My first poem was about you.
I bet you can't remember. You promised me you'd come visit me that summer.
Because you missed me.
I was about about five years old. At that age I still believed in promises.
You never came.
In fact, I never saw you after that.

I saw fathers around me.
Carrying their children on their shoulders.
Mom couldn't, she's not that strong.
I saw them, kissing mothers, with their children in the middle.
I kiss my mother. She needs it.

Once, in class, I wrote your name in my notebook.
With the words 'I miss my dad'
Got detention for messing up my homework.

I think about you dying. And I wonder what I'd feel.
I hope your ghost will also never keep his promises.

Pbr,
A Richmond hipster
Hip checking sobriety
And being hip in a social rivalry
Alcoholic tides to me
Nothing I can hide from me

****** American beer
Nothing but
Loathing and fear
Directed towards self
A reflection on the shelf
Left alone
With nobody else

Sinking
And sinking
And sinking

Poison spoon fed the nodding King and ended ancestors.

Holy cows bought government *****
and ate suicides grown by ***** Kubla Khan gospels.

Shantih, Leviticus, and other proper thoughts
kissed arms of air and made islands from memories of breakfast.

Eternity perished in the illusion of swallowed tongues
in the belly of an infant—
and yesterday,

Only one bullet of hallelujah stood swimming.

Anything, to feel nothing.

I used to wake up, six in the morning. Just enough time to smoke one before class.
Made me feel nothing for about two years.
Till my chimeras found me, through my buzz.
Tried pills, didn't work the way I planned.
First time in my life I felt even more than I was used to.
Got scared.
Maybe there is no medicin.
So the shrink gave me some medicin.
Made me numb for about six months.
Untill I lost my believes in placebo.
Tried ******* my feelings out.
Dug up some more issues.

And now, I've been sitting here, for the last two hours.
Staring at my wall.
It tells me in a foreign language that I am strong.
I painted that ****. I believed in it.
I'm not a bit stronger than the substances inside me.

Sometimes I get so positive
I scare myself to death.
I see beauty that does not excist
and I feel loved
by people who have never loved anything before.
I have fallen for the most terrible men,
I felt at home in the most hatefull families,
and now I look at you
and I see the best in you
even though you never did.

I'm a victim of my own optimism.

I'm afraid.
Because I know me, not you.
I've seen my choise of men, and I know after today,
the way you kissed me, made me laugh
kissed me, made me laugh,
that I will fall in love with you.

I'm afraid because you're pretty.
And because most men cheat, especially the pretty ones.

I'm afraid I will forget all of this.
The pain, the healing,
and that I will eventually trust you.
Give everything I have, just like I always do.
Loose myself in your approval, love you more than I love myself.

I'm afraid that there,
at my weakest point,
you will be just like them.

I don't know. Either you gave me a million kisses. Your lips barely touched my skin, but I felt them. Oh, I felt them everywhere. Or you grabbed my neck and stuck your tongue inside me. And I just excisted in that moment, guided by your mouth. I can´t remember if you held my hand and I felt comfort, or you pinned my hands against the wall, and I felt passion. Did we make love or sins? I seem to keep forgetting, what is lust and what is tenderness.

I am too loud.
Too energetic.
I expect too much. It's so selfish.
I'm lazy.
Don't do **** around the house.
I'm too much of a girl and too little of a lady.
I'm too touchy.
Too scared of rejection.
When I'm asleep, I make noise and move too much.
I loose or break something every ******* week.
When I'm drunk, I think I'm so much tougher than I actually am.
And I'm such a bad friend.
A terrible daughter.
A despicable girlfriend.

You think you're ******* perfect.