Touching you was like static electricty in a dark room,
a makeshift thunderstorm in your fingers,
you had more noise in you than a little heart could handle;
so you came bursting open:
screaming, hands punching the air and gasping
for sanity; they said if you hear God it's probably purgatory
what would they call it
when I hear the windclap of your hips a sonic boom
and the quiet of your eyes like blood rushing to my head
in an anechoic chamber;
would they call it madness or delusion
or a mix of a little bit of both; could be alcohol,
could be love
because when I lit a match
in your darkness,
it burned the whole house down.

Multiple Sclerosis is the name that the doctors told me.
I was seventeen years old.
"Unfortunately you have Multiple Sclerosis"
As if it didn't need explaining. As if I was just supposed to know what it meant.
"It's not really life threatening"
But I will have it for the rest of my life?
"We should start medication immediately. Injections are three times a week and oral medication is twice a day everyday"
For the rest of my life?
"The sooner we start the better. We don't want your condition to worsen"

My condition? Can you hear me? What's happening? What's going on?

I felt invisible. Burdened by a disease that cannot be seen.
Because my body sees itself as the enemy.
I am the enemy.
They tell you that you are you are in this world alone and that all you should lean on is yourself tell me what happens when it is yourself fighting the self. When my battle is coming from within.
When it is my body that is failing me.

And I am faced with doctors who call my sclerosis a condition, who tell me it's not serious, who rush me out the door to welcome their next patient and they tell me to be patient when I am asking questions as if I am not patiently waiting for my body to implode against itself because my self is fighting a war everyday and I am tired.

Mommy, you told me I was made from stardust, you told me that inside of me their are little soldiers who ensure that my body is working
but mommy you forgot to tell me that they are fighting me
You forgot to tell me that when I stand up for too long pins and needles will claim my body and force me to sit
You forgot to tell me that sometimes I will wake up and I will feel normal, life will give me a taste of what it feels like to be free.

And mommy I forgot to tell you that today I didn't even feel like getting out of bed.
I forgot to tell you that it wasn't my shoe that slipped on the stairs that made me fall, it was my legs going numb

Maybe I don't have a One

This isn't meant to be depressing
although I agree it may come off that way
I just want to be realistic

Maybe I don't have a One

People die for no reason all the time
I don't mean to be somber
these are just facts
do think they had all fallen in love?
do you think their lives were fulfilled?

Maybe I don't have a One

We're force-fed fairytales
peddled parables of Princes and Princesses
love is just a product
no different than chocolate
or straight to DVD CDs of Dumb and Dumber
Not everybody has a bicycle

Maybe I don't have a One

Don't get me wrong
I'm as hopeless a romantic as the next guy
I'm sure people do find love
and a couple consists of two people
so they very well may make up the majority
but as obvious as it may sound to say
50 is not 100
some is not all
and everybody might not have a somebody

Maybe I don't have a One

This wasn't meant to be sad
I just feel like we're all fed a certain narrative
that may or may not be true
which is fine
I just don't think it's crazy
to admit that
perhaps
possibly

Maybe I don't have a One

I bow my head.
We sing in memory, songs that he loved.
I look around, everyone's in black.
It's like a big hole swallowing me,
And I can't get out.

I hear ladies sobbing, babies crying,
And faint screams in the distance,
Everything is blurred.

I smell fresh flowers and old women's perfume.
I feel the urge to scream, to scream as loud as I can.
To scream at the top of my lungs,
"Please don't be gone".
But I don't.
I keep it in, repeadtedly resciting it in my head.

I look around again,
Everything's gone.
It's just me, alone at his grave.
It always was, and it always will be.

They say that he talked to Angels,
And maybe I do too.

I don't miss you, but I don't sleep with the covers tucked in anymore. I started changing the sheets more often and I'm doing okay, but I'll never flip my pillow the way you did.

I don't miss you, but I leave crumpled wet towels on the floor now. I bought a new one specifically for my hair when it has just been dyed, it's plain black. I hope your blue towel is stained pink forever.

I don't miss you, but I haven't watched the sunset for the last two weeks. I've started watching the sunrise instead. I'm tired of endings. I'm still doing okay.

I don't miss you, but every time I write about you my heart races and everything turns into darkness. My doctor would probably suggest a pacemaker. I suggest another drink.

I don't miss you, but I had to block your number to stop myself crawling back. I still remember it better than my own.

I don't miss you, but maybe I'm lying to myself.

I don't miss you, but I hope you miss me.

I don't miss you, but maybe I should.

Hunger or Anxiety?
My stomach does backflips and I think it's Hunger.
You know, the kind that clings to your rib cage,
Trying to **** out the bone marrow.

Well cheers to you, Hunger,
The kind that makes my eyes hurt and go fuzzy in sunlight.
Your never ending creepy-crawly feeling makes me feel like going for a swim to wash you off.

It's times like these that make me want to live.

i had a dream about you last night

you were so kind
you took me to dinner and
that night you held me in your
arms and told me you loved me

that's how i know it was a dream

l.r.