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ab May 2017
the transparency of
running water
over stone
is too much
for me to bear

i dropped my identity
into the water
and let it become
a stone

and as the mud
and ash and dirt
washed away

i saw far too clearly
what i had neglected
and the cracks
in sincerity

and i bound
my heart
and ribs
and tongue
in a tight pair of pantyhose

but it stopped my breath
and made me ache
in a way
i never knew
was possible

when i
got my breath back
i cried
with the realization
that
i should have never
started again
if i wanted
to be perfect

so i stepped
on the wildflowers
of renewal,
buttoned up my collar,
and slept in the rain
~i'm ready for the rain
ab May 2017
he colored his fingernails
with his mother's nail polish
and grew his hair long
for appeasement

but when he left
he cut it short
like it was meant
to be

one day
he came to lunch
in distress

once he explained
they were confused
but supportive

and so things began
to change

and that is how
it should be

but it isn't always
this simple

because just like
lipstick
and ***** nails
aren't mutually exclusive

masculinity and femininity
aren't mutually exclusive either

and when a boy
in his own community,
the last one he'd expect,
told him he wasn't real
like he was a figment
of their imaginations

he came back with a rage
the others had never seen

and they were proud

and when others
started coming out around them

they were proud

and as the community grew

they were proud

we were proud

i was proud

then i just *was
~a perfect storm
ab May 2017
the earth
***** him inwards
with the weight
of his assumed sins
on his back

everyone around him
radiates rainbow rays
from every pore
shining blue
and lilac
and the reddish-orange shade
of fire

but he is scared

he refuses to speak
the sugary affections
which flake
from his mouth
like
coconut

he hides behind
the mask of disease
of which they think
he is afflicted

and his lips
burn like fire
every time he mentions
the tragedy
of perception

so he slinks away
to the back of the room

he took
a knife
to his long curls

he painted his skin
with watercolors
to change it
just enough
to smile a little

but his family
is none the wiser
~perceived affliction is worse than actual affliction
ab May 2017
she loves me
she loves me not

she is the color of sunbeams
and minty toothpaste

i am the color of nighttime forests
and sawdust from a two-by-four

i cannot afford to keep her
any more than i can myself

even the dirt beneath my fingernails
is too much for me

my hands pass through sunbeams
without any questions

forests are cut down
and there is no place
for the sunlight to sink

she painted my arms
with The Starry Night
and now my palms
are coated in cracking acrylic skies

i haven't tasted gum drops in years
yet one balances on my tongue
teetering instead of sticking

i survive on coffee
and pine needled trees

she consumes
southern honeysuckle
and polished crystals

i am a melted candle

she is a bundle of rosemary

picking painted prom dresses
even though a suit
would suit me better

she is perfection

she loves me
she loves me not
~she loves me, she loves me not
ab Apr 2017
dear you,

she's not sure why
she even still brings it up
in her own head
because you are long gone by now

but she stopped falling for your tricks
a very long time ago.

she doesn't understand why
you were so demanding
of her time
and attention.

you were the knife against her throat,
and because she was afraid,
she went with you.

you were the only one on the other end
of the electric wire.
and because she felt powerless,
she let herself get electrocuted.

all she knew you for
was a photograph,
a username,
a mutual friend.

but you seemed to be a ghost
in her head,

unseen but persistent.

you hijacked your way
into the skin behind her ears,
and laughed when she heard
but couldn't see
you.

and when she finally had the courage
to shut you down,

you made her question
her own sanity and existence.
because of your
insecurities.

she can never forgive you
for that.

so dear you,

if she ever sees you walking
down the street
with a smile
painted in yellow
and green
and purple,

she will not approach you.

she will simply clasp her friend's hand tighter,
smile sweetly,
and add
a little
blue.
~stay away from Franklin Street
ab Apr 2017
the palms of her hands
are calloused
from the constant
digging.

she is
digging a hole,
running on empty.

as she falls to her knees,

her fingertips
are enveloped in
the cool earth,
cooling the blisters
and bruises.

carefully,
she climbs inside.

and as the cavern fills up
with rainwater,

she feels her swollen tongue
and the rug burn on her skin
and the acid in her throat,

and she reaches for the comfort
of her shirtsleeves.

the grit
of cough syrup
and mud
between her teeth
makes her gag

over the patter
of rain,
she can hear a shovel
against rock.

another person
digging a hole,
but into the rocky portion
usually reserved for those
with nothing
left.

and so out she climbs,
cradles the digger
in her arms
and fills her hole
with flower petals,
dropping the lost soul
inside

and she wraps her fingers
around the soaked piece of wood
and metal

and groans with that familiar sound
of metal on rock

as she resumes
what they left behind.
~dig, boy. dig.
ab Apr 2017
you asked me
who would care
if
you killed yourself.

you
think
that
nobody
would
except
for
me
and maybe
your family.

okay.

but if
you did **** yourself,
i would
be
very
angry
with you.

i would tear
your note for me
to shreds,
because
i
know
that if you wrote me one,
it'd be decorated
with doodles
and calligraphy
and the very essence
of the sunshine
that was your smile.

i would not
deliver
a eulogy.
if i did,
it'd include phrases
like
"she tried"
and
"i don't know what to tell you,
the universe ripped us apart
again"
and i don't think
your family would like that
very much.

i would not
help write
an obituary.

i would not
do anything
but sit there,
disappointed
that the clouds in the sky
and the stars
and all the magic spells
never stepped in to do anything,

that all your hard work
didn't work.

that the chemicals
in your brain
ran muddy.

and honestly,
i would leave.

i would leave to a country
with minty skies
and
forested floors
trying to discover something
as beautiful and unique
as you are.

i would never find it.

all the heat of the sun
couldn't melt away
the rigidity
of my expression

and even pouring rain
cannot regrow a lost soul
from the soil.

and all the people who thought
it was
tragically romantic
can have a taste
of my fist.
~you deserve to be described with beauty. the concept of suicide doesn't.
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