today i asked my dad
what the point of me being in college
was.
he
thought for a minute
as i waited with bated breath
for the answer that should
i thought,
be some sort of revelation
he looked at me
seriously
my eyes widened
my chest constricted
and he said...

"So you can buy
toilet
paper."

and when these tears
find a pathway out
i will not let you see them,
daddy
i will not shout
i will not scream
with the pain
of this last
twist of the knife
i will be here for you
without tears
i will paint myself
brave
i will be
as i am not
i will be
ok
this i promise
you

i used to sleep in class

rest my head on my hands
try to stretch my tired back -
exhausted soldier of education
too many 50 minute battles
and borrowed pencils

calves sore from trudging up stairs
pale from the white-lit classrooms
chronic dry mouth from the limp sleep
that we all knew too well

do i want to go back?
do i have the endurance
to stay this time
will i know unless i try?

"we can't keep having these conversations."

as if it is i who lies in bed beside me and talks to those girls in your phone

we do look after each other.
regardless of any competition:
your body, hair, clothes
the angles you get in your selfies.
the comments you get on your instagram.
regardless of anything.
regardless of whatever persona you adopt on facebook,
however seductive you choose to be,
however much attention you seek.
we do look after one another.

so many women tried to tell me about him.
women he convinced me not to respect
women i convinced myself not to respect
merely because he chose to look at them
so intensely
my jealousy
turned to hatred
when really
the fishnets, the makeup, the cleavage
they are my sisters.
they are my protectors.
and i hated them.

it was never her fault.
she was never the *****, she was never the ****.
i don't give a **** what pictures she posted.
she was not to blame.

and i see now.
i see that what you did with me
what you said to me,
all lines fed through a machine
all carefully constructed
(not to each girl, just for each situation)
you got out of it all.
the ultimate yes-man
fine-tuned to say anything,
everything any woman wants to hear.

i see it so blatantly now.
and yes, i still shake a little.
my fingers go cold and my arms get numb
and i feel that dull ache in my chest
but **** any tear that tries to find a way out
i don't have any more for you.

i know how you loved them
how you gorged on my love-sick tears
but you will get nothing
loving
from me

not anymore.

why do they care for me so?
is it some trick of the human race
these boys running themselves dry over a fat, small town girl?
is just that out there, somewhere
there are a certain number of people attracted to me
and I for once
am finding them?

and why
why do they do so many bad things to me?
is it simply because they are men
and this is what men know how to do?
****?

he knows what happened to me, and still he pushes boundries.
I punish him with silence.
defeated, I lie facedown in his bed
his hands exploring me...
but without the struggle,
they think it is no fun.

they think there is fun in having something you shouldn't.
they think it is
exciting.

do they think of me
at all
while they do this?
I lie here
unprotected...

they always say they will protect you
but not from their own
harsh
fingers.

today i became small.

just a dot on a campus full of people who don't sit with me at lunch
and small snowflakes that fall to the ground and melt just like i do.

happiness is a conundrum.
with it, i cannot feel content.
when i am sad, i am myself again.

something has changed today -
and it has made me small.
it has shrunk me out of proportion
down to my original size
where i remember what i am.

i remember the way you look from down here.
i remember the tall, garish dollhouse water fountains
and too big tiles for my doll feet
and exaggerated bows for my doll hair.

i am content with cracked surfaces.
i slip into them and feel the warmth of the burning earth below us
and i feel safe
like drinking hot milk when it's snowing outside
melting my insides.

i let you make me small.
i let you make me insignificant.
i like it here.
i remember it here.

my memories waited for me  
to return and lie in the melted lake.

amass large army
***** your finger
on a spindle
fall asleep
have said army
fight off
all princes
that possess lips
or die.

sometimes
you just need to stick your face in a cat
and scream
cats are fuzzy
and warm
and soft
and they make you feel better
screaming makes you feel better,
too

i know how dangerous self-hatred is.
i'm not ******* stupid.
but how many more mistakes
how many more men
before i cut myself away
completely

what do i do
when i keep whittling down
trying to find the bone, the truth
trying to find something that's ******* constant, reliable
understandable
trying to ******* understand
the intricacies
trying to find something
******* simple
for once

i know how dangerous this is
i know how blood seeps
i know how that emptiness
aches
i know
i ******* know.

but i can't help but hate
every inch of me
you touched
and this hatred
this disgust
is so tangible
you could cut it
with a knife

i feel the hot edge of hysteria beginning to creep in behind my eyes.
i become very still
tense
poised for flight

i do not wish to go to the doctors, darling.
i do not want them to tell me what i am so afraid is true
can we just pretend
one more day?

seriously though
if those last two poems
weren't enough of a hint...
i'm going to ******* **** you.
just so you know
'n ****.

sees the cuts on my thigh
still has his way
but it's all fair
i am a tease

i am not flowery.
i am not poetic.
there are many more adept than me.

i simply wish to express
the best i can through the language that i am confined in
the truth of emotions
the purity of rage.

