,
i let you in with your murderous crime-plotting hands.
i stayed put and watched the blood drip
down each leg.
i didn’t try to plug the wounds.
i wanted you to hold me till my breath stopped and the time slowed to a lull,
till i laid limp in your arms,
still and hushed.
i wanted to be touched undecidedly
not knowing where to place the mess you left behind.
i wanted to haunt the memories in the front of your mind,
swiftly slithering about,
till all you knew was what you had done,
but it was passion
and yet i love you still.

every morning, i lose a little hope that you will love me.
there are weapons in my hands,
pointed straight at your heart.
will you love me if my temporary winter chooses to subside?
will you love me with my spring eyes and hopeful glances?

there are weapons in my arms,
pointed straight at your heart.
the night calls my name with her quiet lips,
her silent voice gliding through the busy streets,
straight into my soul.
will you love me if the distance only makes you guiltier?
will you love me as an extension of the adoration for yourself?

there are weapons in my heart,
pointed straight at your heart.
the morning kills me with her hands as i almost do to you;
unmistakably, regrettably, and embarrassed.
will you love me as i am, a summer child, with hopes as fleeting as the humidity?
will you love me if i cannot hide my fragility anymore?

i’m so ashamed to admit i’m too weak to love you.
but will you love me, without arms, without hands, without weapons aimed at mistakes, without window panes, without cold shoulders, without dying streetlights illuminating the bones of every fault, without shame, without killing me by accident, without drowning out the truth, without starving all the bad news as if it’ll just disappear, without eyes that burn through confessions, without flimsy notions, without sickness?
will you love me if the words refuse to escape from my prideful lips,
that i love you just the same?
will you love me even if the morning never comes, even if the winter keeps pushing its frosty thumb against the glass, even if the world around us keeps us knee deep in quicksand, slaves to our own habits of ‘run away’?
will you love me no matter the weapons i try to attack you with?—
i have no bullets, no sharp knives, no desire to harm you.
my inability of loving is violent in and of itself
so
every morning, i think less of who i am,
knowing i do not deserve to be loved
by you.

i don’t want to be a woman
standing on a suitcase packed with psychedelics
losing her remaining mind in a ditch on the side of the deserted road.
i don’t want to be a woman
who’s taught to love herself but the others around her
are peach trees in summer
with lips plump and red
with tiny thighs that extend.
i don’t want to be a woman
with frail bones because the calcium deficiency caught her early
shouting for her knees that are weak
and for her obsolete brain waves that forget their true place.
i don’t want to be woman
following the trail until it suits her no more
creating a secret code then tossing it into the river
with jaguar eyes and a lopsided smile
she’s fine with letting new histories die in her arms.
i don’t want to be a woman
in all truth, i don’t want to be associated with anyone
i don’t belong in this body, in this mindset, in this world
every word on each paper is screaming at me to rebuke my inner organs and to become a knight without limits
because i don’t believe in speaking up for the sake of speaking up.
i don’t want to be a woman
or a man for that matter
i just want to exist in the forest fires of los angeles
the city with no angels
no reason to be endowed with this city of torches and absolute tomfoolery
but look where i am now
i discarded my existence for fame and rash decisions
i don’t want to be a woman, do you?
if i put on a halter top and show you more skin, would you love who i am or the flesh that is impure and shameful?
i don’t want forced views to be my condemnation
i don’t want your silk dresses and pearls.
sham admiration is not my master
nor will it ever be in my mind or my soul.

        i don’t want to be woman, do you?

i thought of this
in the sparkle of the early morning sunrise
that women have only one ****** purpose in life
to find someone suitable,
and then get pregnant right after
every single ****** function that happens to a woman is because
she is preparing to have offspring
our hips are widening
our bodies are thick
thick especially around our stomachs
patiently waiting for a child or at least an egg
in hopes of a tangible pregnancy
i watched myself in the mirror
slowing fading from the grasped image of myself
who is that life form staring back at me?
i realized if i don’t have a kid later on
i am going to have to become a nun
it’s not that i hate God or something of the sort
there is just no available information
and with this body of mine,
that only functions for something that isn’t even born yet
in my own body
i am not the main goal or the main crop of my body
a baby with brown, black, or blond hair
will plop out onto the table and my body will say, “good work, time for another one.”
and i don’t even know a man who could gift me such a valuable being
after all the mass murders and violence and shooting
i don’t think i wanna send my child into a world of fear
where every corner they turn is another disorder or a world order or a thief’s ******
but somehow my skin wants to breed another living breathing specimen
and if i create another girl who turns into a woman
i am going to have to tell her at some point
that the most proud thing
she can do in life is give birth to another child
and if she asks why
with my teeth gritted and my bloodshot eyes
i will say, “i don’t know, it’s just life.”

“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
to myself in the mirror
or maybe even
to a distant/immediate
lover
under
the covers.
“shine and be shown,”
one day i’ll yell to
the spruce trees
whose branches
hover over
me
or to
the way i
look in skinny
jeans.
“love the death inside of you
and keep the
life inside
of you as
strong as you can,”
one day i’ll tell my
grandchildren if i lose
my fear of giving
birth or
to somebody
needing
of a pep talk.
“be valiant,
don’t ever be false,
for that is worse than
the most heinous
of truths
you have hiding
inside your skull,”
i’ll tell you as
we sit
on
the kitchen floor
in underwear
under
the fluor
escent
flickering lights
eating brunch
at noon in the
afternoon.
and you’ll tell
me the exact
same thing
and i’ve always
been such a
terrible
liar.
“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
on the dock
by the lake house
with the really
suspicious murky
water
and i’ll say it
with pride to
the image
of my past
image in
the pitiless
mirror.
perhaps you’ll
say it to me as well,
as the fog
opens up a
new front
in my/our
front yard
as i peep
through the
blinds
and i feel alive
and the
poetry in my
veins awakens
to the beat of
the ripened heat.
and i’ll shine like
the sun,
just can you be
my spotlight if
my light suddenly
dims?
can you?
can you, please?

who said this would ever be fun?
i am a gaping wound
just passed back in forth between my mind and my heart.
i don’t know how to breathe without an oxygen tank
pumping filtered air into my body.
i’d much rather be dead than have some machine breathe for me.
i am a gaping wound
at every party, i wasn’t invited.
i just stand in the background
and watch everyone else
live till they puke
love till they collapse.
special: why did i ever feel so?
every place hurts
because i smell your scent here
i see traces of your sweat on every chair.
everywhere i look, you had been there before.
dancing with your heart on your sleeve,
you learned how to live at such a young age,
can you teach me how to breathe by myself?
show me the ropes, i can repeat it,
even if you only do it once, i’ll break my ankles and shatter my lungs piecing together any little part i remember.
teach me how to breathe without apologizing,
how to lucid dream,
how to be someone you would never ever forget
even if you get dementia and your brain doesn’t remember how to function anymore.
i am a gaping wound,
but please wipe the blood and bandage me up.
never mind; i don’t wanna damage you too.

could someone please fill the lines of their notebook with my name
write poetry
they may or may not wanna tell me about
but it keeps them awake at the witching hour
and they want my lips to leave marks on their pillowcases
they want my voice to ring throughout their hollow hallways
echoing through their bitten hearts
so i can finally be wanted
and i won’t have to stay up at the witching hour, crying tears of loneliness cause i’ll have someone who’ll sketch my eyes with charcoal and construct a poem out of my sadness and we can be best buddies
**** it
i wish it was all that easy.