you tried to say that i was pretty
and i said i agreed with you
and i wasn't trying to be stuck up
i didn't care if you thought i was pretty
or not
i like me
and that's all that matters
to me
then you said
that sometimes you don't know if im being honest
or if im just giving you  
some "spiel"...
...i almost started kicking chairs over
right then
i don't have a ******* spiel
you ******* **** ******
you get lilred undiluted
115% of the time
then you asked me
if i came with a warning label
and i said
like **** i do
"harmful if swallowed"
"handle with care"
then you tried to say something nice
about my eyes
i told you to go to hell

god, i'm good with boys

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

i look at the burn peeling on my arm and i think about all the **** that got me here
from the red asterisk i drew with a knife three years ago
in the butter yellow room of my older sister's house
when we were homeless
to the childhood summer i spent as a lake baby
in my grandmother's car

i finger the scores of cuts on my arms
my thighs
old, most of them
some too deep to fade
each scar has a face
most of them are
mommy's

i like to remember her from old photographs
sun-bleached hair down to her unblemished thighs
the most inexplicable shine in her face

i think of how different those photographs would be
if she knew then that her daughter hurt her body
every time she thought of her mother

i think the smile would be different

but i look at her now
grayed,
aging...
still smiling.
as if she didn't know
that she made me a tiger
gave me these stripes
as if she didn't know
that it is her fault i am a killer

i look at the burn peeling on my arm
and for once this self harm isn't pretty to me
it is very, very ugly
a big, blistering red mark
marring my freckles
i wonder when it will fade
or if it will at all
i wish i could burn more than
just this arm
of mine.

like a redheaded tiger
i too have stripes
red ones on my wrists
thighs
forearms

like a tiger
i can stand the fire
red hot welt
on my freckled forearm

like a tiger
i have claws
they are
silver
i cut at
that which harms me -
me

i'm thinking about
how long
i need
to be gone
measure
analyze
depart

i never wanted to be one of those girls who ******* about their ex
and i guess i'm still not
because we were never even in a relationship
you asked
i said no
because you were weird
and kinda creepy
and obnoxious
and you hated me
for a really
long
time
afterward...
but
you have always
made sure
whenever you
you got into a relationship
to text me
and let me know
that SOMEONE wanted you
and every time
i tell you
i don't give
a ****...
at that moment, it's true.
but when you burst through my newsfeed on facebook
like someone exploded a firecracker in my face
rather indecorously
and i scroll through all your pictures
with that girl you claim to love so much
in all sorts of cute, make-me-puke positions
i feel really
alone
and like i'm the one
who was unwanted.

i don't really know if i regret my decision...
you seemed to get
un-weird
as time went on
and admittedly,
hotter...
i guess i am not jealous
in the sense that i want you
but in the sense that i want what you have...
Tim,
i somehow feel jipped by you
cheated
used
left for dead
even though
i am the one
who rejected you
for something better
i am the one
who is still
alone...

karma is
the worst of *******

"do you have chemistry?"

like we walk into the same room and start to fizzle
like we react together in a complimentary manner
like he could actually pass highschool chemistry.

does it matter?
does it matter if i have nothing to say to him
does it matter that of all people i can't think of a single topic to broach
a silly sentence to embark upon
a single thought
doesn't occur to me.

the stretches of silence are longer than the last one.
with the last, we talked too much.
every silence ached.
with this one, i am glad to not have to talk.
i am glad of the quiet.
i am glad of the lack of chemistry.

he asked me
what i liked most about him
and i thought for a whole afternoon.
the only thing that came to mind was that i liked him because he liked me...
am i that poor?
have i not the self-worth to turn them away when they beg at my feet
why do they beg
anyway
what have i
to offer
i am fat
and very
very
tired
and
afraid...

i used to really like chemistry.
but now i don't see its merit
too many things to memorize
and my memory is **** these days
his brown eyes
slipping out quietly
as i imagine him swelling bigger and bigger -
a grotesque image to smooth out the beautiful ones
that i know were there.

we don't have chemistry,
but we have animal attraction.
perhaps it is something (better) similar.