they say my art has abusive undertones,
lit up on the projector in class.
my mouth tied
like a bow
ashamed,
speechless
wishing it would stop bleeding
through my images.

i called you an angel,
Gabriel.
my angel.

i really believed
that if there was a god
he was instrumental in your sudden
appearance
that if anything was ever going to go right for me
it was you
that december
that christmas

and now i sweat you out
like the demon that you are
labor in the night,
screaming
waiting for my rebirth,
contracting.

i called you an angel,
Gabriel.
i told them
you were
an
angel

i'm losing touch
someone reel me back in
i can't feel
the bottom anymore
i went too far
pull me back
please
i don't want another scar
with your name on it

the bone-crushing
weight
of being late
for everything
is suffocating me
it's been two days
since i could breathe
normally
i'm not even kidding...
projects
undone
papers
unwritten
tests
not taken
money
owed...
you're going to lose
everything
but you've lost it before
you'll be
fine

it's like my life froze in the month of march.

she came in like a lion and centered my entire universe around one person
instead of centering myself
in this universe
that constantly bucks back and forth
trying to tip me off balance...

it finally succeeded.

my compass abandoned ship on the way down
and when i woke up
i realized i didn't know where i was
and had no means of setting a course

now all i have is a boy.
and i don't know where i'm going with him
i don't know how i got to a place where another human is the center for my gravity

i wonder if the sun ever thinks
"how did i end up here?
revolving around some toxic earth...
tricked into giving it warmth?"

my calender has cemented to the wall
march 2014
dusty
abandoned
i stopped noticing the passing of months
or caring

i don't know where my life is going
i'm no longer the one that navigates.

possible to be more traumatized than i was before?
yes.
wondrously.

we're back together but i don't even want to talk to you
because it frightens me
because you don't interest me anymore
because all you hold is the capacity to hurt me more
because i simply don't like you anymore.

but i don't like any of the boys on tinder trying to take me out to coffee, either.

i think i want to be alone.

wow
i'm really good
at ending up in the same place
4,000 times over...
all that ****
about lightning not striking twice
is a myth

"it's ok"
i whisper to my arm
with the new scar
waiting to dry
"it's ok"
i whisper to my cheeks
with the salty tears
waiting to dry
"it's ok"
i say to the moon
without a face
waiting to die
"it's ok"
i whisper myself
with the cuts
waiting to die

I am hereby
Going to be a degenerate
All my life
I hope you won't mind

....I don't.

comfort in my bed
in my phone
in the text that you sent me
that didn't say goodbye
but meant it.

empty carcass christmas
green in every way
(green around
the gills)
christmas tree is just something we killed and stuffed and hung up
just like the love
my mother claimed she had for me

just a photo on a ***** refrigerator that i never look at

merry christmas.

My words ****
Faster than my hands will.
Quick as a lash,
I can't take them back.

I should have been a better daughter
I should have been nicer
I should have tried harder.

But I
didn't.

You won't let me forget what I said
My anger echos in your head

I should have been
nicer.

The cuts on my wrist
Insist
On my insincerity
They wipe the clarity
From my mind.

I cut like a knife
Cutting away life
The yawning stretches of tragedy
Still haunt me.

I don't deserve peace
I don't deserve love
I don't deserve this justice
That you've talked of

Because

it was

all

my

fault.

that bridge is long burnt
embers floating away
in the water
the current
dispelling the nightmare

but i still remember the bridge.
and when i see a stretch of water i feel the ghost of it there
clinging to the dirt and the undergrowth

i know it was there.
and it frightens
me

i still sometimes hold my wrist over a candle flame
a second or two too long.
i flick lighters playfully while i'm on the phone
or sitting at my desk -
let the flame burn the metal guard until it's scalding,
gingerly finger the hot metal once it cools
a little.

i hand the jack knife who's sole purpose
for these past six years
has been that of a butcher
to friends who sit kindly on my bed,
trying to open boxes from home.

and i still long for that butcher's comfort.

i still miss the bite of hot metal,
the searing pain of lit matches.

and if they didn't leave scars,
i know i would indulge:
like a sweet candy
that i've been told isn't good for me.

there is something ugly about the way you refuse to look at me
something pathetic and guilty and pious.

you refuse to look at me like i'm something you've never seen before
some hideous insect you found under a rock that surprised you
not like you were actually the first person to see me
the first to touch me
the one that carried me in the embrace of your stomach for nine months

the nine months that you took care of me
perfectly.

only because your body did it
naturally
once dispelled
i was on my own.

after he tries to be sweet
but the moment is gone
i don't want to be touched

having trouble sleeping lately.

the crater in my wrist i made with the hot point of a lighter
wants me to crawl in
sleep among the blood vessels
thinking maybe they'll heal my empty chest

i like you because i was taught that you are too good for me
and am blessed that you look at my face a little too long.

