I used to scratch my arms so much
that I would bleed,

Incidentally, when I'm feeling small
my arms get really itchy.

But I just crossed an ocean
on a jet-plane that fit

hundreds of me's.
And I didn't feel small.

I saw monuments that you
can see from space,

I walked over cobblestones
of the eternal city,

seeing the span of time
outstretch through my every day,

I ate food that
traveled millennia to arrive in my stomach,

And I didn't feel small.
Contrarily,

I felt the tiber plowing through
my wine-colored waterways,

My shoulders adapted their posture
to the lean of the Singelgracht,

I stared Vesuvius in the eye,
standing upon its ashen stillborn city.

Yet the itch never
came. Flying back

To my little pond, I wondered
If there would be enough room to

Fit the new me.
And step by step,

I tip-toed back to the bed
I thought had been left

Untouched in my absence.
But when I laid my head down,

I turned into Alice,
Drowning in my sheets,

They had gone back to my pillows,
And invited a stranger in,

Stretching out my space to where
Only they could fill it just right.

And now I’m small enough to see
Bed bugs, nibbling their way up

And down my shrunken arms.
I ponder over the possibilities

Of charms being mixed in with
Grapes, aged with cheese,

Deliciously tricking me into
Believing all of this was good

For a growing girl.
As I call up to the giants

Who used to be my height,
I recognize they can only hear me

Via echoes, a subdued volume
Of my former cries.

Only being as small as a pest,
Can I see how the molecules of

Matter really do shift,
A best friend can

Neither be created
nor destroyed,

Only moved about, shifted
From one sleep-mate

To another.
I sit with the bed bugs

I do not itch anymore,
I am the itch.

You are the embodiment of my inner demons.
Your eyes flicker with my worst nightmare.
Your hands are filled with the fury I try to disown.
Your lips are infused with my exact poison.

And I love you like a child who has never been burned.

I feel it's only right to start this book with you.
Why not start another chapter as I start my days?
With daydreams of you
With well wishes for your thoughts
With high hopes for your days path
With congratulations arising another day and continuing as yourself
You are not only in my every thought, every word, every breath.
You're in my every cell, every atom.
My makeup is of your soul.
What is the difference between obsession and love?
We always joke that I'm crazy but
I'm insanely painfully otherworldly in love with every part of who you are I yearn to know all of the you’s that have ever existed:
I want to see your face when you first fell in love.
I want to hear your voice from the first grade.
I want to feel your last tear the one I never got to see.
I need to know you, need to feel you your soul in mine.
I could write forever and it will never be enough to show you what my world has become.
But that will not stop me from trying.
If you want to know my world:
Feel your pulse
If you want to live here
Finger through your ribs.
If you want to feel my world,
Feel your heartbeat.
My world exists
In the pit of your irises.
My world
Follows the path of your veins.
My world changes seasons
When you lose your breath.
My world comes into focus and clarity as you draw near.
I live in the creases of your laugh lines
I inhabit the sunshine that lay on your shoulders
Your lips are lifegiving
Your voice caretaking
I’ve crossed the threshold
And while I know it's too soon to ask for a key,
I'm finding you leaving the door unlocked.
I can't sense your smell anymore and
I only know that it's nostalgic in ways
Only Home Can Be.

This home is not mine to claim
But this world is the one in which I live
Perhaps not mine, but still perhaps home.

They tell you that love is light
but it’s your darkness that
keeps my heart beating

I don't say I love you so you'll say it back. I say it so there will never be a time when you won't know someone loves you.

Do Not Look Down.

Just close your eyes and
Jump off of this cliff of hurt and despair.
Let us dissolve on our way into the depth.
Leaving only our hearts and souls to remain.
To intwine with the river's peace and the autumn's life.
We can leave the world for just a brief respite.
Together. Breathing for the first time in
What seems like an eternity of holding
Our breath. Smile together
In just our short period of perfect bliss.
Open your heart to the fall, because your
Faith and your Trust, will make you soon
Discover that you are flying away with me, into our valley.
Look over as we float, fly,into our valley.
Holding our hands tight. With Love. With
Fear. And as we land, softly in our serene
Glen, you'll glance over, and our
Hands are still wrapped tight, but the
Fear, is replaced with Wonder and Love.
And we grow together, in our little
Paradise. And there is only us. Melting away in our little valley.