sink into the steady familiarity
of someone else's life
a lovely,
round
three demensional
non-existent one.
absorb all the teenaged drama
broken hearts;
families
smiles
that aren't
yours
for once.
let the dancing tv heads
minister to you
for a while
so you can turn off yours
give the fried fuses a rest
try to
recharge

you scare me.

not like elliot scared me -
he was frightening because of the sweetness of his smile
you are frightening
because you are a sweetness that lies

your calm
cool
demeanor
the way you laugh,
call me silly pet names
puts a bad taste in my mouth
a sick feeling in my stomach
ryan,
you are a wolf

it's been almost three years
since you sunk your teeth into me
i came close to forgetting
until i found an old conversation
started second guessing
even though i had made a note
that said
"never let yourself again,
red"
i
read
it
and now, once more
the lamb has walked into
the lions den

i am thoroughly convinced
that the people who hurt the most
are the ones the devil is the most scared of.
and that though lights are bright
they are useless without
the contrasting dark...
Teej,
the world will miss your
influence
your poetry healed desert-hearts
i know it did mine.
you were like
a piece of africa-smile.

he kisses ***** like he's dedicating babies
like somehow he's doing a great service
but no one really knows exactly what the **** for

he walks too close to me
up the hill
a married man
with three kids

he thinks it's fine to treat his wife like ****
in front of their friends
like he's exercising dominance over a dog
and exploiting how well it
obeys

a fourteen year old daughter
who has panic attacks when you drop a dish
or knock too ******* a door
or talk too loud
it sounds too much like
her father

i have never hated anyone more
than i hate this man.

to my mother,
i am a garbage bag of old clothes
a messy, dusty room
that was empty for two years
a vacant bed...
an echo
in a big yellow house
that she never owned
alone
until now...
to my mother
i am a memory
and that's where
she likes to keep me
a pretty little cardboard box
of old notes
that she ties a ribbon around.

mother,
this garbage bag
of clothes
that i had to replace
two years ago
when you made me and daddy leave
makes me cry
because i am not the only one
who is a bag of old clothes
no longer needed
i have learned
to no longer need you,
too
and it isn't
fair.

i used to miss god.
i used to miss feeling like there was something bigger
twiddling the dials
and pointing the guns
orchestrating the earthquakes
creating symphonic tornadoes and landslides.

when i first lost him i missed him
but now i scoff at the idea
that something or someone has planned out the crazed track of humans
a goose-chase in the snow
little fox tracks that overlap
unable to telling who's going or coming.

if anyone is in control he is a madman
playing a fiddle
stroking his bow across our backs
as tormented, we dance.

there is no rhyme,
nor reason
there is only the flawed decisions
our ignorant and selfish brains churn out
minute by minute
second by second
ruining everything around us.

your teeth left scars that ate away my peace of mind
pieces of my sanity crumbling under your molars
you consumed the little bits that could stand to sit in a room alone

and

think

they are gone now

school is good
not because i do not think
but because i spend so much time thinking about communications concepts and shakespeare and the romans and all the drama that crashes through my dorm room and shakes down the curtains these things keep me focused  
on everything
except the fact
that you
ruined me

i focus so much on the fact that i almost died in this house
no matter how i strain against those memories
no matter how i shake
convulsively
completely out of control
the trauma
making my muscles
tremble
and i scream in my little,
beautiful,
warm,
snow encrusted cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for
trying to put a positive spin
on the fact that i lost the battle between a fresh start
and deadly memories
in this innocent house
that is undeserving
of the anguish
i brought with me
in boxes
that i never fully unpacked

and though my mind is diseased with the thought
when i am alone in the afternoons
that i almost died here
in this little shoebox room,
that some of the most horrific memories of my life
are here

i also
stayed
alive
here.
in this little cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for.

and every place i almost left
eternally
i somehow found the resolve to stay in.
and though through each house
may still slink reminders
that make me shake,
i must focus
and remember
my determination
to spread kindness
like this little house
with the warm floors
the quiet windows,
the gentle stream.

