just let that girl be wild, let her
convince herself not to miss you, let
her stay headstrong and fearless,
standing in her own rain soaking wet,
let her dry herself off. let her run through
the woods all muddy and face-first to the
treetops. let her swing into rivers and scrape
her knees, let her break her wrist and cut her
hair, let her erase who she was when you touched
her last. just let that girl watch the deluge and
thunderstorms in the spring, let her wash away
who she was when you last said her name,
let her point to the sky and tell you *that came from
my chest, that came from my fingertips, that came
from everything you left, and it doesn't need you to
be real

first,
lemme just
check my facebook
to see if
anybody else has
"high functioning anxiety"
like me

i'm so sorry
your goldfish died
that's a nice picture
of your stupid wife

time to delete
another racist
let's face it -
you probably live
in your mom's basement

i just like the dog memes

I guess
poetry can be used
to inspire resolve

but I'm looking for
the kind of direct, boldface salve
that spawns trust, eats doubt
and sifts the tar from under my ribs

"The medium is the message."
- **** McLuhan said

i do not know how to love
softly,
i walk across this ocean like
i am from heaven
but my feet keep slipping through
the surface,
roughly
i try to hold my bones inside my body
but i have gotten used to the way
they look on the outside,
quietly
i hold my own heart with my hands
because i cannot trust anyone else but,
tightly
too too tight.
but do not tell anyone, megan
do not tell anyone.
i wish i could have loved you,
softly.

I'm drowning in fabric,
Thick thighs no match
For your heavy knit.
Swallow me whole,
See if my body fits.

i am trying to remind myself that
i am the one who has always held
my skin together on the worst days,
the one who has sewed myself back
up time and time again. i have picked
my own body off the bathroom floor
more 4am's than there are numbers,
taken myself to bed. no one has cared
for me like i have cared for me and
yet i don't know when i stopped
thinking i was my own home.

A bee sting in the back of my neck,
like moral oxidation or a change of mind

I am satisfied and then     I am not
I am truthful until I learn to lie