I can't write music,
I don't write lyrics.

My poetry doesn't sound like that.

My pen doesn't print words into chord formations,
which,

Admittedly is frustrating because all I want to do is sing to you

But I cannot use a staff to frame my sentiments

And while I pride myself in the power of my pen,

I still dream of a world that I could tell a few words to whistle your tune

All day I dream of music,

Just a note to give to you.

I always wonder if all the hours I've spent wanting to be you,

You have spent wanting to be me;

And as soon as the thought rushes to my pupils, my vision is blurred with tears,

How could that be, that the most magnificent person in the world could want to be anyone but herself?

But then the photo focuses and I can see the bigger picture:

This is what the world does.

When you told me that you didn't make promises I didn't think anything of it.
It was only when my mouth was filled with gravel and blood, when I tried to lean on you, that I realized that this was what you meant.

Your Words splatter like paint across my skies

Your heart showing like a movie screen before my eyes

Moving fast on its wake to the hearing hearts of the reader

But it has become my favorite movie

Each sentiment sincere, each word sopping with desire

Each thought spoken, a treasure.

Written, a paradise

And felt, a haven of wonder.

The loving eyes eave the curving roads of my steps following closer than a scorned lover.

Welcomed, though.

Inviting the all seeing eye into your life. Putting a hand out to a perhaps scary visitor.

All the people in your life, by choice, your own control.

Letting yourself bond the option and the reality.

Hands so sincere
Sure of every move they make.
Guiding the air to itself.

Mixing into itself. Meeting the Particle and making it whole. A pair to change the lives around it. Going in bonded, as one thing.
They come out, hopefully still bonded, made of something very different.

Carbon products is all we are.

At the Elements mercy.

One disappears and there we go struggling.

But you are one element I could not do without.

I was red wine,
You were blueberry.

I was robust and full-bodied
Maybe the only one
As unpredictably
rich as you

And much worse
At concealing it

We joined in
Meals where we only
Discussed
What we were hungry for.

But in our starvation
We confused eachother

For food
And we tore
Ourselves
Apart

Imagine Breakfast
Lunch, and Dinner

Smiling across
at you
From the other side of
Your pillow

Because we
Weren’t after sustenance

It was never your taste
That satisfied
but still I had been licking
The salt off of your skin

Somehow, I was the one
That felt raw in the morning

But we were new to
The institution
Munchies were to be
Expected

But our empty calories
Created blockages around my heart

Only the basic needs
Slipped through
Reminding me of
The hunger I was stifling

We boiled over
And looked elsewhere for feed

You had broken
Your diet lifestyle
Not seeing how
Emaciated it had made you

You indulged yourself
On the richness of being filled

And you threw it up
Silently in the bathroom
Flushing away
The burning

So no one
Would ever know

But I saw the color
Return to your cheeks
As we set our table
For the meal we would

Never eat.

I wanted to text you and tell you
I loved you
and
Needed you
I wanted to spout off affections
like they were the first story ever told
I wanted to rewrite history
And
Reverse the revolution
Because I've come to realize
that I miss the fit of my Red Coat

And no one saw her hurting
They saw glimmering reflections of themselves
Off the broken shards that she was made up of

When people say “rekindle an old flame,”
I find it very misleading.
That flowery wording
Makes it sound so
Musical
So Promising

What it really is
Is that *** lighter
That you sparked
And resparked
And swore wasn’t empty
Before leaving in your pocket
Sometime ago.

When you found it,
you lit up,
Friction flicked that
Wheel
And watched that
Flame dance once more,
Enough to ignite one more
Toxic thought

Getting you high from the
Smoke
Clouding the past
Leaving you
Staggered
When your fingers
Bleed
Begging for
Fire

And you crack it open,
Look for what’s more
Not even smelling
Butane

Just smelling
Nothing.

It’s empty.

This Year
When your tear-filled eyes
are looking for
someone to fall in love with,

Make sure you look in the mirror.

