there were great lakes
pooling in the vibrations
of your voice
lake superior begged me
to love you
lake eerie screamed
and cried
and lake michigan lied
to my face.
they were too massive to overcome
and too swellingly deep to swim
i wanted to cross the lakes
from america to canada
and run across solid ground.
but a tide washed over me
and now i'm lost at sea
i didn't think you could ever
forget how to swim
but my muscles are weak
and the water so cold
and dreams so peaceful
that i think i'll just
let go.

*(a.m.c.)

you told me there were
enough words in my head
to build skyscrapers
and mountains so high
that they touched God

i told you that your
lightning bolt hands
electrocuted my foggy sleep
and ever since that day
i've been an insomniac

i tried to put lipstick
on the cuts of my mouth
but they left acid burns
so hot they felt baked
so now nobody will kiss them

ever since you left
i've been trying to learn german
so that maybe i'll have more barriers
and add language to distance and time
i'll never speak an english word again.

*(a.m.c.)

didn't you call me a dandelion?
even when i left you on the cold ocean floor
tell me about your travels
did you map out your coordinates?
so that i'll know which corner of the world
i'm restricted from seeing.
do dandelions grow where you are?
or have you changed your favorite flower
to lilies.

*(a.m.c.)

i write poetry in fifty seconds or less
sometimes the words taste like salt
and sometimes like maraschino cherries

i wonder if my blood is red or if it's purple
because pain no longer feels like the color red,
it feels like numbness, cold unsaturated color.
red is diamond and fire and volcano
and it doesn't seem fair to call myself eruption.
it would be more accurate to say that i'm sand dune
and flood
and hurricane,
something that doesn't burn painfully
but slowly sinks into your skin
like water
until you breathe in what you thought was air,
but really it's not oxygen anymore,
it's me.

this one tasted like salt.

*(a.m.c.)

quit holding up signs
in saltwater lakes
i'm trying to drown
can't you tell?
there are reasons behind
the holes in my oxygen tank
and you're ten of them.
so call it quits
or get a grip,
grab your lavender flame
and melt out of my hands.
i can tell the future
and your selfishness has
no room in this home anymore.
i'll miss you
but i'm not sorry.

*(a.m.c.)

i tied knots in your chest
with my old shoelaces so
why didn't you ever call me back?
there are rose-shaped bruises
on my lips from where i
****** the blood out of your
heart and i wanted to tell
you that it tasted like
cinnamon but i
can't anymore
because someone
else is putting new
bandaids on your
cuts. i thought you
said you liked
my pain? and that
you wanted my
sledgehammer
to keep driving
through your
wood-paneled walls
but i think you
lied to me and
i wish you wouldn't
have because i never
would've become so
destructive if you
hadn't told me that
hurt makes you feel alive
and that i remind
you of tornadoes and
bulletproof vests.

*(a.m.c.)

i    am
  a     mausoleum.
these bones are where
the dead sleep.
i    am
  a     graveyard.
this skin is rotting
and dirt fills my mouth.
i    am
  a     casket.
oak trees and velvet
house lifeless figures.
i    am
  a     funeral.
there is no mourning here
because everyone else is gone.

*(a.m.c.)

i equated you with love
monstrous, monstrous love.
you were calloused hands
and beating hearts,
teardrop stains
and broken words.
i made you into gold
you were metal
and calcium
and tornado,
screaming into my ear
howling my name
and whistling into nothing.

will you laugh into my mouth?
my throat is too red for laughter

will you drink me up until there's nothing left?
you are too much ocean to swallow

i asked you too many questions
until i myself
was a question mark,
punctuation that cut me open.
where are my answers?
where are my answers?
where are my answers?

*(a.m.c.)

i said,
"do i disgust you or am i
the reason you wake up
in the morning?"
with raincloud eyes
and bony,
   bony fists
you said,
"i want to circle the bruises
around your eyes and patch you up
in a styrofoam box
and lay you out to dry"
because you dream of me
building sandcastles on
the beaches of your heart and
making my home in the palms
   of your hands

"i want to sit on the sun but oh! it'll
burn me up."

