Have you been waiting for me to write a poem about you?
You once said you read the others,
But I’m left wondering how many of your sweet words were
Really just fingers undoing buttons.
If you really read them,
You’d know how f ucked I am.
I guess you’re pretty f ucked up, too.

Did you expect to see,
Written on this page,
Words comparing your beautiful eyes to the
Arctic Sea?
I don’t like your eyes-
They see my soul the way I would rather not be seen.

Were you hoping I’d write about the times you
Pinned me against the wall
And made me feel wanted?
I’d believe you wanted me if you could do it sober.
The things I hate about you are the same things I hate about
Myself.

The truth is, I don’t think about you all that much. I just whet my tongue.

You speak to me
Of homemade ecstasy
As if it’s as simple as finding the perfect
Acid and
Base, when in reality
All you need is a
Top
And a
Bottom.

I thought this time was different.
I thought you loved me unconditionally,
Just for the sake of loving.
Maybe you think you do.
But people only seem to love you if they can own you.
I thought you knew me better than that.
I thought as long as my heart came home to you at night, it didn’t matter where my body went during the day.
Every time
I thought I would be okay with giving up my autonomy.
Every time
I thought wrong.
This time
I thought I wouldn’t have to give it up.
I don’t want to tell you that my collar is choking me;
I thought I wouldn’t have to

It’s a New Year
But I’m still eating chocolate cake with my fingers and
Thinking about girls and
Wondering why
I’m always finding myself owned by men.
It’s a new year but the
Same tears.
Gentle touches beat hands wrapped around my wrists and neck.
I’m choking
But all we have in the house is beer.
I just need a glass of milk.
Why does frosting make me fantasize?

Bottled up in
Ecstatic anticipation.
But at least it’s like I’m stuck in honey.
Meanwhile the
Amber drips
Slowly
Down your hungry
Lips.
Stir me into a whirlpool in your tea.
I’m
Suspended
Until you twirl your finger
                                                inside.
Dissolved.
There’s a little bit left on your chin.
And I’m sorry, Honey,
But it looks like I’m even stuck in your hair.

Maybe if I rant then I will feel better but
I am not sure if I will because
Each time I do this I feel as though
I should be mad at someone else but it is beginning to feel like
I am the problem, either
I give too little to someone or
I give too much and
It seems that too much is really
Too Much,
But I am tired of half-assing things because
I deserve more than half an *** I deserve  the whole **** thing, except
I am also willing to give my *** to nearly anyone who wants it, but
I am not sure I even want the s e x or the touch but I think that
I just want to feel worthy of something even if
I am your
Wet
Dream or
Your midnight fantasy I just want to
Be something to you
To be something to
Anyone, why
Is that so
Wrong?

I used to want to ration out my liquor,
Pouring a drop into each person’s cup-
Just enough for them to feel it on their tongue
And want more.

For some reason I wanted to pour it all into one cup
For you.

Maybe I will never know if it just got you Too drunk
Too fast,
Or if it was simply
Unpalatable.

Is anything truly what it appears to be?
Why is it, that when I smell
Honey
I do not think of buzzing bees,
But of whiskey, leftover on your breath?

Her skin felt like cashmere,
And made my cheeks flush
As I felt warmth overflowing inside of me.
I could not help but feel shy at first.

Something that was nice about being with men
Was that there was no urge
To compare them to myself-
This is often inherent between women.

As our limbs became entangled, though,
I was not concerned by whose ******* were larger.
Although we had curves in different places,
It became harder to tell when one sand dune ended
And another began.
I would not mind allowing the wind to blow us into one.

With delicate fingertips I would trace her collarbones
From one side to the other,
And watch as the goosebumps became raised on her skin.
The indent
Where neck meets chest
Looked to me to be exactly where my lips belonged,
And as I heard her breath catch
I knew I was right.

Men do not smell like lavender flowers and warm vanilla.

What a pity
To live in a city
Where the only time you feel pretty
Is when men holler at you,
Telling you
To show them your itty
bitty
kitty.

You have never
Tied your hands around my neck to
Scare me or
Thrown chairs at me or
Called me a w h o r e in
The middle of a crowded room like the last but
You tell everyone else that I am a w h o r e in
Private so
I do see much difference if
You won’t hear my side of the story like why
I don’t let people in and
Why that is because
So many others have hurt my mind and
My body  because maybe then you would
Understand the reason behind my thinking even if
It’s not always with my head and sometimes with
My *******because at least my
Conscience isn’t involved with
A situation like that and
At least I can still find pleasure no matter who
It is and where it is because
It doesn’t matter to me although
I understand it might matter to you and I am sorry because
I do not want to hurt you but that is why
I warned you that is why
I did not want to let you in even if
I wanted to even if
You didn’t want me to because
I cannot help it I can not fill in the cracks because
I need something stronger I need
Something heavy no matter if
It makes my chest cave in or
My stomach pound in pain I like it better than
My heart beating right out of my own body.

lies are easier to spit through gritted teeth
I love you
I hate you
come here
leave me alone

I don't even know what I want anymore

Never
Have I ever
Been able to devote myself to only one thing.
There are too many songs to sing.
Give me your heavy metal
Serenade me with your acoustic guitar.
I’m not an expert on anything,
Not even love.