To tell someone you love them,
You must first gather the words.
You must search through the weeds in your brain,
Until you find just a few flowers,
That are the right colors to fit your sentiments.
Once you have plucked the love stained roses,
You must shave off the thorns that remain attached,
Standing as barriers between your words,
And the soft flesh of their ears.
By the time you have arranged this bouquet of a phrase,
Into and order that is lovely enough to give,
You will be forced to notice that you are bleeding.
And now, you might turn around to search for a bandage,
Realizing that you have given yourself all the care that you can.
Now, you will fear that the blood on your flowers has poisoned them,
And made them unworthy of offering.
But before you have time to realize,
Your heart has taken control in an attempt to keep pumping,
And spatter the floral crime scene into midair.
You will sit and stare at the evidence of your frailty,
When you see a garden blossoming before you.
And the petals will fall from their lips, as they open their mouths
To swallow the words you have bestowed upon them.
And the next time their mouth opens,
Out will pour violets that are colored with bruises.
You will taste the richness of purple as the scent of springtime shows you
The seeds of your words growing into a world
That was well worth the Briar ******.
Somehow, you will find in your garden,
Lilies and Sunflowers,
Tulips and Hydrangeas,
And some you had no way of knowing.
And then you will realize,
That you alone could make Roses,
And they alone, Violets,
But as your stems intertwined,
You made something that goes beyond
Gardens
Or Forests.
You created a season that
Goes beyond Springtime.
Your meager rosebloods
Have flowered into
A New world,
The only world,
Where the harvest is fuller with every kiss,
And sweeter with every caress.
This world will call for care,
And be in need of upkeep,
But you will always find more seeds to plant,
And more room to grow.
Because although this world has
Been watered with Blood
and Planted with bruises,
It will grow far beyond damage,
and fill you with the spirit of the very first rose,
And remind you,
What each petal meant.

People take the world as they see it themselves
some see black
some see white
many see grey
as for me?
I see it for what it is....technicolored.

                                                                ­                                  Life is far to wonderful and bright too see it as simple black
                                       it is too deep and mysterious to be only white
it is too exciting and amazing to be described as grey
There's a reason that there is color present everywhere.
If the world were colorless, so life would be.
                                                             ­                                      But the autumn leaves are crimson and gold and apricot
The halls in which we walk are of light saphron and amber
                                                       The city streets in which we trod are spurted with shades of periwinkle and magenta
The meadows through which we stroll have flowers of violet and buds of rose
                                                        The trees with which we have our yuletide celebration are the solemn green
  Life is as we see it
dont be strapped down to bland colors like
                                         grey                     white                              black
Life is color
Furious Scarlet
                            Dejected Sapphire
                                                        ­         Joyful Fuscia
                                                          ­                                    Envious Sage
                                                            ­                                                                 ­       Playful Yellow
Even as you look in the mirror, colors are shown to you.
I see
eyes of chocolate
                                    cheeks of mauve
                                                           ­              teeth of pearl  
                                                         ­                                                 lips of ruby
                                                            ­                                                                 ­              skin of gold
Even my soul is multicolored in all its numerous facets

                                                       Dont let yourself be barred into the cell of neutrality

                                                                ­                                   See life for the rainbow that it truly is.

The
Silence
Is
Killing
Me
One
Body
Shutter
At
A
Time

It’s just that I always thought I would wind up with my soul mate.
And you were.
But still I feel myself getting very comfortable with settling with someone who makes me forget you.

It breaks me seeing her back in your life,
Mostly cuz I had once thought she was your past
And I was your future

I didn’t know
She was your everything
And I was your nothing at all.

I wonder if that watered down ***** drowns out the taste of your daughter's empty "I love you's"

I started smoking when you left me
Swore I would stop when it stopped hurting
2 Years Later,
I inhale
as I realize the only thing that stopped hurting
is the burn in my lungs.

I hate Alcohol

The burn down my throat
The immediate feeling of impending *****
The way it makes my face all rosy

I hate Cigarettes

The taste of the tar filming my lungs
The heat at the back of my mouth
The cough that stays longer then the flame’s invitation

I hate You

The weeks of silence during your antisocial comas
The love proclamations left unsaid
The line that you’ve so carefully scalded  between us


It’s 9:27 PM on a night that feels like Fire

I am Drunk already
I am Chain Smoking your brand of cigarettes
I am Praying for anything at all from you

I hate that.

I stare at you and feel the empty air
begging to be filled with
the admirations festering in my lungs

And as thoughts form flavor on
my lips,
I choke them back and **** them
with the smoky cancer

I exhale in a thick white stream
and hope that it could be
enough of a
screen to hide my eyes
and the hole I'm boring
into your face.

