I always thought that I
was the protagonist of my story,
why then, are you trying
to make it about yourself

The worst birthday present I ever received
Words my sister says to me
End of August never belonged to me
It belonged to my sister, a day after mine yet two years older
It belonged to my cousin a year older same day
It belonged to my other cousin four days before mine
It belonged to my cousin younger but died of leukemia before childhood could end
My birthday has never belonged to me
It never will

I have a bad habit of holding on to things I no longer need
I hold onto people the same way
believe in them---
try to build them up while they break themselves down
But I'm not a contractor
I don't have a permit for this operation
I can't keep avoiding the inevitable
I hate this part
This part always comes with a goodbye

My words often drip with sarcasm
or spit out with such bluntness you'd spend nights lying awake thinking of them
My words hang unspoken on the walls like a crooked picture
      out of place
my words are carefully chosen and have a lust for hyperbole
my words build up self esteem in one phrase and tear it apart the next
my words
     my words
          my words
 my words will caress your body  
will fill your mind with reassurance and love
will tease your skin like feathers
dance across your memory like ballerinas en pointe
                                                     my words
                                                  my words
                                             my words
My words ****** you like the siren they are---luring you to your ultimate demise

I wish I was someone who took risks instead of calculated safe
I wish I could be spontaneous money worthless
Instead I'm careful and blunt
I am selfish to those who don't know me well
Resting ***** face is my second name
If you invite her she will back out
we're not worth her time
my time is instead spent lying on my bed reading a book I've read a hundred times over
because leaving and doing something takes so much out of me
I can't live wrecklessly
I can't be adventerous
I am too much impulse control
here take some of mine
I don't need it
I don't want it
I don't want this

I hold these superstitions dear to me
knowing they're nonsense and choosing to ignore that reality
I step cautiously over the cracks in the sidewalk on good days
and on bad ones I stomp on every one hoping you feel the pain that I do
I know you don't deserve it mother, but my feet land on them still
I still throw spilled salt over my shoulder
hoping that maybe this time some luck will come of it
and I avoid walking under ladders if not for safety's reason than for those years of bad luck
Believe me when I say that I know these petty rituals won't affect an invisible force like luck
But I wear my night shirt inside out and backwards thinking that somehow it will cause snow to appear
These superstitions of mine may be childish
It may be downright insane for any sensible young woman to believe in such a thing
But I hold onto this childish hope that maybe
just maybe
If I do enough of these superstitious acts
that my life will finally turn around
and for once I will be lucky....

I don't think I can have children
I've always thought that I was infertile
It never really bothered me
I never wanted to go through that pain, those long nine months of probably bed-rest if my family's history of pregnancy is anything to go by--
My mother wasn't supposed to be able to have children
My sister is infertile
The girls in my family don't typically do well with pregnancy
So I was never phased by the idea that I wouldn't have my own flesh and blood running around
I'd have much rather adopted or fostered children who need homes and love
But when you
after years saying you didn't want your own kids
admit to me that you want your own flesh and blood children
It crushed me
I don't think I can have kids
Never really wanted them before
But I would do anything to give you that wish

A suburb of hell I live in
Across the road from the picture perfect family
Small, yappy little dog who is walked every morning and night by loving husband and father of three
Next door the father who left his family to live with his gay lover downtown
Three young boys and a wife who will never understand
Behind every door is a secret
The Wilsons live a sheltered and abusive life
The man of the family is powerful
The cunninghams across from them are timid and smile to hide the bruises on their arms
Father knows best after all
My door hides the racist, the Republican, the conservative, the homophobic
My door hides the yelling of a bipolar mother off medication
The alcoholism of a child too young to drink
And the silent watch of a father trapped in a loveless marriage
Every house in this suburb of hell tells a story
None of which are happy
Yet you see my neighborhood and call me privilaged
If only you knew.