*(a.m.c.)

would it be cliche of me
to say your smile reminds me
of warm summer nights sitting on
the hood of my grandpa's pickup
truck looking at the constellations
in skies far away?

the wavelengths that your fingertips
cause on my skin are too much
for me to bear and the frequencies in
my mind are enough to cause
an early heart attack

would it be ridiculous of me
to tell you that your eyes are
music to my ears with symphonies
of string instruments and mozart's
sonatas playing constantly echoing
off of granite counter tops?

i photographed the way the veins
in your neck look like pine trees and
your cracked lips are rocky shores
where the ocean thunders into a storm.

*(a.m.c.)

do not call me a liar
when you're sailing your boat
into vinegar seas
because my knobby knees
crushed you with ease
and you cried "don't hurt me,
please, please, please."

i wanted you dead
for all the wrong reasons
i killed you with time
through the four seasons
there isn't anything more pleasing
than your cotton mouth teasing
my long hair breezing
and you were sick with the flu,
always sneezing, sneezing, sneezing.

*(a.m.c.)

sadness makes poetry bleed out
from under your bitten-down fingernails
every single time

the bitterness you taste in your coffee
reminds you of past mistakes
and bruises that you caused

fragments of vocabulary
start spilling out of your mouth
like caustic bottles in a nuclear plant

and windblown smiles tug at your hair,
making it hard to open your tired eyes
at the arsenic whiteness of fakeness
and casualties of war

the nation you grew up in
broke into pieces
and you shredded your memories into fine slivers

because each one is a detonator
under pressure in your lungs
and each breath is a death wish
choking your windpipe with salty kisses.

*(a.m.c.)

I have never been soft because shells are much more impressive and bulletproof vests aren't supposed to crack

I have never been soft because the Sahara desert can withstand any temperature but Antarctica will melt as the sun comes closer

I have never been soft because the moon isn't made out of paper and the sun isn't flaking like my old paintings

I have never been soft but right now I feel like a crumpled up piece of paper

I have never been soft but my knees are covered in dirt and flowers won't grow correctly out of my skin

*(a.m.c.)

you blew a hole through my chest
with your shotgun smile
as i sipped from a cup
of ruin and destruction.
maybe that's how i contracted pneumonia
on the seventeenth of september
and maybe that's why my lungs are corroding
and my voice is gone.
because there's a hole in my chest
the size of you
and it's drafty today
as the wind whistles through me
singing a song
that sounds like crying.

*(a.m.c.)

i told you in my dreams
that snowdrifts were breaking my bones
and northern winds were closing my throat.
as i sat underneath the iceberg melting
in the pacific ocean
i wondered if my claustrophobia would go away
if i just inhaled the water
and drifted downwards
until the sun could no longer reach my cold hands.

*(a.m.c.)

your breath tasted like the cigarettes
that your mom used to smoke in her mercedes
i could've sworn you quit trying to **** yourself
three years ago
but it turns out you just got better at hiding it.

remember that time i took you to church
and as we walked out you started crying
because you didn't think that the god
everyone was worshipping
would love you more than you hated yourself?

i tried to take you out
i tried to fix you
but it tore me up inside
because broken things sometimes can't be mended
and you were shattered glass that made my hands bleed too.

*(a.m.c.)

four years ago i became a carpenter
and started to build a wall
between myself and the world.
people came and went
and tried to take out the bricks
like they were playing jenga.
and some people walked up to me
with a sledgehammer in their hand
and knocked me down with the wall.
as the years went by
my wall got taller
and the people became fewer
until there was no one left.
i'm starting to rethink my blueprints
because it's getting lonely over here
and i forgot the windows.

*(a.m.c.)

the day i stole thunder from the sky
was the day the lord snatched up my grace
and pried it from my fists.
because you can't rumble,
and rage,
and storm
with the power of ten thousand volts
without admitting that the power isn't yours.
i guess the grace i borrowed
was something i needed more
than thunder and lightning.
so i traded in my electric hands
and begged to receive his grace once again.
although i'm anything but worthy
and although i've wandered into the deepest waters,
he smiled at me
and said "i've been waiting all this time. come home."

i'll wander from home every day of my life
but i find myself sprinting back
and he welcomes me like i'm his prodigal daughter;
lost
but found.