I pray that if you
breathe it in,
you can taste the
honeyed intentions

I fill space with common talk
that distracts from the reality in
which real feelings burn quickly
and leave empty an air that you
ignore.

I swallow it like absynthe
as my jaw clenches with
the weight of my masochistic heart.

None of your venom will ever make me taste bitterness on my own lips

Empty eyes
Scan the room
For a solvent

To dissolve
The boarding sadness
Feeling at home in my truth

Hiding behind honest lips
Despair coats
My throat

Tricking me into believing
That it’s going down
Like water

Voices chanting
In bonds
Made by weakened spirits

Shot
Shot
Shot,

I take.

Chuuug
Guuulp
Sluuug,

I fade.

Eyes wander,
Looking in my skull,
For a brain

Before Answering
a knock
at my lips

Peck
Peck
Smooch.

The blur
Drags us
Away

My eyes
Disillusioned with romance
Scan the room

Hollowly thankful
No one heard my
Signal

Wondering
If he can taste
How raw

My voice has become.

I’m a cliché.
I’m a walking broken piece of glass,
insisting my glimmer is different
than all of the other fissures of society.
I seem to think there is something romantic
about living like I hate myself.
I am not only comfortable with being unhealthy,
I welcome it with kisses and perfume.

Summer time comes and it's time for a swim,
Dipping my toe gingerly in
When your laugh yanks me off my solid ground.
"Stay in the shallow end," I tell myself, remembering our last trip to the pool.
"Dare not to breathe when he pulls you under,
tasting so much like air as he pulls you close,"
Treading water to stay afloat,
Remembering all that lay at your floor,
A Glimmering Treasure Trove
That will too easily become a home.
Surely, I'll get swimmer's heart,
An achey ringing,
In the center of my chest,
The antidote, found in the eyes of
One who could drain the pool
Without Notice.

They say grieving is different for everyone,
But they can never truthfully explain how.

It was not until my south star exploded
That I could understand how many constellations would be ruined

Like the godmother who would forever spend Saint Patrick's day drinking in memory of both nephew and mother;

Like the little brother who was forced to become the oldest;

Like the uncle who shuddered at seeing his own son's demise too clearly;

Like the step-mother who would hate herself for being right all along;

Like the friend who would cut up his life with the same murderous knife;

Like the father now blinded from the absence of the son's light;

And like the sister who was forced to break the promise of future reconciliation.

None of them could understand how the planets had aligned this way,

And none of them could find their former orbit,

But rather, would follow the path of the star dust left behind

Flinching at it as if it were glass,

Embracing the sting

Because it is all that is left

Of the brightest star in their sky.

Part of me will never forgive myself
for not following through on the promise I made to you

But another part
knows that you wanted me too
Forced me to

Part of my brain was already on the way to the store
to get cupcake making supplies

when the other part of me,
remembered that you don’t have a sweet tooth

Unless the cupcake was laced with misery,
there was no way you would sink your teeth into it

I wonder why you had wanted confetti cake
when all you know is grey

I wonder if you were hoping that I could bake some color
back into your throat

so that your own voice
mattered to you again

I convince myself that things are better this way
but it is like wishing on a cake the day after your birthday

Forced and futile
though appreciating the sentiments.

I would have given you the universe baked deep
inside of the cupcakes that were my proof that I could be worthy

Truth is the word
That we’ve always
embroidered
Onto my pillow

But instead
It’s that I’ve never had
Enough knowhow
To sew my

Secrets anywhere
Except the
Soft, pin-cushiony
Pink of my lips

It is always you
With truth shears in
The hand you’re always
Extending

That sets them
Free
To fly and
Find light

Your work on
Our tapestry
With little fingers
And quiet tenderness

That many
Will never
Feel

Your vision
Of our bigger picture
Unravels before me

Making more sense
With Every stitch

When I leave my
Heart
In places so
Cold

You help me
Pull strings
To drag me back
To myself

You remind me
That my fabric is
Fragile and
Precious,

But never to fear
Cutting away
What no longer
Fits

Being Raggedy Ann
Always comes with
Its share
Of loose threads

And I’m forever
Thankful

That you
Tie them,
Hands un-judging

In knots
As intricate
And beautiful
As your soul.

I walked into our chapel
shoulders back,
head high,
dignified.

No Catholic shame
forced my eyes
to the mosaic aisle

Trodden Over
by my Sandaled feet,

It was a feast day,
praising God
with our laughter
and shared
beneficence.

