You reached in
and grabbed me out of my skin.
Your hands on my waist
demolished the barriers i placed
even though i wanted to keep them there.
I have been swimming
in a sea of desyrel and prozac
and more often than not
I drown.
"There are worse things
than being alone"
I know, i know, but
i'm always at a low
ever since he had me at hello.
He told me once
he must have told me 30 times before
he's just a man
taking what he needs from the store,
and i am always serving,
giving him shelter from storms
giving him bandages for sores.
The tables are turning
and when i ask for guidence
all i get are bruises
there are no more soft kisses
no more tracing your name
into my skin.
You flip a switch so quickly
i am left terrified of your prescence.
I walk on eggshells aroud you
but they always break,
you told me i am too heavy
but i am trying to fix that.
You used to make me feel pretty,
now you only make me feel ******
and frankly i like the bruises
because they tell me i need to be stronger.
I want to fit so badly into your arms
but you are not her.
You are a replacement
until she comes back home
back to where she belongs.
I never loved you
i just love what you do to me

I tricked myself into thinking
you were sunlight
and i was a flower.
I drank in your rays
until they seeped through my pores.
You turned into night
and i gazed up at you
But you are not a star
and this world is not a garden
and i am a human soul
who needs more than warmth at night
and i do not need validation
you do not keep me alive.
it took too long to know this
but i am not a flower
and you are not my sun.
you don't decide when i get loved

My father doesn't close cabinets after he takes things out of them.
He doesn't close the door to the trashcan.
And if it didn't swing close by itself,
the refrigerator would remain open as well.
He says "I keep them open
because i'm not finished using it yet."
So when he started closing my bedroom door whenever he walked by
i began to fear.

I have been no stranger to his ****** remarks,
i've got the word "disappointment" burned into my brain
using the heat of his voice.
When my father started sleeping on the couch
i thought it was just because he snores a lot
and my mom is a light sleeper.
But it wasn't just his snores that kept my mother up at night.

She no longer waits for him so they can go to bed together.
My mother goes to bed earlier every night.
My father leaves more cabinets open
and closes our doors.
Growing up, my father was taught to expand
and he has been teaching me to contract.
I shut myself away
and sneak around my house stealing moments of silence,
a thief of peace to which i do not feel entitled.

I was brought up in a house that felt like a prison
and my father, the prison guard.
His voice vibrates off the walls
and you can hear that his mouth does not close.
I guess his words were never finished either.
He would go on seemingly endless sprees of screaming
telling me that i did not belong in this family,
or that he did not belong.
Either way doors were always slamming.

Now, i never wanted to replicate or hate him
but i can’t help but do both.
A part of me wants to forgive him
but the rest of me wonders why i feel obligated to love him.
If he was just a boy i met
i would be told to leave him,
that i should never allow someone to treat me like that.
But just because he's my father,
it somehow makes everything different.

Dad,
you told me once
that i should be careful of who i surround myself with
because there could be people out to get me.
So when you started to break me,
was this practice?
Were you just trying to give me callouses
so the burns wouldn't hurt so bad?
So i could hold on to the things that hurt me
a little bit longer than i should have?

Dad,
i know what it feels like
to be fearful of everything around me,
like the world will turn its face away from me,
or even more frightening,
turn its face toward me.
Some nights i am more than just half you.
My friends tell me i am beginning to snore.
I say awful things to the people i should care about
because i just can't hold my tongue anymore.

I've started closing
all the doors and cabinets you leave open
because i am finished with the way
they let out bad nights they've always contained.
Your arguments
have been ****** inside of these walls
and every night i stay awake long enough for you to sleep
so i can shut the houses mouth
and finally get some peace.
But no matter how many cabinets i close,
they somehow find their way back open again in the morning.