*(a.m.c.)

i wanted to be eaten up,
swallowed
by the sky.
i wanted the clouds
to become forests
and the stars
to become puddles.
i wanted the moon's laughter,
the sun's attention,
and birds' embrace.
can't you see i don't fit
on the ground,
and i'm always looking up.
are we all at home on earth?
or do some people have to fly
to feel less homesick.

*(a.m.c.)

maybe the wind in your bones was the same wind rattling mine;

maybe the salt eroding your skin was also eroding my skin;

maybe our ghosts are haunting the same house (it's rotten above these floorboards);

and maybe that is what destroyed us.

i swam in your lakes but the current washed over and drowned me (it tastes like blood under here);

i've wanted to trod on you in dust with my new tennis shoes but you're still crawling on the shoreline looking towards the sun;

you have become a deep crater inside of me and it hurts like hell but the only thing that heals scars is salt water and burning fire (i tried to get rid of you but your grip is ice cold);

i think i'll continue to chase ships on the horizon until they are tiny figures in my palm (they only get smaller and smaller until they're gone).

*(a.m.c.)

the first time, your fist touched my face
when i was checking the mail
the papercut on my finger couldn’t hold
against the black skin under my chin

the second time, your hand grabbed my arm
your fingers left marks
like toaster burn and clenching jaws
like you thought i was a wet rag
needing to be wrung out

the third time, turned into the fourth and fifth
my ribs couldn’t hold my lungs inside
and my wrist was torn of skin
claw marks complimented my arm
like a tattoo or a tiger’s rage

the sixth time was just like the first
all fist and cheek,
bone and tooth
this is not fight club
but we still do not talk about it.

*(a.m.c.)

i was wind
and you were rain;

we destroyed ourselves.

*(a.m.c.)

i dream in colors of the sky;
with sandpaper hands
over a glossy finish
and bluebonnet fields
in a golden sunset.
my brain is hot-wired to be alone;
i don't want you painting
my skies over
with white.
i'll paint them black
in the morning,
but i will poke holes
so i can still see the stars.

*(a.m.c.)

branches are blown
half-heartedly across the street;
your words flung
full-throttle at my face.
leaves are rustling
through the wind and rain;
heat exploding
from my body in this rage.
cars are crashing
on wet and muddy roads;
mind aching
inside this tired skin.

*(a.m.c.)

the sky is green and i'm cold
telephone wires string above me
and fold into sheet music,
birds sit like quarter notes and treble clefs.

my throat is burning
from the taste of your name
i thought my acid reflex had been gone
since i was eleven.

i cleared my hard drive today
four point two gigabytes
filled with the memory of you
are gone.

in the blink of an eye
you
are
lost.

*(a.m.c.)

imitations of rose-red sonnets
sprung across your face.
the moon rises as you fall,
the tides still rise and crash on the shore.
planets are orbiting around my head,
brain spinning in a colossal daze.
the smell of salt is a cross-stitch embroidery pillow
in my hair,
your grandmother's words echoing
and dribbling inside your skull.
pause for the dead and remember their faces,
remember dirt rubbed into your brothers skin
and the butterfly wings painted
on your sisters face,
toothless smiles and calloused hands.
mothers and fathers rip open and scream,
flashing lights on the street,
sound of sirens,
"it's nothing, he'll be home soon."
he's in pieces on the road,
stop signs lingering in his conscious moments.
the last thing he remembered was
the girl with the long hair and crooked smile,
smoke entering his lungs
and inhaling with welcome.
your speedometer still twitches
even when you're static,
the stars still glow
even when you're gone.

*(a.m.c.)

i poured you out like a ******* drink
now i swallow lakes
and get drunk off the sea.
i thought caterpillars became beautiful
inside their cocoons
but i've become a monster.
because bon iver songs and i love you's
won't last me through the winter;
drunk texts and goodbye's
won't cure me of this disease.
i need cold showers and rainy days,
five-hundred page books and mascara.
i'll cure myself,
thank you very much.

