I cried for you today
It was storming and my tomatoes are growing
I talked about you today
Because speaking your name feels like prayer
I made the dinner you like, and used our secret bath herbs
I still have your hair towel
I miss you
So I cried for you today

It's bizarre to be alive and know
that in someone's home, you're a ghost.
The question remains:
How are you remembered?
Does a smile accompany your name?

She’s carried me for far too long. My weight lingers on her shoulders; my barbs leave welts on her back. I lower my head behind hers to give her a moment with her reflection. I keep her awake some nights; her silent tears are a private performance. I’d have moved on long ago, but she can’t let me go. She keeps me close, next to her fear of the unknown. We create shadows on her walls each night when we dance. She’s sewn me into her skin; she can’t wash me away.
But one day, her threads will break.
From her, I’ll separate, and she will be free. And I will move on to the next, hoping I never see her again.

My best friend died
My boyfriend said he hates me
And I've been thinking lately
That it's not all in my head
I broke my mirror last week
I can't stand my own reflection
It was just some raw emotion
I can't wait for my damnation
Because girls like me
We don't get salvation
I sleep with my rosary
But God still isn't listening
I could tell my mom I’m sorry
But I doubt she would forgive me
And really I can't blame her
Because sinners come from sinners
I can't wait to die
Or maybe I'm just twenty-five.

A mother’s hurtful words
Remembered better than any prayer
Learn quickly
For your fate is in her hands
What a way to find
Your little soul is ******

Black ink covers pink scars
A sun on my leg, a moon on my arm
Hieroglyphs of a modern type
Telling a story that's hard to type
A journey through my ages
Blood and ink mixing on carbon pages
Permanence as fleeting as I
A memorial name carved into my thigh
Words of prayer linger on the skin
Reminders in moments of chagrin
Wearing this novella of mine

In a bed splashed by mermaids,
listening to the angels sing,
pulling on every heartstring.
Watching for fairies
and leaving gifts by the tree:
"If I tell them my name, maybe I'll be free."
Awake and unmoving,
gentle eyes greet a panicked mind,
soothed by the touch of the coldest hand.
The dead listen to the sorrow of the ******.
"Imaginative child, you'll grow out of it soon,"
I repeat in a mocking tone
and laugh with the moon.