A mess of thighs and hair and love
We ******
For the same reason
That kids throw rocks at the sea

my teeth
sink into
instant coffee
cautiously; this will
never be the same
unless you are here.

            i might pick up
            a cigarette and
            a bible in the same
            breath,
            i still love you
                 all the same.

being alone has
taught me that
i miss you even
when i don't,
i want everything to feel
                                        close again.

it is nice until you decide to come back



i thought it was the evening
in the trees but the
leaves really are yellow
much like myself and
you
were we ever really
green? this coastline
is lonely but I feel
myself for the first time
scrolls of soft skin
and black hair--all
the wrong i've ever
done in boxes, manifesting
in headaches, i am *sad
a faint hint of optimism
on the rocks
in the sea, breaking
against the cliffs
the waves come
together but I
haven't
been.

be more narrow:

smaller, tighter
"little-er"
more sinister.
be less abrasive,
more persuasive
quiet and

reserved for
vacancy of the
"less than".

the less than
the rest
that posses
a small amount
of acceptance

these vancant spaces
are open
just for you

the summer we got together, we had nothing better to do.
in the autumn, the sun got low and so did i.
in the winter, you got cold and we froze.
in the spring, my inhibitions melted
and flooded the apartment
i took the trash out in my barefeet.

i came back inside with glass in my toes.
if you’re going to bleed, you said, bleed out the window.
i left ****** footprints all over the carpet.
you were so angry, you ****** on everything we had
i put it all in the washer, even our bodies.

when we were clean
you looked like a stranger
but i would still leave with you.

women don’t die,
they vanish into thin air or
they melt
into a puddle on the linoleum.
plath didn’t die,
she dropped the deadweight —
see: her headless body on the kitchen floor
bloated & ready for consumption.

i still remember how
it felt to hold your temple
fine dark hair reaching past
my second knuckle
and now my fingers plug
into air, i still rememeber
just how much to spread
them apart to accommodate
the sharp shelf of your
forehead, how to trace
your brow bone without
waking you up and
brush your eyelashes
to show how careful
i really am, these details
scare
me.

i feel fear as a rule,
it grows in my ****** like a perennial,
baby's breath if you're lucky
i crawl because i feel fear as a rule
i can feel the weight of my blood and
it pulls my viscera to the ground (all the way to my grave)
all my limbs contort and they abandon me.
the smell of cherries and beer draws me to the kitchen and she draws me out and upstairs
it is so strange to me to occupy such space
why have i grown if i am a child?
the smell of cherries and beer draws me to the kitchen
she draws me out, upstairs, kissing, pulling hair, again
again. again. again.
again as a rule

i am not dumb
i could read before i could walk but i don't remember when i talked, or what i said.
the words always tangle
they tangle in my ears and my mouth and they ooze down through my bones to my lungs
make it hard to breathe and see
i am not dumb
i know your bluey veins and your callous knuckles. i know your eyes are green and i have never seen them, not ever. but i saw your hand twitch, just once, next to you
myoclonic ****
like you're falling asleep