I created words in you
that you didn't even know
existed with every sigh
of my name.
I don't know what
changed in you to
make you want me back
but fire and water danced
in your belly like Armageddon.
I had never wanted to kiss
another human being more
in my entire life.
Your image flooded my brain
and named itself captain
of this ship.
You gave me orders and
asked questions you already knew
the answers to
And i fell into submission when
I'd much rather have fallen into bed sheets.
It was 5 o'clock in the morning
and a war was raging in my mind.
Should i stay?
Or should i go?
I liked when my days began
and ended with you,
not at 3:47.
What i would give to see
12 am and be satisfied again.
Your tongue spoke a language
i was forgein to
but i became comfortable in your mysteriousness.
I began to see you as a puzzle,
a game that i slowly started to earn
all the pieces to.
But when the game turned sour
and i started to lose
(not just you but myself)
I realized that those words you said
were never genuine
and i could never be your heart or engine
so i gave up trying to win
and instead picked up the puzzle
piece by piece
and explained to myself that you
were never a home
just a mere hostel in a country far away
and no matter how hard i tried
to be the only one
there were always others living there too.

I am in a constant battle for control.
I am hard to deal with
because my therapist says
OCD will not rest
OCD does not care what time it is
OCD does not care where you are
OCD does not care who is watching.
Usually when I obsess over things
I see my life falling to shambles
I see people not loving me anymore
I see germs sneaking into my skin.
When my uncle, my aunt, and my friend all died
in a matter of three months,
i performed rituals every hour on the hour
sometimes even more.
My therapist says this will not go away.
My therapist says to come see her so we can try to cope with this.
My therapist does not understand that WE are not coping.
I am coping
not her
not anyone else
me.
My therapist is a sick person
she is still recovering from alcoholism
so how can she help me
if all she sees is a bottle of bourbon when she looks at me.
I am not a bottle of bourbon
I am a bottle of OCD and depression and anxiety
I am a bottle of drugs and alcohol and death
I am a bottle being smashed over your head
I am not coping
I am drowning
And people have stopped loving me
And my life is falling into shambles
And I think I may be getting sick
so what the **** are these rituals even doing for me
anyway.
I have stopped taking medication because
wanting to die has become habitual
and I fear that will become a ritual too.
If I die
all people will talk about is how much they loved me
even if they didn't.
If I die,
there will be no room to have my life fall to pieces
because I will be in peace.
If I die,
I cannot get sick because the soil
will be taking care of my body but
who will perform my rituals
once I'm gone?

I have let human beings become my ruin.

When I was a child
I got told my heart was the size and shape of a fist
so I grew up using it like one.
The masochism I have developed
caused an opening for something destructive
and you slipped right through it.
And unable to deny your sweet prowess
I granted your re-entry without hesitation.
I threw words at you
praying to god they'd hit you in the torso
because your empty chest cavity
needs to be filled with something.
My words bounced around in your ribcage
until it cracked one of them
and flowers sprouted out of it
allowing a place for the words to rest.
Wrapping my arms around your body
feels a lot like a snake killing its prey
because you don't see it coming
and when it happens,
I squeeze you until you give in.
If my heart had knuckles
they'd be ****** and bruised
not because of the beating its taking
but because it's trying to break free from my chest.
Every time you're near
it won't stop fighting my ribs
and now I get why it's called a cage.
My heart is an untamable creature,
relentlessly fighting for what it wants.
But i'm learning to forgive your ribcage
for being closer to your heart
than I ever could be.

You know how you wake up?
You swing your legs out of bed
and walk.
You don't look for the ground
to make sure the floor's there.
Because the floor's always there.
Until one day,
it's not.
And you swing your legs out
and instead of your feet hitting the floor,
you fall right through.
No warning
to let you brace yourself.
No signs
to let you know it's leaving.
It just
leaves.
And now, you're constantly checking the ground
as you walk to make sure
you don't fall again.
I never expected to fall right through
the way I did.
I used to wake up for you.
Now, i don't even know
how to get out of bed.

You were a wild, wild man.
Not only did you provoke my search of eternal life
but you also showed me the strength of death.
Your soft brown eyes have seen ungodly things
you watched your father's name turn to dust in your mouth
as you spit out things to call him.
His absence has not only caused a rip in your being,
but a restlessness in your heart as well.
You've chased after women and power
and all you've gotten was broken pieces.
I patched you up the first time only to be left,
only to be bruised and battered
physically and mentally.
But you have returned to me,
seeking shelter and guidance
which I will gladly provide.
Your talk of loving my body and skin
has produced an unwelcome feeling in my stomach.
I know I will be left,
bruised and battered,
but I do not mind the broken skin and purple marks
with a sweet mouth like yours.
I've only got two things left to ask;
one will bring you hell
and one will bring you heaven,
will you hit me like a man?
and love me like a woman?