*(a.m.c.)

so, set my soul on fire
and let it be your beacon,
your lighthouse guiding this ship home.
but wait until i've conquered cities,
and stormed every gate,
i'm not done with this world yet.
and my fire hydrant eyes
can't douse every flame on your body,
i'm sorry i can't stop the burning.
i wanna be homeward bound,
i wanna be wrapped in gold,
i wanna be the sky,
and i can only do that when your starlet eyes
stop watching me like fireworks on the fourth of july.

*(a.m.c.)

and when you're bleeding out,
becoming an addict and an insomniac,
the rain is a salve to your brokenness.
it will chill your bones and soothe you,
will become your tonic and your medicine,
it will sing you to sleep when there's no one else.

there's something about a wet road
and a dark sky
that puts you to peace, and takes the graveyard out of you.

there's something about lightning
and thunder that shakes your bones
that takes you out of hell and puts you back on earth.

with menace and terrifying power,
the sky yells at you,
not in the same way a person does,
but its yells and screams put a quiet in your soul,
to where you can whisper back to the sky,
          "it
           is
         well"

*(a.m.c.)

every day i'm a ray of sunshine
a bubble of energy, laughing with the birds
give me a little coffee and i'm dancing
in the clouds

every night i'm sleeping with ghosts
letting screaming symphonies drown my ears
curling my toes until my feet cramp
into twisted knots

*(a.m.c.)

you hurt like ache
and adderall
and arnica

you hurt like bruises
and battle scars
and broken bones

you hurt like cuts
and *******
and countryside

you hurt like death
and destruction
and die-hard

you hurt like electricity
and emergency rooms
and edit-undo

you hurt like *******'s
and fire
and fallen trees

you hurt like garbage cans
and gonorrhea
and gang ****

you hurt like hell
and holes in the road
and heartache

you hurt like israel
and illness
and ignition fumes

you hurt like jaundice
and jugular veins
and jack in the box

you hurt like karma
and kissing
and kerosine lamps

you hurt like lightning
and love
and literary terms

you hurt like mother
and mary
and moses

you hurt like nakedness
and nosebleeds
and nervous breakdowns

you hurt like oil spills
and old yeller
and oral quizzes

you hurt like parkinson's
and parties
and panic

you hurt like queens
and questions
and quantum physics

you hurt like rogaine
and roses
and rope burn

you hurt like solar power
and stomach aches
and ***

you hurt like teeth cleanings
and tar
and tobacco

you hurt like ulcers
and underwear
and unrequited love

you hurt like viruses
and venus fly traps
and vapor rub

you hurt like warning signs
and weight gain
and war

you hurt like x-rays
and x marks the spot
and xoxo

you hurt like your mom
and your dad
and you

you hurt like zig zags
and zero
and zip ties

*(a.m.c.)

people romanticize the pain they haven't felt
i could write about how you pinched
crescent moons into my skin
and how your fists turned my arms into
a canvas of blue and purple and brown;
blood bursting into a waterfall
but there's nothing romantic
about nightmares that make you sweat
there's nothing beautifully tragic
about abuse and mental disorders
the thing is,
pain is a wave that crashes over you
and a box that your elbows can't cram into
pain is flame and my wax skin is melting

*(a.m.c.)

Tell yourself every day that you are competent, you are fierce, you are hard-edged and don't need anyone.

2. Lick your wounds. Heal yourself.

3. Ride the rain, let it soak your bones and cover you in ice until you're sick. Then, burn it off. Turn into fire and stone. Cover yourself in tarps and bury deep into the ground.

4. Skate and skate and skate. Let the concrete scrape your knees, let it break you on the outside but strengthen you on the inside.