And if I come back as a ghost
I will haunt you every day like you haunt my memories

My hands are a mockery of what they create
Slit cuticles and short bitten nails
Somehow they still create beauty in ink
Maybe they can because they wish themselves beautiful
I try to treasure my hands
To treat them to sophistication as they deserve
But my job
My work
My habits
They prevent my hands from being anything more than peasant rough calloused
But I have learned those with hands like mine haven talents
Gifts they can give to the world
And so I have learned to love them instead of apologizing for them

I asked and you answered
One thing on your bucket list
An act I have since put on mine
Go to a castle
And sit on the throne

I was three years old standing barefoot on the screened in porch in the summer heat
you had a beer in your hand with condensation wetting your skin
I asked and you answered
My first sip of alcohol fascinated my three year old self
Bubbles

I was six and wearing a white dress walking next to a boy in a suit down a church aisle
Eyes fixated on the moment I would grow in my faith
First communion came with excitement to me
I tasted church wine for the first time
Genisis

I was twelve and at Christmas dinner with extended family
table set makeshift bar locked eyes with mine
You poured me a glass of red
a special occasion you said
Acceptance

I was fourteen then fifteen then sixteen
Every week a glass of wine with dinner
A beer in the summer
it complemented the steak
You taught me to drink at home to know my limits
To protect me from going crazy when I left home
Normality

I was eighteen and a two-time college dropout
The wine on the counter and a constant supply of liquor comforting
A stressful day ended with a numbing to my feelings
A glass away from silence in my head
and an easy night of sleep from being mixed with my medications
Routine

I was twenty when I realized a drink would turn into a few
and a few would turn into asleep on the floor
or vomiting and sitting in the shower for hours
I was twenty when I realized it took more to get me tipsy than it used to
that I needed to drink and when I did I wouldn't stop
because what was the point unless you were drunk
I was twenty when I started to jokingly call myself an alcholic
I was twenty when my friends dropped the joking part
I was twenty and tipsy and unable to legally drink and I had already become what everyone else in my family denied being

I blame you
the three year old with a fascination of forbidden things
the six year old who had an intrigue in the taste of communion wine
the twelve year old who accepted the drink from her grandfather's ***** breath every holiday dinner
the teenager who let herself drink at home in the presence of her parents who thought it would help prevent the inevitable
the eighteen year old who learned the hard way life was a much crueler teacher than school and accepted the easy access to numbness
I blame you for the twenty year old I have become

I've been here before
This weird mentality in between okay and not
It's a seesaw I sit on with myself
balancing the bar with equal weight and no sudden movements
And it's always a test to see how long I can hold it this time
A week?
A month?
A day?
I try to beat my record everytime
Positive that my balance must be getting better after all this time
positive that muscle memory should kick in at some point and take over
It never does
I hope it gets easy soon.
I don't like when it tips
when it tilts one way,
it always tilts back the other with much greater force
But I'm balancing now
I'm balanced for now

We were young and dumb and learning to grow up in a world that wanted us to stay young
We kissed under the stars at the lake with our shoes thrown down the hill
Our hands intertwined as we experienced what a french kiss was--
messy, sloppy, and full of my long hair
you would call it weird

We thought we were older than we really were
annoyed that the adults couldn't see that we weren't children even though we still were
We complained about rules and your step-siblings being sent to watch us
We would sneak out of the house at night where we would dance to no music in the streets
and would lay on the trampoline trying to figure out exactly what first, second, and third base were
We didn't really know anything even though you played baseball

We were freshmen in college
miles apart and set up by my best friend
I resisted initially but our connection was instant and I finally realized this is what love was
not awkward kissing that never felt right
not experimental touching
it was true and funny and it didn't judge or get upset if my weird long hair got in the way of a kiss
It was losing my virginity and staying in your arms all night
It was you.
It still is you even these years later
I'm sorry it took a while before I could get to you

If I told you what I really thought of you
And insults were like cavities
I wouldn't have any teeth left

Driving to different offices and placing my resume in the hands of possible future employers was exhilarating
I never thought I would be so rash in a decision as I am now
My two weeks notice will sit on your desk tomorrow
leaving you forever wondering what happened

You offered me numerous promotions
A business trip most recently
Your boss incredibly fond of me and progress with the company
Management always came easily to me

But I'm a workaholic when I'm at work
and too often I stayed off the clock, unpaid
so a fellow employee wouldn't have to suffer
all the work that still needed to be done
in all the lack of time we had