It was over a year ago, at the crack of dawn before school. I knew you always liked it when my room was clean so I cleaned it three times before you got there. After my shower, I walked in my room and I found you laying in my bed, your hips pointed toward the ceiling. I fell in love as soon as I laid eyes on you. You knew all of my secrets and monsters, you were surrounded by so much of me and yet you breathed in my sheets like the air was a hymn to the lord and my blankets were the mouth of God swallowing you in. You looked up at me and whispered Christ's name and smiled like you knew the entire universe's secrets. "Tell me that that body is mine." I would have told you anything if you asked and you whispered to me in Spanish, things that would have made even the devil blush. But your voice made it sound like you were softly singing symphonies into my ear. Your body was the tide kissing the shore every time it arrived. My skin was a wax candle and your body was the flame, so that explains why I melt in your hands. Every sigh of my name ripped my heart into pieces. I never liked my name until I knew what it tasted like dripping from your tongue. Each letter was thick and heavy with love. I get addicted easily, so I found myself suffering from withdraw when your skin wasn't connected to mine. Some nights you held me so tightly that I thought my body molded to yours. But when your arms started to loosen, I feared that I would lose your shape. I have lost your shape. And now that you're gone, all I have left is me.

I have been inside my head for the past few days. Human contact has not taken me out of it like it typically would. My eyes have sunk deeper into my skull because of the lack of sleep, the more insomnia medication I take the less I sleep and I would think it would be the opposite. Perhaps it's the meals I've been missing, or maybe it's the people I've been missing, but either way I think my eyes have gone looking for something to fill this empty chest. If my heart is there, then I can't feel it beating and that's a terrifying thing to experience. They say the body's natural calming system is to listen to itself breathe and understand that oxygen is entering your lungs and you are alive. But I find that to be a rather uncomforting system. I have never wanted to be alive so why should my lungs working bring me any sense of equanimity.
I spent half the drive home swerving last minute out of the way of light poles because i kept remembering that i wanted my sister to have the car when im dead and my parents shouldnt have to pay to fix it. I have ****** up my life immensely and i cannot fix it nor restore it to its natural order. I am left with broken pieces and i cant tell if its of others or just myself so i'll settle for both and apologize to everyone. I have cleaned my entire room 6 times. I have painted my nails. I have a nice dress picked out. All that is left is calculating the amount of pills i need to take to greet my friends in heaven. If there is one. I sure hope there is not a hell because i never did well in the heat. I think i know why suicide is a sin, because life and death is the only thing God can control and by killing myself i am beating him at his own game.

Are human beings programmed to stay?
"Beginning to end"
could be programmed into a person's make-up but
disregard of human design is detrimental to
everyone around that human.
For everyone involved,
getting hurt is inevitable.
Help is not on its way,
instead you are left to fend for yourself.
Just waking up could become impossible,
killing yourself slowly through
love or cigarettes or
more drugs and alcohol than the city could handle.
Nothing could ever
open up the world of
pain better than
quarreling with your own demons.
Reaching out for a hand that
stops reaching for yours
teaches self-harm better than
underdeveloped scars ever could.
Veins are paint trays begging to be opened,
watered down with the
x-ray's of splintered bones from the first hit.
Your pain is inevitable,
zipping with the force of unrequited love.

