I spiral, and
I burn

'round and
'round

trying to catch
the sun

How I try to
become

someone you'd
know

but I'm not the
one

The days grow
old

the nights come
undone

There's so much
to forget

about the things
I never learned

The knives twist
and turn

the scars weave
and have spun

My tears, old
and young

'round and
'round

I spiral, and
I burn

trying to catch
the sun

The pears
bend the
crooked branches—
flushed
and drowsy
with sugar.

The juice waits
for something—
for its skin
to be bruised,
for a mouth
to bite in,
and when done
waiting—
suffer the wind
do what must
be done.

Children are like flowers

You need to treat them with care
Or else the petals will tear

They need your sweat, tears, and blood
But too much water leads to a flood

All of them are different
Yet they share the same beauty
In fact, they are all just cuties

It’s hard to keep them in tune
But in the end it’s all worth it when they bloom

i think we got it wrong
when we think of strong

for its not a mind
that thinks of me and mine

or controlled
by need or greed

its one thats gone inside
and dissolved all internal needs
and turns towards the world
with hearts and hands of kind

My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.

you escalate my depth
a pain without pain, an effortless mirror,
this flame trapped in the depth of flesh
my body is a quiet urn for
the ash of the days without an inexplicable
you