one year since i made the worst decision of my life
(worse than ryan ever was.)

2014, the year i was molested
the year i decorated my arms and thighs
with a knife
and a cigarette lighter.

2014, a year of ups and downs
commemorated by the first time you shoved your hand down my pants, held my face down on your ****, pushed me up against a wall with your hand up my shirt

...how does one celebrate such a year?
dinner?
a movie?
flowers?
gifts?
more *** that i don't want?

sounds about right.

excuse me if i don't feel like
celebrating,
boyfriend.

some birds aren't meant to be caged

There comes a moment when you want to write about something so beautiful
That it refuses to be transcribed into ink, and you're stuck with only memory

I have never been so happy.
and yet- I have never been so numb

And she then asked me
'So, what is your story'
And I melted at those words
That my life is a storybook
That was interesting enough
For God to print and publish

I don't exactly know what to say,
so let me touch you and tell you
my tongue doesn't have to form words
to let you know how I feel. my hands don't
have to draw beautiful people to make you
burn inside- art is from person to subject to person, complex
*** is intimate because it doesn't cross any bridges
it blends into you without an intermediary
Humans make art, God made ***
and one of them is the perfection of the other-
a spinning whirling love that creates
tying people together, the greatest act of humankind,
and I'm playing with you like a puppet on strings
plucking and making music like some deep wooden
long-forgotten instrument, we dance
like pens or swords, each to each, love and war,
and together we're a masterpiece.