We joined
in joyful prayer,
receiving each other's
sacrament
with the reverence
of saints

but just as I sang
the psalms the loudest
there came
an unholy silence,

Believing I was being
tempted,
I fell to my knees,
contemplated
your wonder

waiting for your return
to your
prodigal lover;

squandering our
sacred time,
not counting the blessings of
our moments of grace.

I hung upon
my silent cross,
weeping into my
wine-soaked rag

Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani  

Descending into
Despair,

Waiting for
an Easter
that I swore
had been prophesized,

Even upon your
high holy
return,

you seemed resurrected,
and yet I not saved.

I felt like Moses
on his day of death
beholding
the promised land
covenanted by
souls

and yet
remaining in
this desert
thirsty for
the wellspring
that seemed to be sitting
behind your eyes,
the water that would
quench
my forever thirst.

Despite the ache
in my dried mouth,
I'd find
the will
to stand upon my feet,
tired of relying on
a charitable heart's
sympathies
as my means of
living.

But I found
that I was
praying for
too much
from you

and I fell upon
my knees again,

wondering if
humility is meant
to leave you feeling
this broken.

And so begins the litany
of sacrifices

wondering

if you are my
love made flesh
why it is I who is

scourged,
stripped of dignity,
nailed to a cross
that I had brought here
myself

Mumbling words out
to a silent heart
that I know
hears me.

Thinking that surely
our death
will meet me soon.

But by
the clever grace of
the devil

I continue,
finding life
that should have
diminished
at two o' clock.

Is Hannukah
not
supposed to be
a celebration?

Because while burning
in this modest
Menorah lifestyle,

sacred
and
devout.

I find faith
in you

and have been shepherded
to no redemption,

but only the
salty pillars
of one who trusts
in gods
created by another God.

And upon this realization,
I rush to confession,
knowing my worship
of false idols
is not over.

As I remember
our love
as beautiful
and mighty,

I'm forced
also to remember
that
Lucifer, too,
fell when things were at
perfection.

Try as I might,
I must turn my face away,

with the hope
that something
greater

truly does await
for one
who loved paradise,
body and soul,

with the finality
of resurrection.

As I wince to inhale
I wonder if
I've lost the taste for your smokes
or if I've lost the taste for you.

I’ve been caressed and loved, Many a time before. But this.
This is my ecstasy.
This moment.
This memory now.


I could not have crafted any more beautiful moment.
There were so many different paths I could have traveled
in order to arrive at this most wonderful paradise,
but I look behind me and smile at the road I have taken.
For this exact path,
is what brought me to the wonderful perfection
that has come into reality.
There were so many different events that may have come into being from my own mind and heart,
but what has come to me is more beautiful than a full moment.
Its briefness is what makes it so dazzling.
That fleeting moment of extraordinary and wonderful.
It was the glimpse of flawlessness that my heart needed to fall.
It was subtle and soft, such as a wilting blossom just touched by the morning dew,
still tender and fragile,
but still a beauty in its own form.
There was perfection.
There was paradise.
It was that moment,
and that moment is ours.
On a constant repeat in my mind,
never wanting this feeling of wonder to ever fade.
Although the moment was brief,
I was awake and aware.
Ready to cling on the the perfection
that I knew
would only last an instant.
I wonder if it was perhaps,
as lovely as I have imagined it to be.
But perhaps it’s better to perceive the amazement where there doesn’t call for any,
than to have never felt it at all.
This exquisiteness is a gift,
either from the God of Love
or the God of Fools,
or even perhaps, the God of Hope.
Whichever you pick,
I keep it locked away in my heart.
Safe from the torment of the conscious mind and the world of doubt.
It remains there,
as a light shining for me to feel,
and perhaps,
for all to see.
That moment.
That will be mine, forever.

Yes, Sunshine. Stay angry at me forever. Use this break-up as another excuse for why your life is terrible. Use this as an excuse to have a chip on your shoulder that will weigh you deeper into your habits. I did not implant in you the seed of hatred that was already blooming when we met. You will care for and nourish the deep rooted evils that run through you like blood, a mimicry of a life, fueled only by the blood of your fury. Blame me for all that could be wrong, but you will see that the melancholy willows are far too engraved in you for you to hack them away with your searing alcohol and blame.

