Inside the darkest garden
in this castle of
roots and knots
                  with ancient shadows
                      that come out to dance
                         in consistent moonlit thoughts
where my body starts
                     to swirl and sway
                     my spirit stirring free
inside the bones of
                underground caverns
where I have found
the once –buried remnants
           of me
Here.      
Antiquated magic
            is rediscovered              
next to dark-aged
weapons of layered rust
in the ghosts of the tears
of the collapsing fears
           that quaked the bridges of trust
where the unlikely
traces of self-love
never did really die
and despair in its
quiet torrents
prepares to release and fly
        
Here.          
I embrace the night
               in its fullness,
drink it up
          like temple wine
accepting all the dark within me
letting its light fill me
in vibrations,
              divine
In most scintillating strength,
my inner swords enhanced
in sharpness,
                in potent length
before my armies
                       advance

Here,              
in wild mossy corners
the blackest of berries grow
round and perfect, on
the edge
                     of bursting
revealed only to those who know
that clandestine language
of echoes of loneliness
that wander breathlessly
                           and roam
clutching their essence
                           to hold it safe
over the soil and loam
Now minerals sparkle in the
                       rich, dark earth
atoms of crystal
and stone

Here.
In this darkest
oasis of seeming nothingness
glows a
      single tree
bearing the juiciest
        of fruits
    now dripping
  just for me
and as my hunger
pours up
from the roots
propelling me in sacred trance
I find myself
gazing up in wonder
letting down
          my warrior stance

I slowly take off my armor
freeing up the fullness
of *******, of thighs, of hips
to allow that emotional
         fruit liquid
to nourish me from
core to fingertips
and to catch that ripeness
     about to spill
goddess voices calling
"Yes, woman. Now"
I, with reverence
     with honor
take on that sacred vow
tip back my head
let the quartz-snapped
air into my lungs
let that liquid
slake my ache
and,
in moaning silence
grace my
     tongue

when i was little,
i cried because i wanted It.

It being the crisp sound of fulfillment
that keeps the black hole in the middle of my body quite.
i wanted, i needed It.
sometimes the black hole
would turn red as lava
and it would feel like a volcano
wanting to erupt
but the thing is,
it doesn't have anything to force out.
and i do not like the feeling.

i woke up today
and my mind was a shade of blue.
i don't quite remember
drinking 10 bottles of anesthesia
to feel this pale.
every crack on the pavement
looks like a long razorblade
that would cut my foot if i step on it.
here comes the habit of right first then left,
counting the leaves of my neighbor's bush,
and the amount of C's i swallow
because everything should be even.
2,4,6,8
only that to relieve the ache
because you are what you eat
and who wants to be odd?

there in my bed,
i wonder if the rain is infused with anesthetics
and the black hole erupting
is the only pain i am feeling.
and i like the feeling.

now im older,
i cried because i do not want It.

It was only partly cloudy when we showed up to the dance.
Polished, striding slick in all our style.
Lucky buckeyes stashed in pockets,
rabbits' feet clutched in our hands
          we marched up to that fancy fence
                             and asked,
          "When does the fun begin?"

It had only started raining when our escort let us past
the gate and led us on toward the door.
But I tripped on my own shoelace,
fell behind and watched you pass.
          Your smile turned to sour salt
                             and ash.
          You looked back and you laughed.

Count your friends up, count your digits
and your achy, sagging limbs.
Make sure none of them are missing
before you try to go swim.
                         'Cuz the rain is getting thick
                                                                   now
                        and this scene is getting sick.

                               Wretch me up.
               Soak me down right to the quick.

                     Thought somehow it could be saved.
                     Preserved or salvaged from decay.
                     Decidedly unjustified to chance.

                     But I bought these fancy shoes
                     with my last dime, got all these moves.
                     So waltz me off, stage right, with all the
                                             other trash.

The door was swinging inward, blocking your form from my view,
closing to a slant of yellow light.
Windows brightened golden inside;
out here ink night, black and blue.
          I saw you next through window panes
                             as you          
          cavorted with the lords.

The rainwater's slashing downward, raging cold against this face.
Curse escapes through blunted, yellow teeth.
Among finery you are dancing.
Here, I shiver in drenched rags.
          luck charms fell from fingers to
                             the dregs.
           When does the fun begin?

Count your friends up, count your digits
and your achy, sagging limbs.
Make sure none of them are missing
before you try to go swim.
                         'Cuz the rain is getting thick
                                                                   now
                        and this scene is getting sick.

                           Wretch me up.
             Soak me down right to the quick.

We scrawled out this stupid story
'til the pens fell from our hands--
'til exclamation points were
               dented,
              bent and
                  rent;
until we'd asked,
             "What's the final tally, mate?"

                       Now,
this bad and greasy hair
is hanging low over this face.
This ******, used up body droops
and slouches toward its age...

And the rain is like no bitter ex's invectives
ever taste.

               What's the final tally, mate?

at 18, she fell in love. the kind of love that moved mountains and swam seas. he made her write about relationships, mutual ones like the flowers and the bees

*at 21, she started writing tragedies.

I will always love you,
remember that
You can push me away,
but I'll always come back
You can deny your desire,
& say it can't be,
but I won't let the walls
come between you & me
You're afraid of your dark side,
the harm you could cause,
I have never feared your hands,
or their sharp pointy claws
I love them, I love you,
I love all that you are
Protest all you like,
but you will not get far
You can never change my mind,
my heart will stay true
I'll do everything I can
to get closer to you
I will wait for you forever,
so get used to that fact
I will always love you,
remember that...

Like a fire struggling to light
I send off signals hoping someone will help
Because I  am spiraling
            down
                          down
         and I'm afraid that I'll run out of oxygen
             to stay alight, to be bright
      like I was
Like I was meant to be
Some days I burn myself to exhaustion
Lighter fluid doesn't help if nothing catches
Over and over I try to light
To be the hope in this dark night
So please help
                burn bright with me
            to help those
      who are
          struggling
  burn
     taller

I reverted back to self doubt, to a couple steps before the starting line. The jammed coffee maker a synonym for my suicide. The the open face rejection of a boy telling you, "you're not good enough" . Like a drink without a holder, I am prone to spilling over. And here I am, mopping up my insides.