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

cast not thine pearls before swine
bare not your heart
to fools.

don't show him the twisted, living coil that hides inside -
the innerworkings of your insecurities
he will not find them illustrious.

my worst fear
is to be thought
dramatic

i didn't forget that i was hurtable
i just forgot that you were capable
now i am in trouble

jiggle loose like a jigsaw piece
that never quite fit right
lost from another puzzle
in another box
looking for a similar shape

you'll go for one that is just a bit uncomfortable
if someone pushes you hard enough
it's a billion piece puzzle
no one will notice if one is a little bent in
to fit

i'm not meaning to be cliche
but you bent me in too many places
now i don't even fit you
you ******* tryhard

scrape all the ****
out from under your bed
try to find
your knife
try to feel
better
four cuts
later

i would very much like
to write a poem about my cat
but he never holds still
and his oddities
could never be expressed
i'm not even kidding

it's always nice
to start your tuesday morning off
with a panic attack
from a stale memory
that slips through your dreams
often unnoticed
but not today.

the most frightened i have ever been in my life
was not that one time i was almost kidnapped in africa
(it really did happen, i'm not making **** up),
it was when we drove in the driveway
and you weren't there,
mom.
the most frightened i have ever been
ever
was when i came home
to no one
on june 22nd
2011.

skip ahead six days
(not even a week, thanks for ******* waiting)
and i wake up
to a sheriff in my kitchen
slapping my father
with an order of protection

fast forward
ten minutes
ten garbage-bagged
dusty
boxing
stuffing
dragging minutes
and we're gone.
that big
old
falling down yellow house
that i spent my entire life in
all my things
and half my family
have been taken from me
and i never even got to say
goodbye.

next three months
i don't have a home
staying at my married sister's
who really doesn't want us there
every night
an angry, crazed phone call
i beg you to come home
to tell me where you are
to let me talk
to my four youngest siblings
who you have stolen...
i pleaded with you,
mom.
i begged you to come back to me.
but you didn't care.

sometime during that first christmas
i became a cutter
because i couldn't deal
with the panic attacks
imagining you leaving me
and never coming back
all over again.
and that christmas
wasn't christmas
it was some cheap
flimsy
knock off
that knocked me off
balance.
i almost lost it
that day.

five months later
we get
kicked out of my sister's
rent a house
in an unfamiliar town
just me and dad
now.
so suddenly dropped
in a place i knew not how to interact in
new
everything.
let's just add
another complex
how about some
displacement
for the mix?

court dates
a hideous lawyer
her name fitting her job description
sue
i can still see her face
more monster than human
laughing with my mom
when we
lost.

that day
in court
you broke me.
that was it.
when i talked
of the goodness of my family,
my father,
me
you lied.
right to my face,
mom.
and i
hate you
for
it.

even now
two years later
i cannot bear it when you hug me
i'm a fake
through and through
you should see my face
when you kiss my cheek,
mom.
i can't stop it
me
from hating you
from hating what you did
to Elayna, John, Miriam
and little Jesse
who was only five
and will not remember
ever having his dad
or
me.

mom,
i wish you knew
how this feels
you wouldn't be able to stand it
because you're weak
and manipulative
and a liar
the only reason i'm still here
is because i cannot break
those four children's hearts
all over again
they've been
through enough...
but it's days like these
i wish i had no ties
i wish i could get away from the lies
i wish i could finally be at peace
i wish i could

die

hey so
whoever is in control
of the universe
it'd be nice
if i could stop falling in love with people

kthanx.

never loved a boy.
the seventeen yearolds ask me what the last one was
I don't know.