5. Walk like you're Angelina Jolie. Walk with purpose. Never run to catch up to anyone, they'll wait on you. (reminder: you don't need anyone)

6. Turn into a dragon. Breathe fire.

today as i watched a movie about c.s. lewis
and his wife was dying
a thought raced across my mind,
death is weird

we live a certain number of years
in solid masses of skin and muscle
with something called a soul.
we feel more than animals,
some worship a God who created,
we love and we hate other people,
who are the exact same as us.

and then one day,
a different day
and a different way
for everyone,
we just
stop

today as i heard the news
that a four-month-old named zoe
died suddenly
a thought raced across my mind,
death is weird

*(a.m.c.)

why are sad poems
easier to write than
happy ones

*(a.m.c.)

you, my dear, are absolutely insane
dreadfully bold and clicking your heels,
waltzing through struggle and skating on water.
your madness is alluring,
your strength terrifying.
you taste like wine and smell like thunder
i think you most certainly grew wings
last summer
         because
                you're
                      soaring.

*(a.m.c.)

my mom told me once
that i built up a wall around my heart
but what she doesn't know is
the great wall of china was built inside my rib cage
and there's a house with weeds growing on brick
inside of me.

*(a.m.c.)

i am my own worst critic
writing rave reviews that no one will read
about my imperfections
and my failures.
i am salt and gamma rays and cancer cells,
downgrading and shredding myself
like paper.
using my nails as sandpaper,
i scrape until i'm clean
until the filth i feel around my heart
has eroded.
yesterday i gave myself two out of five stars,
the day before that only one.
when will i grasp that i am five thousand golden stars
i am ocean and cloud and mist,
mountains to explore and skies to fly.
i am a created individual
a masterpiece in a beautiful museum.
i belong on the king's chair
and on the farthest side of the moon.

*(a.m.c.)

when boys with rotten souls
tell you that they love you over a text message
five different times
you're going to feel used
and you're going to realize
you were only a drug to them,
something else to give them a toxic high.
become toxic to them,
do everything you can to distance yourself;
scratch, claw, bite, and chew yourself
out of their lasso around your neck
and do not look back
at their watery grave they dug for themselves
in the ocean among your lungs.
the saltwater behind your eyes
doesn't need to fall for broken love
and it doesn't need to fall for broken bones,
only let your tears escape
when you see a sunrise
because it's so beautiful that words
can't even express the emotions you feel
and the nostalgia of the time you watched the sun rise
with your best friend and a bottle of *****
in your hand.

*(a.m.c.)

You move closer to me like we're two tectonic plates
But I am Antarctica; frozen and endlessly distancing myself from you
And the sun.
You are Africa; cracked and sweltering
We are so far apart and you think you can understand me;
You can't read me like the atlas on your bookshelf;
There are no roadmaps to understand my brain.

*(a.m.c.)

sometimes pain is easier than vulnerability;
than weakness.
it's easier to pour alcohol into your open wounds
than to allow someone to stitch you up,
anesthetized.

*(a.m.c.)

Do not stretch your fingers in my direction;
I am not your ******* or your heroine;
I am no drug to be addicted to.
My body is bruised and I am bent out of shape;
My ankles are all ninety degree angles;
And my knuckles are caked in golden hues.
The callouses on my heels are peeling;
And your spitfire attitude is exhausting.
"Simmer down, firecracker;
You lionhearted girl."
I'm flying at the speed of light;
I am going to crash, a beaten down piñata;
And nobody will pick up the pieces.

Simmer down, firecracker.
I'll simmer down when I'm dead.

*(a.m.c.)

have you ever had your torso treated like an ashtray
all cigarette burns and flaky ash
twist and turn and go deeper until the fire is inside your brain
the guy that's doing it is laughing, drunk
and you're twisting in your sheets
after a couple nights of pain you begin to wait for it
anticipating
not fearing
the fire that once burnt you now consumes you
you don't feel alive unless it's on your skin
turning you into the ashtray
you now wait to be

*(a.m.c.)

with rain soaked fingers
i ripped you apart
godzilla and sirens and all things nightmare
could take notes from me
i could write a handbook
about breaking people like breaking glass
it's simple when you stop caring about yourself
when your pearly white teeth rot and tear
when your shotgun heart and poison dart eyes
**** and break and destroy
you'll recognize my coffee-stained breath
hot on your neck
and next time you'll run
and run
and never look back