I am selfish enough to want to get better
but i am backwards enough to not take any steps to get there.
I like the sound of Mozart in the morning
if your voice is unavailable.
I am willing to take a man
and hide him away in my pocket
as long as no one else can see him.
I am more than a human being
but less than a ship
because I can drown on command
but have no external survival devices for those around me when I'm gone.
I am like water
because I can slip through your fingers
but I am able to stay solid as long as I stay away from your lips.
I am like the sound you hear
in unbearable silence
driving away at your eardrums begging to be heard.
I am the branch accidentally tapping on your window
because he made me do it
and the Wind is a hard fellow to deny.
I am that three-leaf clover you mistook for a lucky one
so you split one leaf to make four
just to make others believe you've found something great.
I am the illusion of a father figure that your father should have been
although he is still here
and you have not found enough space in your heart for forgiveness.
I am the claw marks on your back after you've been ******
not by a man who loves you
but by a stranger who's sole purpose was to not let you get away.
I am composed of sweet smiles and sad eyes
of carbon monoxide
of unimaginable poisons and tales.
I am the fear of your future wrapped up in a bottle
I am the fear of your tomorrows molded gently into pink raised lines on your body
I am the fear of yourself suspended gracefully in the air disguised as smoke
but i am indefinitely known as the words you are afraid to speak
in fear that they might shatter.

Today is grandmother's birthday. I have to watch her deteriorate at an exceedingly quickening pace as more days pass without you here. To watch another human being fall apart and live with no life left in them is more excruciating than if it were happening inside of me. She refers to you as her baby boy, although you were nothing short of a man. 28 years old, decorated in art from your neck to your toes. But nonetheless, you wore battle scars in the form of collapsed veins and sleepy eyes as if you never got enough sleep. You were My JD, mine, JD. When I think about you, I am left with a hole the size of the Pacific Ocean in my chest, which is truly appropriate because I drown in your name. If you could walk into grandmother's house, you would probably drop dead again. Her entire property has become a shrine to your existence, photos are overwhelming the premises enough to the point where you could walk into a maze of JD. Grandmother has not removed your sweatshirt except to bathe. Although she would still wear it in the shower if she did not fear to lose your smell. Sometimes I catch her close her eyes and breathe in what's left of you when she holds the cloth to her nose. Grandmother is smoking again. Nicotine and tobacco smoke kills the taste buds on the tongue, but she tastes you every time she drags in because you, JD, are everything she is. Mother gave up her dreams to take care of Grandmother, Mother dropped out of art school with a full scholarship because her only art was the life of Grandmother. And you, JD, were selfishly stealing the life from Grandmother that Mother worked so endlessly to retrieve. Now, I am not accusing you of being a bad man, JD, I know too much of you to know you as a bad man. You were intelligent beyond belief, knowledge swarmed in your brain and I think that's why you were always so sad. The ****** was to **** the things inside of you. The methamphetamine was to **** the things inside of you. The alcohol was to **** the things inside of you. All I wanted to do was to bring those things back to life because you saw them as a burden instead of the gift that you could harness and control. You were a good man, you made bad choices, but you were never a bad man. You have been the only man to make me feel like a princess with just a smile. JD. I saw you in my dreams, and you smiled like you knew the whole universe's secrets and I believe maybe you did because you are up there in the stars. When I saw you for the very last time, I kissed your cheek and cried. My JD, you are still the only man capable of making me feel like a princess and prisoner all at the same time. Grandmother has shut off your phone so the texts I have been sending you daily are not delivering and soon someone will have your phone number and those texts will be sent to someone undeserving of your 10 digits, digits as in numbers or fingers? Either way, no one was ever good enough to hold your hand other than mine. I was never ashamed of you. I hope you know that because the last time I saw you breathing, I'm not sure if I told you any of this. I am unsure if I told you I loved you, but if there was any way to fill this Pacific Ocean raging in my chest, I would hope it would be because you visited me in my sleep for the rest of time. I would settle for never dreaming of another boy as long as you held my hand in my dreams.

She is drunk.
I am drunk.
This is not a poem.
She is beautiful.
I am not.
This
Is not a poem.
Tomorrow i will be sober
And she will want to be drunk
And this is
Not a poem.
She is leaving me
And i am not
And this is not
A poem.
She is crying
I am (trying) not to
And this is not a
Poem.
She is beautiful
And i am drunk
And this is not a poem