Ordinary people find each other.
For extraordinary people, it’s much harder.

Denial of the obvious

I'm just sad today and when it stops raining then I can get a fresh look at this world and see a not so blurry outlook that melds all the colors into grey

Anger at your brain matter

Why wasn't I born into the world right side up, we joked about how difficult I was but is it really a joke when 18 years later I'm wailing out for the same breath of air that I was born needing

Bargaining with the disorders

I have symptoms of Anxiety Disorders but I could also be schizophrenic so maybe we can strike a golden medium of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder so at least then I can create an insane system of disorderly organization.

Depression

How often can you feel sad before you grow desolate and the drear wears away at the valleys on your face and pins you down into a final posture of the broken

Acceptance

I'll Let You know

I am at the edge of this cliff.
Staring down at what could be my death
for certain
if I am to jump.
I stare down at the river
following the chromium streams
meeting my eyes with your own.
Seeing your smiling face.
Eyes sparkling bright.
Smiling all the way to your kind eyes.
Waving your strong hands.
Calling me forth to you.

I Swallow Deep.
Palms Sweaty.
Step Back.
Bite my tongue.
Squeeze my eyes closed.
Shut tight.
All I can see is you.
Your friendly smile.
Your strong arms.

And I leap.
Leap Hard.
Leap Strong.

And I fall.

I can feel the wind whipping through my hair.
Past my Ears.
All around me.
Swallowing me up.
Screaming in my ears.
Making me ever so aware.
Of My Mortality.
My Fragile Heart..

The wind whips faster.
My Heart Beats Louder.

I'm Spinning.
Turning.
Flailing.
Like a ragdoll
Thrashing through the wind.
At the elements' mercy.
Pushing and Pulling.
Shoving and Tugging.
Throughout the air.
But all I can do.
Is Squeeze my eyes tighter.
Breathe a little deeper.
Think of your smile.
Your Sanctuary Arms.

And before I can understand what has happened
I've plunged deep.
I finally open my eyes.
Peering all around.
Where I am.
Where I've broken my fall.

Am I gone?
No longer with the living soulds.
Why?
Why do I feel stifled and suffocated?
I look around.
I stop at light.
I push myself towards it.
Unsure of how I'm moving
or Even what direction I'm migrating towards.
But, nonetheless, moving.
To the Light.
To the Warmth.
Just as I don't know if my fragile being could stand it anymore.
I break the surface.

I breathe deep.
I'm alive.
I'm breathing.

But you.
You are no where to be found.
I silently scream your name.
Searching.
Peering around.
I search and search.
Shaking.
Quivering.
Fearing what reality has brought to me.

I scream and yell.
Searching still.
All Day.
All Night.
Til my fight is gone.
My search ceases.
Grief sets in.
The heart breaks.
And I am alone.

So, I sit down in the quietest meadow.
And weep.
Then, the weeping ceases.
The screams begin again.
Anger and Rage Now.
Then, the screams, too, go silent.

And I lie down and
Stare at the sky.
Looking at the stars.
Listening to the water's whisper.
Feeling the silken grass against my back.

Breathing.
Quivering.
Accepting.

Being alone in the meadow.
But enjoying all that is left.
All that is bequeathed to me.
The meadow that is peace.

The only solace to the shattered mess that is
My Heart.
My Mind.
My Soul.

But the waters whisper comfort.
The Stars show light, in this time,
Dark as Onyx.
Tracing the lines on my skin.
With the soft comforts of this meadow within a valley.

The Pain.
The Meadow.
The Comfort.

All from you.

All for me.

I’ve heard you talk about people from your past. I’ve seen your eyes stare off into traffic, never even blinking as their hollow names march out of your mouth. I’ve felt a cold air blow through the distance between you and them, the blood in your heart no longer pumps into their severed arteries. The skin of that part of you has gone grey in pallor. Your memories are stiff in rigor mortis, no longer pumping with thoughts of tomorrow. Instead of laying those memories to bed for another day, you bury them in their graves, only allowing them to become unearthed when someone wants to ***** their hands to find something to grab on to, something to plant themselves in.

I wish I would have known then
That I was digging my own
Place of Unrest.

The Reds Rocked me into decimation
The Oranges Overcame my shriveled form
The Yellows Yearned to return to that saddened smile
The Greens Grew a seed of perhaps
The Blues Broke through the dried esteem
The Violets Veered me off the path again

Lips like fire,

She scorches the town,

Leaving Ashen faces as signs of her affection.