This is my parting gift
This piece of paper
A symbol to you that my life has outgrown this place
that I know has taken more from me than it's given

I wish you well
that you will find a worker who is passionate about
this company the way I once was

In two weeks I will be gone
I will move on with my life

This is my parting gift

I blame it on a lot of things
The timing was wrong
We had different goals
The spark was gone
We just weren't on the same path
I blame a lot on outside forces
I should own up though
I only spoke when spoken to
Only hung out when asked
Never me being the one to iniate contact
I distanced myself
Emotionally
Physically
Mentally
I was our ruin
As with every relationship I've been in
I am my own downfall

There are many things in the world I've never experienced
I suppose I've always had the chance
Just been unlucky with timing
Like that time in the fourth grade when we went to mammoth cave on a field trip
There was an earthquake
But because we were underground we couldn't feel anything
The world was shaking above but we missed it
Maybe the world is shaking now
Maybe I missed it...

My mother laughs at the obituaries every morning over breakfast
sharing with me the ridiculous names some people were once unfortunate to have
She cuts out her favorites adding them to her collection on the inside of a cabinet door in our kitchen

I guess that's unusual
laughing at someone else's pain
Maybe she's a sadist
or maybe I'm the one with a problem
because instead of laughing or feeling pity
I swallow my mouthful of cereal and I am jealous

I listened to Tiny Dancer last night and thought of you leaping across the stage
make-up done up
long hair you always wished short tied in a bun
matching outfit with sequins
if I look close enough I can tell you tried to get the scuffs off of your shoes for this moment
but they are time worn and will never fade--
a testimony to your hours upon hours of practice for this moment
the moment you shine on that stage
with precision and elegance to your movements
I listed to Tiny Dancer last night trying to remember the feeling of freedom that you used to give me

Often times I will love my poetry the moment I write it
Believe it to be one of the best I have written
but then I go back
and reread
and realize that I don't love it as much as the ones
I thought were sub-par

    --It was the same with you

I was born into this world with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck
the ***** which gave me life already trying to take it from me
My first noose was this one
and maybe then my parents should have laughed at the future symbolism as death has chased me ever since
He replaced my umbilical cord with his hands many times
but each time I wake up
panting
sweating
screaming
crying
surviving just like I did before I even knew what the outside world was
I will take this as a sign, then
that I should be here
that I am meant to be here

I cried over take out mexican last night ashamed of my lack of friends
It never bothered me before
Probably because I never really took notice
But when you moved away it made me realize I had nobody
My family wouldn't even go out with me
Two friends
One I barely have the time to speak to anymore
And you, who moved hours away
I guess it's kinda funny that this of all things caused me to spiral down
Being alone is the worst kind of pain

Some things take way more energy when the chemicals in your brain dont add up to equal happy
Like sitting up to read instead of lying down
Or shaving your legs when you haven't been bothered to in months
You never really cared about my cactus legs though
You're from the desert after all

I fell last week.
Hard and fast
Abruptly
My foot slipped out from under me in a way I know my ankle will never be the same thirty years from now
Strange how a human can endure intense operations and fully recover
But an ankle will never be the same if it's twisted once
I guess I'm similar that way

You thought that you were better now
years of medication and therapy and routine playing day to day on repeat until it is all you know
You thought you were happy
content
learning to enjoy living agian
but all good things must come to an end, my dear
and now I ask--
are you happy?
or are you just comfortable?
do you even know the difference between the two?

