what do you want
i want to put my forehead to your temple and wrap my arm around you. i want to feel at home again. and wild and unbound. with all of the fancy fish swimming from me to you. as i rock.
i rock my head against you, the curves make it easy to do. i tighten my grip and
glitter paint on our fingertips and that
small
secret on hushed lips, smirking. savored. unbound.
unbound and scattered. beautiful words. bold, italic, underlined. asterisks and parentheses. tossed and grabbed at by our bony fingers. like it was some sort of game. it was. i need you now.
enthusiasm and hip bones jutting. neon, day glow, pink and stained tile on the bathroom floor.
i need you now. simply. i know no one else came close.
one girl to another.
unbound.

They say to be a writer you must write.
To be a singer you must sing,
A dreamer you must dream,
And I'm not sure what I am.
What do they call it when words sing?
When you dream in songs and novels?
I am not a dreamer, a singer, a writer,
I am a void, a shell of a woman,
I overflow with someones tales.

i'll teach you what it's like to be a ghost
how to move from space to space unnoticed
how to blow through rooms on fire
without wincing.
how to be nimble
but paralyzing
and poignant.
i'll teach you what it's like to cut a noose
with a dull knife
and not bring down the whole house
i'll teach you how to take weight in your arms
without falling
and how you can get them to look you in the eyes
when they can't see through their tears
i'll prove to you
you can remove a heart
without breaking it
if you carry it in your throat
if i could impart to you
how to take a portion of their pain
without wearing it like a cloak
or exchanging it for guilt
i will show you.
i'll teach you what it's like to be a ghost.

Just focus
On the pain rushing through your body
Pulsing within your veins
Like wildfire
Or acid
Filling every void with a burning
Stinging
Beautiful sensation.

Reminding you that this is as bad as it gets,
There is an end to the pain
And you have reached it.
Live through this
And nothing can hurt you again.
Ever.

You will be invincible
Unstoppable
Like an angel
Or a God.

So curl up in your little corner and weep.
Cringe,
Scream,
No one can hear you.
And no one would help you if they could.
They'd watch you die with a smile
With a wave.
They hate you
Everyone does.

So, go on
Focus on the pain
And tell me what else you feel.
Are you frightened, scared of my power, what I can do?
Are you angry, wondering how I could be so cruel, heartless?
Or have your become numb to my advances, abilities?

Shut your mouth.
Stop crying.
No one cares.

A friend I am not
I do not know how to mask desire with faithfulness
To falsely turn my cheek for the sake of another

No friends have I sought
But only intricate details of a lover
Held up in brilliant contrast to the sun
Until their affections I have won
Which subdue me for a while or so
But a friend I am not, so off they must go

As sidewalks are laced with tiny delicacy in blue
They say to me, 'I will not forget you'
But what is forgotten, if remembered without meaning?
Ah, and the blue laced flowers waver, unsure
As if to remember is to abhor

Catatonic inscriptions etches through my textile discernment
Insidious cycles of turmoil encased within a festering distress
Uncertainty obscures my comfort into a chaotic complacency
Transforming the subtle movement of thought and bewilderment
Through the re-occurring sequences of paranoia and my uneasy psychosis
Haunting the whole of this psyche and the mental state I've come to fancy

A tell-tale apprehension of merriment and contentment may be a dismal reality
All the while being obsessed with the unfavorable outcomes I conjure within
But, I can't get enough of the disarray that breeds within my frail skull
So distant from what I feel in the ecstasy of my self-selected normality
The meek proposal of sanity has little to hold against these crooked grins
As this chaotic thought process leaves rationality as a vague ideal to null

Expansive introspection has no limit to what is perceived as validity
And, to be enveloped in the ambiguity and delusion of fact is so enticing
We all know that we've all come to recognize the fabrication of our own truth
The futile attempts to obtain an immaculate conviction in pure solidity
Is so wondrously perfunctory and constant as the life that i'm living
That I dread the day of departure from this hysteric observance of aging youth

i felt his poetry
as he sauntered into the room
disguised in a tattered t-shirt
and acid-washed jeans:
it took me by surprise
how ugly they were.

rhythm but not rhyme from
his electric hair and
ink-stained skin and
***** fingernails
drum - drum - drumming
against the side of his arm.

i clawed at my insecurities
pouting my lips and
flipping my hair and
sticking my chest out
but i was invisible
or he was immune.

it was not real love,
i told myself for
the third, tenth, twentieth time.
because real love is flannel
and wool socks and a cup of
hot coffee on a sunday morning.

it was not real ***,
i assured my aching body
one last time
because real *** is salt
and breathlessness and teeth
burrowing into my skin.

this is something else.
something that covers,
encases, weighs
heavy on me although
i mostly can't say what it is,
only what it isn't.

but it's difficult
when everything
around you
is so beautiful;

beautiful and fated
for disaster
and decay.