*(a.m.c.)

do you think that astronauts get homesick and claustrophobic
or do they never miss their brick wall houses because home is always in sight
maybe they don't feel closed in because they are in the most open area
i am afraid to explore the galaxy
because i don't like to be put into a box
but isn't space travel breaking out of that box anyway

do you think that firefighters are afraid of fire
or do they breathe it in like oxygen
if they get so used to being warm
can they still survive the cold
maybe there's liquid fire in their veins
maybe they're unable to get burnt

do you think that the dreams we have as kids
are always ingrained in our spines
do we ever truly forget the things we wanted
when we were six years old
is there really any point
to our hopscotch romances
and fears of monsters under our beds
because even now
we still run to our sheets after the lights turn off

*(a.m.c.)

when i think back to the first punch
the nail and sting and two-week bruise
i don't think about the pain
or the sound of your fist against my ribs
i think of your face as you swung your arm
twisted and red but that was only layer one
layer two was remembering when you coached me in softball
layer three was my nine-year-old embrace
layer four was whispering, "she's your little girl."
layer five was your confusion as i grew up and became quiet
layer six hated yourself in that moment
as well as layers seven and eight
layer nine was your anger again, which caused you to hit
but layer ten was your apology
i forgave you one thousand and sixty eight times
will you ever forgive yourself?

*(a.m.c.)

I am as hard as a diamond,
my edges are cut sharp into cubical quartz.
I harden and I process; you can strike me against a rock
and I will not shatter.
I don't shine like a diamond, I'm as dull as an old razor blade;
the remnants of sharpness are there
but who wants to shave with an old razor blade.

My dandelion hair flows with the breeze,
and the salty sweat from my head
makes the fragrance drift
like tentacles into the air.

I sit in corners and sift my brain,
searching for gold that is not there,
but constantly thinking and thinking and thinking;
I go crazy and turn into liquid,
I am the ocean turning and the high tide crashing into the shore.
I drift until I'm calm,
until I'm a rainbow fish in the sea,
swimming under sail boats and sea gulls
and wrinkled fishermen upset with their love lives.

My hands are question marks,
punctuation that I cannot answer, I cannot understand.
My toes curl and I cringe as I remember who I am,
the person that cannot be saved
or brought in with a lasso around my neck.

I am a half-finished metaphor and your deja vu,
you must be a sorcerer if you can make me love
like the old-fashioned movie screen.
My voice is raspy from the attempts at screaming my own name
in order to hear something,
to feel something in this empty cavity of a body.

I will dye my hair aquamarine and magenta
and all the colors with the fancy names,
before I make up my mind to understand anyone else.
I will fold myself in like a thousand paper cranes,
and paper cranes do not fly.
I will write on the walls of my insides that I do not need anyone,
until my brain memorizes my own handwriting.

*(a.m.c.)

i wrapped myself in caution tape
but you didn't listen to my warning
you're dying on the side of the road
and i'm flying to space in my rocketship for one
if you could die by hypothermia or drowning,
which would you choose?
the blue hair dye staining my fingers is proof
that i don't have to explain myself
i filled my bathtub with scalding water
and pretended to feel something
all i have left are burn marks on my thighs
and a puddle on the floor

*(a.m.c.)

i’m sorry your love does not fit into my junk mail
and that i will not become a hoarder for you
you say you’re disgusting
but i think you’ve rubbed yourself raw against my skin
until your bones have become protruding branches from your body
the blood that used to circulate through me
has now turned into sand
you punctured my lungs and i started leaking beaches
there are no sandcastles, just chunks of broken seaglass
just pebbles and bugs and dirt
you can’t shield me from the sun, i’ve already been burnt
so now when people step on me
i burn back

*(a.m.c.)

the windows in my room have gone black and there are toxins in my throat
a brick wall replaced my heart in my chest, and even that is cracking
the neurons in my brain are all screaming at me, “you ****** up, you ****** everything up. you have destroyed yourself and everyone else with your tsunami and natural disaster.”
the ocean raging in my bones has been high tide since you came
and i’m drowning in my own sense of power

*(a.m.c.)