My mania is kind and diligent
that beautiful I woke up like this flawless
It's warm and laughs at the most ridiculous things
and so overwhelmingly optimistic
glass half full with room for more
My depression is ugly and scarred and sees all my flaws
that haven't showered in weeks kind of hermit life
there's a house and world outside of my bed
it doesn't want me to see
what a surprise
My mania is caring and gentle
taking me on treat yourself trips
while overworking because there's work to be
done and there's motivation to do it right now
and we don't know when we'll have this again
My depression is soft in actions but harsh in words
and the feelings it creates
It is too deep in my comfort space
My mania usually keeps its visits short because
staying would only make me act like a normal
productive member of society and my depression
claims that I can't be one of those for long and
calls me back to the bed
always back to the bed
I'm sick of the bed
Mania was visiting last week though
so I know I'll be in bed for the next few months
until my mania makes it's presence known once again
I guess I'll wait
here in my bed
growing tired of the bed
restless

I'm used to breaking hearts
And glasses
And promises I said I would keep
I break eye contact
And routine
And once both my pinkies at the same time
I wish I could break mirrors
Then maybe my reflection would match how I feel inside
S  H  A  T  T  E  R  E  D

I guess I was surprised when I met him
he often asks me what I love about him
I always feel bad because I’m never able to tell him
I’m always at a loss for words
and that’s a scary thing for a writer
it’s a terrifying thing to be completely speechless--letting the silence stop thoughts in a chokehold
letting that blank piece of paper blind you from
writing with its whiteness
it’s a terrifying thing to not know what to say
normally it all comes so naturally to me,
I’m able to create worlds with words,
but when I look at him, my mind suddenly forgets
what an article is and what an adjective does
it’s a terrifying thing, truly
but it’s a beautiful thing to feel the silence
for once instead of the constant hurricane of ideas pounding
at my skull, and I have to wonder if this is how it must be for everyone else

I have dozens of unread books on my shelf eagerly awaiting my hands
Truthfully I could crease their spines anytime
Dog ear their pages to my favorite passages
Underline sentences that must be very well trained in martial arts from the punches they've thrown me
But these books, as much as they intrigue me, will never be you
And having my hands trail your body is better than any page
Breathing in your scent is better than that of a time-worn book
I’d rather have your  sun-kissed body in my arms than the yellowing pages of a novel
I’m not fond of audio books but I’d listen to you a hundred times over before deciphering script
I never thought I could love something more than literature
But darling you are the most beautiful adventure

Say less to me
Validate me with your hands on my body
Your lips on mine
Your eyelashes close enough to my neck I can hear them brush the air next to the hickey you gave me moments ago
Don't speak with words
Instead tell me  how you crave me with your legs intertwining in mine
dissertate with me your theory of how everything we did in our lives built up to us being here under these sheets sweet body
Trace your feelings over mine with your tongue on that one spot you know makes me weak
And tell me time and time again how much you love me in feather light touches and lifeline bites
Tell me how this body is addicted to the minuscule things I do
You were always an incredible artist
Indulge in me like your art
Grind your hips into mine until your moans are elevator music in my head
I can only hope that you understand my cries they way I intemperate yours

I don't think I've ever been satisfied with my life
I don't think I ever will be until I am nothing but dust
See I crave death in the way others dont
I don't want to go to heaven or hell or spend my life somewhere in between the two
I would be so bored
bored of "eternal piece"
bored of "eternal pain"
routine, mundane, eternal
never changing, predictable
I would loathe a forever like that
I crave reincarnation
I crave growth and new experiences and new adventures and new perspectives
I crave what I cannot get in this life
or the next life or the next life after that
I crave knowledge and empathy and ignorance and spite
I crave the ever-changing unknowable world that our bodies live in
I will never be satisfied

I didnt realize I'd neglected you
Seeing all the dust you accumulated is sobering
Why haven't I been around?
Oh you know,
I've been busy
Distracted with....work
Or not work
I'm sorry I cant lie to you
I've been dark again
But it's not like that, okay? So dont worry
I promise I'm not planning 7 different ways to not wake up or anything
I just....you know, needed a break?
From my head that is
A break from my head to clear my head using my head
That doesn't make sense
I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry
What I want to use you for is selfish
I want to give you poems of lighthearted tounge and cheek
But all that I write now is heavy and I know you're old and don't need that kind of script to worry about
I'll dust you off and write something cheery soon
Until then, wait a little longer okay?