They call me promiscuous,
Usually with harsher words than that.
I won’t apologize
For going to bed with whomever my heart or body desires.
Unless I break your heart.
How else will I discover that
Some nights I want to be chained to the bed,
And other nights be melted ice cream,
Just aching for a spoon?

You call me selfish,
But really it is anything but that.
All I want to do is spread my love,
Far and wide
And why does only one person deserve that?

I’m afraid I’m spreading myself too thin.
Sometimes
I notice my ribcage
Protruding a little too noticeably from my skin.
I’m hungry,
But I have never been able to decide what I want off of the menu.
It’s a Libra gift and a curse.

When I walk through the woods, I enter another world. Everything is in high definition. The breeze occurs in pitches, singing a song for no one in particular. The wind cares not if anyone is listening, for it will blow regardless. Dead leaves, the final victims of the end of winter, crunch underfoot. They care not if anyone walks over them, for they will be crisp either way. It is a warm day, and I find a clearing where the Sun shines just right. I can feel its radiance on every inch of my body. A pleasant pause in the middle of a cold, never-ending winter, today is unreasonably warm. The Sun reaches all the way through me, and melts away the frost which has crystallized over my heart. It feels like magic but I know it is not. The Sun cares not if I bask in it.
It is here that everything exists in perfect harmony. The pine trees, tall and prominent, provide for the tiniest creatures. The puddles, formed from the melting snow, are just as important as the rocks by the shore of the pond. Nothing in nature cares whether it is being acknowledged or appreciated. It just exists. Every day, whether plump raindrops fall from the sky or intricate snowflakes, it exists.
I understand that the woods do not desire a human presence, so I continue walking, leaving as few footprints possible.

Without the honeybee
The gentle breeze finds no leaves to caress
A quiet morning
When the birds find no trees to perch on
and can not send their sweet melodies

Your lover, your queen
A bouquet of the most fragrant flowers
Her eyes will light up
Her cheeks may rouge
But alas
There are no flowers
You wish to bathe her in milk and honey?
Save nature’s elves

Pollen is not an allergen. It is fairy dust
Some people are allergic to magic

If you fear a soft sting
Come back down to Earth
Respect her children
Sometimes bees are suffocated by our existence

Many times, when I look out of the corner of my eye I see the figure of a man. As soon as I turn my attention to him, he disappears. He walks towards me when I’m not looking, sneaking in strides that are more horizontal than vertical. Each time a different person comes to me.
The first is a blank man. He is nothing but an empty shadow but. He wants me.
Sometimes he is a generic man with sandy brown hair and tired eyes. He watches me because I am nothing like his miserable wife.
It would be a lie to say I was never frightened by these sights.  Confusion fuels my fear because I can not tell if I am afraid of something that will cross me in the physical realm  or if the man is just company  in my mind. They are not hallucinations.
On rainy days when there is nothing to do but reminisce, I am visited by an elderly man on my shoulder.  He is not bitter, though- no one should be sad to grow old, he says; aging is as natural as the changing of the leaves in autumn. Wrinkles are road maps of a life well lived.
There are days when he is merely a memory. A quick glimpse and suddenly I can smell tobacco and ramen noodles. Smoking in the house is not safe if there are children home. He was the first man to ever leave me.
     Don’t fall asleep on the beach.
When I find myself in crowds, it is still never hard to find a spy. Eyes you can feel, eyes that are distant. But by the time you see him it is too late: he knows where you’ve been, where you are, and where you ought to go next. I never go where I ought to.
In my own home I catch him lurking around corners, although he looks more like the idea of a man than an actual one. I wonder if his presence is what spooks my dog sometimes. I hope he doesn’t knock anything over.
He never makes a sound.
In an old house the creaking of floorboards is enough to put a tingle down your spine. The shift and hum of the radiator coming to life ignites a fire in the pit of your stomach. Don’t look for him then.

Bludgeons and bats may shatter my skeleton but
Their rocks can’t touch my glass castle.
The queen of the Sky,
Silhouetted in the clouds.
Summoned to Earth when the marigolds blossom.

With soft feet, tread on the ground ever so gently-
Allow the vibrations to flood your body.
Be just as careful with your language:
My heart is made of glass,too, but
Under pressure, and plenty of heat,
Maybe it will turn to diamond.

Play me your music, and I will dance.
Build me a fire, and I will jump in.
The secret is not to be afraid,
But to trust the direction of the wind.

Every morning I swim in the hues of the sunrise.
By midday I rest upon the Sun
Drinking light, drunk off light.
Never hungover.

When the darkness arrives the Moon bathes me in her milky glow
Goddess of the night

If you want to, you can follow me home.
Rising, weightless, enveloped in smoke and dreams.
A mirage.
Way up here you can let down your hair and take off your clothes
And rest your mind on a pillow of clouds

It was so sunny yesterday but
Today is gray and
I’ve found myself addicted to nicotine.

You say you’ve lost your passion but
Where has it gone?
I checked under the bed.
I only found the boogieman.
I checked the shower.
Just a snake in the drain.
And only skeletons in the closet.

There’s something about the patter of
Rain
That sounds so romantic.

Maybe I’m choking on you
Because I’m too afraid to swallow the truth.