I don't love this one either.
do I love anyone?
truly?

today i
drank two cups of tea
and read a text from my mother
about my dying great uncle
and thought about damming up the ocean in my eyes
but it had other plans
and today i
am sorry that i am cut off from half my family
sorry that my precious, dying great uncle
thinks that i hate him
because of my mother
and today i
am writing a ******* email
to tell him otherwise
before he
dies
he will not die
in hate
*******,
mom.

the back of his neck reminds me of you
coffee shops with tables
by big windows
project your face onto my irises
elbows on your knees, smiling at me
closed lips
and i no longer wonder how much was false
but which parts:
i've come to realize that it's not a question of quantity,
it's just when
how
where
in that cafe?
on your living room floor?
in the dark theater
your hand on my thigh
staring at me
like you couldn't see
the 50 foot screen
just the furrow between my brows,
the kisses that lay in drifts
on my bottom lip

and that stark contrast
in our last theater together
your eyes forward, determined
looking anywhere
but at my face

strange little reminders
much less frequent
much less romanticized
your words sound
like the sappy tumblr post
i once accused them of being
i see the backs of them
and they truly are
empty
like i was so afraid
they were

the fact that i can never spell
unfortunately right
never ceases to **** me off.

unfortunetly?
unfortuntely?

what ****** me off even more
is that spellcheck always thinks i'm trying to say
fortunetelling

...punk ***

my face is on my grandmother's lacy diningroom table
it used to laugh through the creaky hallways
and pounce up the wooden stairs
and lay in the creek
but now it is imprisoned on the table
with all the other relatives
who are gone
that my grandmother
leaves there.
she walks by them
dusts the shelves by the big window
arranges chairs
avoids my frightening grandfather
reads books
drinks her tea
stares at the ghosts of her granddaughters
seated around her diningroom table.
i didn't mean to haunt her
i am sorry
grandmother

divided
we stand
wonderfully.
together
we fall
floating
like papers
in the wind
in the city
into puddles
that absorb us
turn us into mush
but not the good kind...
we are simply
a family
not meant to be
together
i guess
*******
america
for pounding that phrase into me
for decades

mike, you puzzle me.
you make me
think
that you only want to see me
so you can think about me
later
when you're by yourself
and that's kinda
weird.
you beg
to see me
and then leave
quickly
just so you can
think about me.
mike,
i think you
like the idea
of me
but i am too real
too existent
to actually be around
you have to satisfy your imagination
get something new to dream
and then you
leave
mike,
you
puzzle
me.

i was waiting for an opportunity to take my dad's credit card
because i wanted something
and tonight
just when i really wanted something
something silly
very badly
he was on the phone
his wallet on the table...
within two minutes
i was walking upstairs
his grody card
in my hand
punching in the numbers

before i clicked confirm order
i thought of remedying the situation
"oh...dad...i was just trying to order you your birthday present
without you knowing
wanted it to be a surprise
haha, never guessed, did you"
i thought he wouldn't notice
the $30 missing

after i finally got what i wanted
i felt so full
i finally had it

and then i felt scared
and
embarrassed
and
ashamed
and i wondered
if this is what i am reduced to
materialistic ****
stealing from my father
who gives me all he can
is this just because i am a girl
or because i am human
or because i am sad
when will i stop stealing things
am i some sick *******
who gets a thrill out of petty crimes
what will i do next?

quick!
tell yourself you're ok.
quick!
before you realize
you aren't.

for once
i wish i had more time
before my next class
i wish i had forever
wrapped up
like a rubberband ball
i wish i could unravel it
and disappear.

why is it that every time a boy passes me in the hall
i feel guilty
like i owe something i haven't paid
like i ought to have something but i haven't taken the time to get up and get it -
embarrassed.

boy,
why does the back of your neck frighten me
why does the suggestion of your frame
make me wish i was not existing
what is it about you that is so
*******
scary

i am a goddess
a wisdom
a prose
and yet i cannot look normalcy in the face
you are nothing special
but you are enough to untie my laces

metal hearts were my thing for while
they'd hang off my neck
bump against my chest
one time a particularly heavy one swung up
punched me in the mouth
gave me a ****** lip.

i used to have an effect on people.
i used to be bright
and loud
and awake
and people always remembered me
always wanted me around

i used to stand for something
mean something
when i thought there was something worth existing for.

i miss having that purpose
that purpose of making someone's life a little better
that purpose of tough love

brianna remembers me as i was
glitter and cat ears
and big hugs
but she also recognizes that i am gone now
that my receding back looks dull
tired
worn down

i let all the things i preached against beat me down
take my happiness

i'd take it back but i don't know how
don't know where it went
don't know exactly when
don't know how to feel things
or anything
again

those metal hearts i wore so proudly
dug their way inside of me
i am now the tin man
heartless and cold to the touch

i used to mean something.
ask anyone i used to know.