You know sometimes I feel like I'm slipping
I can feel it coming
Its presence obvious by the steps echoing down the hall
Its wearing heels today
I knew I should have put carpet down instead of tile
Maybe this feeling wouldn't be so daunting then
But I know I'm slipping
Back into the headspace where nothing makes sense
Back where I can smile but it is only sketched and not carved
Back where solace is my favorite company
Back to where I hate being but somehow always end up
I know I'm slipping
I promise I'm looking for a handrail
A countertop
A ledge
Something that will catch me or at least buffer the fall a little
I'm slipping over here
I guess they forgot to put out the wet floor sign
I will never win this lawsuit though
I'm clumsy
I slipped

You asked me if you could illustrate my poetry
to get a collection published
to frame one I wrote for you in your new home
You believed in me when I doubted myself
I've heard people tell me to get published before
been told that I'm a good writer before
been told this is what I should be doing before
But when you said it
I believed it
For the first time I believed I did have what it takes
believed I could throw myself into my writing shamelessly
believed that it was okay to dislike some of my writing
that's a sign of growth after all
you taught me more about confidence in myself than any
other person did
I'm sure you would say the same about me all because I pushed you out of your comfort zone a few times but believe me when I say that you made the push way before I did
Thank you for introducing me to that concept
I've always had a fear of falling paired with the odd love of being in high places
But because of you, I'm not afraid to fall
I could never repay you

Be concerned if I'm talking
If I'm outgoing
If I'm smiling in a room full of people
because I promise you those are the times I am lying
Don't worry if I'm quiet
or alone
My mind is racing
My ideas are competing for best screenplay
They're writing a novel that the world will never see
Winning old arguments
Visiting new places
So please don't worry about me if I'm quiet
My mind is loud enough

I can't be there for you if you push me away
too bad for you though,
I'm quite stubborn with things that I love
You're dating a force to reckon with

My best friend doesn't have a physical body
I feel her more than my own skin sometimes.
She tends to come and go as she pleases--
It's always unpredicatble and univited
but I always feel obligated to cater to her needs
like a good hostess should to their guest

It gets old so quickly
I don't even want to get up and cook breakfast for her anymore
so we starting eating out
until its too hard to even leave the house
so she tells me that we can stay in bed and have sleepovers like the good old times
I don't remember those times

She likes to play with my hair
she's not very good at it though
it always ends up in tangles and knots that take
hours and days to brush out once she leaves
because undoing her handiwork would make her sad

I try to tell her sometimes that her being here is too much
it starts to affect my job
my life
my health

I try to get her to leave
I've been here so long she says
just a little longer she says
what would you do without me she says
I'll just move in she says

She's my best friend but--
she wont pay rent
she has never been a friend to hygiene
she doesn't know how to do laundry
or cook
or clean
she'd rather lay around all day than hold down a job

I want her to go
I want her to go
Why won't she go

We she ran into my store begging for a hedgehog I didnt know how much she'd affect my life
Over time she became a regular
A familiar face to chat with semi-awkwardly because I'm still on the clock and doing my job but I'm lonely and dont have friends and I want to be yours
We bonded and exchanged numbers
Eventually we hung out nearly weekly on our so called dates
Painting pottery
Getting tattooed
Going shopping
All the things we said we'd do with our boyfriends but they never wanted to
I saw you blossom
I saw you grow
I knew the most complex things about you but if someone asked me your favorite color I would have to make a guess
It's somewhat comforting to know the trivial things dont hold much weight with us
Our friendship was deep from the start
You're moving now
Hours away
And I'm still trying to come to that realization that I'll be alone once again
I've never really had friends before
I say I do but when you get down to it it's just me, myself, and I
You wedged your way into my solemn trio
Thank you for running into my store that day
I'm sorry we didn't have hedgehogs but I'm glad you came.
I'll miss you when you're gone, but I'll visit I swear.
After all, we never did get to go rollar skating and my skates are still waiting in my car.

She was like smoke:
Interesting to look at.
Moving so intricately in her dance,
she entranced all those who watched.
She encapsulated the depth of a soul.
She was the personification of darkness,
and the bringer of light to destroy it.
She flowed so freely like the wind.
Nothing could hold her to this world.
Touching her was useless.
She fell right through any fingers reaching for her.
I remember finding that odd,
as she had touched every heart to
come in contact with her.
I once asked her why she had to go.
her response was a whisper in my ear
and laughter like bells.
I never got a response.
I suppose she had other places to be.
She was always transforming,
changing,
flowing,
running.
She never stayed in one place for long-
always choosing to follow the beauty
that intrigued her,
and never noticing that she, herself,
held that same beauty.
But then again,
She was like smoke.