there is no real connection.
you're ******* boring
but i let you talk to me
because you are
pretty

i keep thinking how interesting the inside of my head would look agains my dorm room wall
the taste of cold metal in my mouth
i imagine it would be
quite a sight

don't ever let
the hand you hold
hold you down
rip your underwear
turn a deaf ear
to your crying
to the way you say
no
over
and over
don't let your boyfriend
take it
he is not
entitled
get away from him

hurry

do i really prefer blind adoration over quality
because i am frightened to not be the one in control
of who leaves who

hearts should be
cut out
before they start to break
because once broken
i can never find all the little pieces
to dig out
they get lost
in my chest
in his pocket
and i can't ever
get rid of
it all

he says
we are like those pieces of grass
that come up through cracks in the sidewalk:
just glad to have the sun shining on us.

we come from the same place
he says.

he told me tonight that he wrote about me
that it's time-stamped
that he didn't just write
because i told him i did
and i tremble
a little
a different sort of fear
(is it?)

and maybe it only feels like we're up so high
together
from the clouds of marijuana
in your shower
and maybe we know so much about the moon
because we are the moon
and you ask me
what's on my mind
like you'd like nothing more
than to understand
the chemicals in my brain
see if you could taste
the similarity -

adjacent things
are so beautiful
when you are the one
describing them

turn right and think about happiness
as my broken sneakers walk me toward a mirror-image in the dark window.
i have never been so grateful to be away from someone
never so thankful that my biggest problem is an annoying girl
i almost giggle in my play
avoiding her in the halls
such trivial problems
am i allowed to be a child
now?

your eyes are cool steely pools
of pure ***

the drunk man says
what the sober man thinks?

they want to know why your hair falls out

too many trapped thoughts
they creep into the roots
poison them
they
fall
out
red strands
everywhere
fistful at a time
hair thinning
mind winning
i am tired

trembling
shaking
horror
freezing cold on your couch at 4am
i discovered that you are a monster.
something that i knew when i first met you
but ignored.

i will hit my head
until it stops remembering
and saying

you should have known
you should have known
you should have ******* known

i think sometimes you just have to deal with being scared.
you just have to accept that being scared is being human
(an infinitesimal dot on a map)...
that though you are small you are not powerless
and though sometimes you can't talk because you are crying
or because you are afraid
it is ok
the things you feel work just as good as words
sometimes.

i think sometimes
even when big parts of us are frightened
we have to listen to the little part that says stay

i am glad i stayed.
though i am still frightened
i will learn to live with my fear
i am just a small human
but i am a big spirit.

today someone told me
that they don't like my work
because it doesn't rhyme
poetry is supposed to rhyme
they said
that's what makes it
poetry
i looked at him
and said

                                                life


­doesn't


                                                               ­                                           **rhyme

i want to be weak.
i want to tell you i ******* miss you
not even the romance
just the friendship
i want to show you what i make now
the commissioned projects
the poetry
the non-fiction
the photographs.
i want to tell you what my professors say about me
want to send you music
tell you funny things i think of during the day
watch movies with you and rip them apart.

i want to lose this rigid, crystalline shell
that we made together.

i ******* hate the way people do this -
the way people tear away at each other
until they see bone
looking for the source
of the tick, the heartbeat
then get disgusted
once they find it

i hate the way people ruin each other
i hate the feeling of trying to yell
underwater
mouth open
eyes wide,
waterlogged words sinking between us
you're so
*******
out of reach -
*******
for being
disgusted with me

i remember that feeling*

like a dusty childhood memory
of playing in the sun
under the trees
like something that we can recall
but never revisit
she talks about love like it's a stage of life that we move through
not an enduring present

i am the same
it is an illusion we use to torture ourselves with
and the wise choose to forget the crossed stars and the blue lights and the blood trails
we align ourselves by other means
grinding our feet into the ground
cementing the way we interpret human connection

truth and love aren't universal
they are abstract concepts that no one can pin down long enough
to understand
we believe in floating definitions
and base our actions thus
truth and love are bullet-fed cherubs
murdering humankind

do not be afraid of the dark.

the darkness cannot comprehend you.

do not swallow the dark.

it will consume you.

do not welcome it

it will take your offer

gladly

too late to run from it

it leaks out the corner of your eyelids

the corners of your mouth

the vacant ink cartridges.

do you remember how it felt to be whole

to be holy

to be sacred

do you remember how it felt to be pure

were you

ever?

my stomach
is punishing me
for every bite
every swallow
i wonder if
it's supposed to
hurt this much

they have not words
to strike a competitive pose
against ours
but they do the best with what they have.

i struggle to stay awake late into the night,
painting.
fingers coated in jewel tones.

you're awake too, somewhere.
home from work.
breathing, sitting, eating, staring.
maybe holding her.

and i think of all this,
******* the holes in my sides, my palms
(even though they're healed over:
my second coming
tore through the both of us)
and i wonder
if she fills your arms the same.

if she makes your blood rush like i did -
if you kneel between her legs and beg
like you did for me
i wonder if every expression makes you exclaim, kiss her eyelids, pull her closer.
i wonder if you stare into her eyes when you
**** her
if it's as intense
passionate,
kind.

i
wonder.