this boy
is so very muscular
and handsome
and sweet
and so very
african
he thinks
jesus brought us together
and he likes my body
just the way it is
he doesn't try to
change anything
about me
my dad would hate him
not because dad's racist
but just because he thinks black men
are rapists
(maybe that DOES make him racist...?)
but then again
dad hates all boys
that like his daughters
i don't know
i feel happy
but too many things
make me smile
i can never be sure
if they're worth something

i cannot help but ponder the magic of a smile
even just a picture of one
no one has ever been as sweet to me
as you,
moose

exhaustion is carving lines on my face
like a painter scraping his palette of paint
you remove all color and with wanton replace
methodical gashes that won't erase.

i leaned across the sink
and let the sun touch my freckles
like i was doing him a favor
as well as myself
for once

if i wanted to have a sweet face
i would paint one
on.

but i want a face like a wolf.

so i slant my eyes with coal
and redden my lips
with blood.

the phantom facebook message blip
pervades beneath picture atlantic
while i sit in my room.

wednesday

the squeaky-shoed boy day
the extremely annoyed day
the ice cold void day.

the boy who's all teeth
smiles with the girl in the cleats
drowning in bicuspids
telling her how he 'roughed it'.

sneakers scuffing
hair fluffing
smoke puffing.

it has been decided.
i will not let this mess me up.
people do whatever the **** they want
anyway
i can't change anything about it
except how i react
and how i let it affect me
so *******,
ANGELA
*******,
JACK
*******,
MOM
and **** EVERYTHING ELSE
that is working against me.
can't keep a good (wo)man down,
*******.
i control my future,
and you can shove THAT up your ***
along with the garage sale
that's already there.

oh
so
this is you
asking me
if i give a ****
well
if i did
i would probably
separate
the lights from the darks
when i do my laundry
but
i
don't

we are

american

we do not have chinese mothers
that bind our feet
but we have lovers
that reshape our toes
into high heels
black
echoing words
that carve our stomachs
into caverns
edged with rib

we are

american

we are not forced
to follow anything
but society
is our king
ruling its malnourished army
with a fat-ringed
finger

i am

american

and i will build my own army
of flip-phones
defying
the neverending onslaught
of iphones

i am

american

and i will not reshape
my body
to please you
i will not
reshape my thinking
to satisfy you

we
the
people
will once again
wage
war

flip-flop
flip-flop
flop-flip
goes them sandals that are too big
on ***** toes
ka-chunk
ka-chunk
ka-chunk
goes the scooter on the sidewalk cracks
flip-flopped toes
steering
tick
tick
tick
goes the library clock
on the red rug
in the quiet
click-clack
click-clack
click-clack
go the wooden puzzle pieces
in your small
elfin hands

i remember that you loved being read to
sitting on my lap, my arms around you
i pick out a stack of books
silly ones
you'll love
but you
sit on the other side of the rug
you won't
look at me.
i wait.
i ask.
i plead.
you won't
look at
me
my eyes want to turn into puddles
in front of the librarian
but i don't want you to know i'm sad
i ask you if you want to walk back
you say
yes.

ka-chunk
ka-chunk
ka-chunk
you look back at me
with your seven year old eyes
i almost say
i am sorry...
but this is not
our
fault.

you
stop
wait for me
to catch up
you hug my arm
put your face
in the crook of my elbow
look at me
say,
Red...
i want to read
a
story

we
went
back.

We will all meet again
When time has wound to an end.
We will grasp the frazzled, ragged edge
And run along it until we find
The beginning of time
And her twisted hedge.
She will clutch us against her silken blouse
And at last…
We will find our peace in that old yellow house….
Not one foul word will we remember
Not one ugly face
Not one weeping December.

It will all be as if it never took place
I won’t remember the cuts on my arm
The harm
I did to myself…
Nor the cuts I can’t see
The missing snowglobes on my mother’s shelf….