You can tell me to stop
You can tell me to breathe
And you can tell me in gets better.

But can you tell me how to stop when the clock will never know a pause or a simple held in breath.
But can you tell me how to breathe when your lungs swallow your throat.
But can you tell me how it will get better when something so permanent is in the form of a clock without a throat.

I was only 9 years old with a mind that pierced like venom
at the fruit tree of creation.
And I resented that I could see myself in a mocking mirror
when all I wanted was to see the wall directly behind me.

It didn't matter when I wake because I still see the dark my closed eye lids rented to me.
The only good thing about dancing in the dark is not having to see who I am dancing with... but I hate Him.

Shoulders back, teeth flashing, and hair combed...
The mocking days loomed as they leashed me while I sniffed the buried ground because I was jealous of the breathless *******.
No! I will walk beside the Hand that bestows me and pretend like I enjoy playing fetch and having my stomach scratched so it can't ignore my Hand made zippers razored onto my skin.

So take me to church and tell me to grease my zippers with holy water so my blood won't sting the next time I drip sins...
And little girls aren't supposed to open the drawer to open their zippers, when instead should be opening the food cabinets.

Father, tell me why my fortitude lives on the same wavelengths that the fallen angel bestows on the weak...
Am I going to hell or is this my hell?

So why do I smile at the glance of your smile?
and why do I smile and have nothing to say
at the littlest of words that drip off your lips?

So why do I smile at the lightening striking glare that rains off your face
and burns my eyes?

So why do I smile at your out dated hair style?
and why do I smile at your words that bleed New York?

Why can't I return these butterflies and settle them back into a cocoon
to where they sat before I met you?

So why am I imprisoning the conversation starters with you
and putting my heart under arrest when I recognize your smell?
Why do I care about your stupid profound sonnets
and your emotionless responses that are secretly pouring out through your silenced mind?

I should probably stop.

I saw your smile and

I began to rise like newborn bubbles
in a freshly opened champaign bottle,
like the kind you see with a couple
intertwined in white lace and a black tie
walking out of a church.

I saw your smile and

I wanted to play those blinding white piano keys
attached to your gums that play
the soundtrack to my summer
harmonizing with the thoughts
playing hide and seek in our heads
as we shared our first kiss.

I saw your smile and

I forgot how to breathe like
when you kidnapped my breath
that was suppose to fill the silence
after we kissed but our stare
was powerful enough to break open
the gates of heaven before
St. peter could even inspect our adolescent hands.  

I saw your smile and

I was finally okay with you
whispering her name after your murderous words
"I love you" because I knew
you were now happy since me.

Silly boy,
that's not me on the other end of your phone line
and that's not how my voice sounds.

Silly boy,
how is that your Christmas tree is decorated when I was not there
and your parents weren't there to catch us
playing catch with our lips?

Silly boy,
that's not my smile tucked away in your eyes
or the scent lingering on your sweat shirt?

Silly boy,
that's not my hand in yours
and that's not my waist your touching.

You silly boy,
that is not my name after your murderous words
"I love you"