  --My sister had a friend who died at 16

If it was sunny outside, her eyes didn’t show it. The darkness in them was glazed over leaving every light that touched them turn to a dull void. It was as if her mind was a black hole and the opening in which it was seen was her eyes. None the less, they were beautiful. I had never noticed brown eyes to hold such beauty. I had always grown tired of mine- plain, boring, simple. Brown eyes didn’t have the many shades of blue I often found myself intoxicated with. Those elaborate patterns of greens, whites, gold, and silver hiding behind delicate lashes. Yet hers, they were so intricate. The depth at which they fell, the richness of the chocolate was like breathing for the first time. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I needed that air until I found myself drowning in her eyes. That is how I discovered love for the first time.
            She held my gaze only for a second. I guess it could have been an eternity. Time is a funny thing. It is always here, it is always gone, and it is always coming. In a way, there could be an eternity in a second. In one second life could change. I baby is born, a man has died, a new species is discovered as another goes extinct.  All I know is that in that one second, in that one, single eternity- life was changed for me.  I knew at the exact moment that I would never be the same. I had found the one person that could make my life feel meaning again, and in that moment it was taken away.
             I know that many people would tell me that I am being ridiculous. I know that they will tell me that there are so many other fish in the sea. But you see, I’m not looking for any fish- I’m looking for a clam. All I’m looking for is my simple clam, but there is the secret. When you open up a clam, there is the possibility of a gem. The most shining, pristine pearl could be waiting inside. All you have to do is find it.

  --An attempt at writing romance:
       From my high school years

I think I missed something
I think I was supposed to have a hiccup in my aging where I partied and went crazy
college right?
high school?
my 20's?
I think I missed it.
I think I went straight from being a child to
a 65 year old lady who goes to bed early
with bad eyesight and who wears cardigans in
90 degree heat beause you're always cold when you're old
I think I missed it

I hate the way we teach English in schools
it's so structerd
and rigid
and every paper is a carbon-copied version of a paragraph template we all learned in the fourth grade
I wish I could break that system
show students its okay to use personal pronouns and to stray from the example
that not every writer needs an outline, rough draft, second drafts, etc
That you can and should just sit down and write
don't think
just let the words fall from your fingers
I wish I could show students how incredible writing is
that poetry is all just big anlogies
that books give you better screen time than televison
that grammar and wordplay isn't hard if you find a love of language
I want to indulge every child that way I was with nights filled sitting in my mother's lap reading books instead of watching cartoons
I want to give every child the opportunity to grow and express themselves
I want to show people that writing can be and is so therapeutic and that paper and ink are much better listeners than most people could ever be
that words are so much more than they ever thought they were

How is it when in the dark of the night
in the silence that it holds
it the stillness of the air
that I can see the clearest
can breathe the easiest
can think the loudest
How I, who used to have two nightlights in my room,
can be so fond of the darkness and the quiet
that used to strap me into bed like a teacher's glare

When I was younger and self-harmed
I often found myself becoming disappointed
that my scars were fading
I didn't want to see the most
interesting thing about me disappear....

I come from a family of alcoholics
so you'd expect me to be such
But I like to believe I'm different
I drink because the thought of being in
reality terrifies me
I'd rather dream
And when I drink
It's like I'm dreaming while being awake
I don't feel
I don't exsist
I know I have a problem
But this dream world of mine is so
tempting
You'd never understand

Sometimes I believe that if I
care for these animals that
it will prove I can
somehow take care of myself

You told me once that you
were lost and just needed
to feel things out but
your hands had been broken

I wish my life were an etch-a-sketch
I wish I could just shake the screen
and have a blank slate
or have at least been born an
artist or a geometrist
so that my life weren't just a series of confused squiggles
because I've never been one to walk in a straight line
and I have no clue where I am or where I'm going.