Words like water,

steaming the lines of reality into

Smudged intentions.

Spine in flex formation,

She flips into memories, 

Avoiding snags.

Her brain in carefully curled spirals,
Dyed the intelligence that she deems fit.

She plasters their words over the fragile 

Threads that make her fly.

She buries herself in reflections, 
Willing away anything unseemly mortal.

Eyes like the plague,

Infecting those who look too close.

Hands like claws, 

Engraving pleasure scars across 
Your form.

Breathing in security from diluted sources,

Traced with innocence and lust.

She grows addicted.

She looks in curiosity, 

She hears the auto-tuned heartsong,

She smells with weakening heart, 

She feels the onset of withdrawal,

**She Bites

Quantum physics scares the **** out of me
Well it’s not really just quantum physics
It’s everything that stands in between its letters
It’s both the solutions and the questions that frighten me most
I was 12 when I first had a panic attack about eternity
I was in the shower, writing thoughts in steam
When all of a sudden
I was suffocating on forever
And showered with thoughts of before time
The all around terrifying notion of timelessness
Caused shivers that felt like our heater had gone out again
Tears rushed down my face
Faster than the speed of light
Not that I knew what it was
But it felt like lightening filled my body
From that moment,
I learned my truest fear of unanswerable questions
As I grew and grew wary
I took less showers in hopes
I wouldn’t find my fears
Swirling in around my ankles
Clogging up the drain
Lingering there
As the only thing that I could
Never wash off of me,
Never flush away

As time moved on with
A sureness I could never have
I floated amongst the thoughts of
Others so as not to drown in my own
But as night comes
So others rest
And as others rest
The Fearful attempt to count sheep
But even the sheep begin to wonder
About the unfathomable
And before I know it
I’m screaming into my pillow
Blaming the sheep for my restless nights
Insisting I’m not crazy
Insisting that wool blankets are the problem
Picking problems to bring me to now
Problems that make the present
Matter more to this masochistic brain
Than the questions that I should never have asked

Unanswerable, I’d repeat
I’d resolve
I’d allow myself to toy the word around,
Flick it around in my mouth,
As if to keep it too busy to ask more,
But also to make the original questions taste so sweet
That I never wanted them to leave my mouth
So I swallowed them
As if to indulge my taste buds just a little longer
But they sat in my stomach like seeds
With time they grew up my throat,
Watered with theological and scientific discussions alike
The first time I was told that my questions, could have a solution,
My stomach lurched into my throat
Now was the time
The questions were uprooting, ready to grow out in this world
But my jaw was taut
And refused to let others be haunted
So the vines
With no where else to go
Moved with intention
Past my mouth,
Behind my eyes
Into my brain
It had taken over
I became my questions
Rooted in the pit of my stomach
Paralyzed by the pain of
Wooden rigidity
Each move dictated by the unbending will
Of an oak tree caged by iron
Questions acting as a fungus
Rotting out happiness,
Killing the mind
That had formed the seed in the first place
I was immobile in my fear and
Planted in my questions
Unwilling to explore
And so the tree stayed
And I saw the world through
Shaded light
Always careful not to climb
Too far up
Too far in
Thankful for the fact
That not many aspire to
Plant seeds
Let alone
Climb trees

By the time I first saw you
Many rings had formed
You were passing through crowds
Like you walk through forests
Letting things be
What they were
And
Watching people act as they may
Imagine my intrigue
As I saw the callous on your hands
Smelled sap on your breath
I felt a friendly fear
In your eyes
But your hands
Did not look pained
Only worn
Still with care
Only when you spoke
Did I feel the logic in your branches
The whips of your leaves that
I had refused to grow
You were questions fully blossomed
You had leaves made of
Wormholes
And
Budding flowers of dark matter
And as I drew my trunk back,
Insisting I was allergic
I got lost in your bark
I found possibilities
Buried amongst your ridges
I soon found a taste so sweet,
It brought shame on my appeasing mantra
Without control
Like forces of nature tend to be
I grew into you
Yet still,
It was not the color of your leaves
Nor the feel of your vines that took me
It was your ability to blossom
Your permission of exploration
The blossoms, though pleasing to the eye,
Grew through your watering and sunlight

As if by some evolutionary revelation,
I turned my face upward
And found the warmth of the sun
Didn’t have to burn me
I opened my body up
And felt a comfort in the waters that
I had once felt would drown me.
The budding flowers I had let wilt
For so long
Arose from my branches,
Now growing toward the stars
With a few more rings
Of sunlight and starlight,
You’re much better at blooming than I,
But with questions now being watered,
My trunk grows with possibility
I may never grow to such great heights
Or fully know the universe beyond
But I do know, that no matter
The truth
If the wormholes
And multiverses
Are as real as
The Redwoods
And
Cherry Blossoms
I’m infinitely pleased
That I’m in this universe,
Sharing starlight,
And questions,
With you.

She wears a sterling silver lie on her finger,

A Christmas gift, unintentionally leading her into Fraud,
months after the wrapping paper had been torn away.

Never gifted with piano fingers, hers pulsated with words waiting to pour through her pen

Having passed faith tests with flying colors,  she looked at the rounded Christ less crucifix, Jesus replaced with fashionable jewels,

She believed it was a medal for coming out alive and in faith

Little did she know that the test was a mere three months away

Not unfamiliar with temptation,

She knew her weakness,

Knowing herself only to be human,

Seeing the ins and outs of her fragility,

Still pushing onward into hope,

Bordering on the suburban developed atheism, but always landing on the grassy faith.

But as one who was too old to be young forever, there was one whose failure

Would drag her out to the desert littered in nihilism.

She feared how at home she felt there,

Seeing her reflections not in any oasis, but in the land that once held such promise

But had been drained of breath and water

The dry ground being undistinguishable from her feet,

too tired to keep going, too broken to stay,

Ignoring that lone piece of metal, glaring from her fingers,

Being covered in the dried and drained land,

Hiding away the lie that was stuck to her,

Fingers swollen with the untapped sap,

Too thickened with sorrow to be drained easily,

Growing into her skin, scarring over,

Ingrown faith, digging itself under her skin,

Unavoidable metal in a desert so bleak,

A Medal that brought prior pride

Now a blood clot in vain of surviving.

Living in the style of a Shakespearian play,
we are all tragedies,
Perhaps with a comedy thrown in the middle.

You and I,
We’ve been the
Lovers
In this
Divine Comedy
Far Longer than
Romeo or Juliet
Could bear to wait.

Yes, we have abandoned
The Unities of
Time
Place
And Action

So harshly,
That even we
Have grown into
A bored audience;

Searching out
Our Comedic Ending

But we’ve never really been
Good at timing.  

We’ve made our
Repeated Exits.

Always coming back
A Cue
Too early
Or
A Line
Too late.

Each time
Twisting words
And Actions
Trying to make
Each other fit back into
Our Plot.
But what if we are the truest
Star Crossed Lovers

As our plays don’t even
Have the same
Title?

It has always been
“To be with eachother
or
To Not be with eachother”

And I really, really don’t want
To end like Hamlet.

But the fault seems to be
In the stars,
As each of our
Actions
Seems to seek
More and more
For a resolution

That neither
Our
Stage Directions
Nor
Lines
Seem to offer.

We round ourselves out
With table work
And character development

But with each interaction
We find that we are
Static, together.  

It seems as if
We were a rough draft,
Left unfinished.

So we stand on this
Threshold,
Clinging to another possible
Classic.
But dissolving into the oblivion
That all
Unfinished works of Art
must face.

We are less than a tragedy,
As our deaths are silent
And no one will ever weep at our tale,
Simply because it will never have been told.

At my brink of oblivion,
I want you to know
Our story should be a history,
Simply a reflection
On the fact
That we were
Not fiction.

Lower than
King Henry
And
King Charles,

But Still,
Real
Like
A Golden Crown
For which we did not ****,
But simply pleaded
To no avail.

The bare pads
of her toes
thumped

across
the photo-faded
tiles

Fingertips
outstretched
at full attention

Precious enough
to catch
the kiss

only
mama's lips
could gift

She walked
away
slowly

taking
great
care

exhibiting
to all who
didn't know

the only thing
she knew to
treasure

Life tricks you into thinking it's beautiful

My points aren’t touching ground.
Plucked up by a spine
Holding my pages together
When the library is going up in smoke
Paper doesn’t need to breathe
It just needs to be the channel
The background of the universe
Bleeding itself into reality