My mother always told me to be careful what i say in mixed company, for some words could offend one party but not the other. But instead of being cautious of the words i spit out, i am more scared of the words i swallow. I have caused a rip in the balance of life, taking years from others i am undeserving of. I should have died a long time ago, but instead i am here stealing oxygen from those who need it more.
I was told that when i sleep, i mumble incoherent sentences. But your walls hear what you say in your sleep, and thats where all the cracks come from. I have choked on bits of the ceiling that has broken off from my sorry language and i think thats why i wake up in fits of not breathing. That persistent feeling of falling is not an illusion, its God trying to tell me He wants me back, that i am not welcome in this bed, so Hes trying to find a way to pull me through my roof but He is not stronger than the forces of suffering. I am Suffering. I am the sacrificial lamb that must be given back to the heavens. I am the ambrosia stolen from the gods and they're descending to take me back.
Every ***** in my body has the natural instinct to survive, but my heart is telling me to escape, that it'll fight off the rest so i can do what needs to be done. My heart is the kindest of them all, it has met my soul that is too old for my body. My soul is crying out to the clouds, wanting to be released but thats why i have refrained from sticking that knife to my veins for nearly a year in fear of what i might let out. Sometimes its blood, sometimes its  pain, but sometimes its freedom and tonight i will be drunk in my liberation until God has seen my insides deflate, watch a sadness so heavy that it grinds my bones to dust. God does not know what this body is capable of, God has seen nothing yet.

You caused a dive-bomb reaction in the pit of my stomach.
10 days until you're gone.
In ten days you could fall in love
if you try hard enough
in ten days you could get addicted to something
like nicotine or your hands on my waist
in ten days you could learn a new language
and whisper it on the crook of my neck
like every night when you told me
me pareció mi hogar en ti
which roughly translates to
i've found my home in you
i am constantly trying to convince myself
that you can't make a home out of a human being,
but when i'm lying in my own bed
i can't help but catch myself saying
"i want to go home"
there are still nights that i lie awake and wish you were next to me
although the love you had for me died
as soon as you found Rachel.
I have always felt like a girl,
but around you i felt like a woman.
you made love to the curves on my hips
without ever having to remove clothing
and i had no idea that fingertips could cause liberation
until you kissed mine.
As soon as your lips touched my skin
i knew i would dream about you for as long as i live.
You always had what i needed,
drugs, alcohol, love, emotion, friendship.
Every day for years i would make my way to your house
and you would have a the drugs waiting for me
and as soon as i felt i could fly through the clouds
i ended up swimming in your body
unable to force myself to stay above surface level
because you always drowned.
The screaming matches that were produced
about you wanting to die
scared the living hell out of me because
i realized i was not enough for you.
you told me nothing was sacred,
that no spine was too straight to snap into submission,
that every layer of skin could be clawed off,
and that's why you feared the scars on my body.
Your first stare was a look of horror,
but then it was a look of love and you knelt down next to me
and kissed every inch of my body and i thank my body
for learning how to thank yours.

In ten days you will be gone,
and you can never love someone as much as you can miss them.

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

The problem with being the strong
one is that people forget
that sometimes you
need a hand
to hold
too.

I have never felt so alone
or distant from the human world
in my entire life.
I don't have my life together
and the more i try to grab at the seams to pull it together,
the faster the stitches break.
I look like i'm playing a game of Jacks;
i drop the ball
and i see how many things i can grab
before the ball bounces back down
but i've grabbed too many things
and they're falling through my fingers.
I feel like a torture victim
with a wet cloth over my face
and pouring a gallon of water on me,
sputtering water out of my mouth and gasping for air.
I don't belong to anyone;
no friends
no love
no one.
I am a nomad trailing through the west
stopping at the villages for food
and then continuing my uncertain journey
almost hoping to die so this will be over.
I think a lot about killing myself,
not like a point on a map but rather
like a glowing exit sign at a show that's never been
quite bad enough to make me want to leave.
But i keep telling myself that
the sunrise will come
all i have to do is wake up.
But that's the problem,
i don't wake up because i don't sleep
and when you don't sleep you can't have dreams
and you always promised me that you'd see me in them.
But now
i close my eyes and think of you
i imagine what you look like in your sleep.
They say that when you can't sleep
you are awake in someone else's dreams
and i'm hoping that's what caused the insomnia.
I feel detached from my body
almost like a zombie that feeds on sadness and pride;
i can't swallow back either of those
long enough to tell you i love you.
This journey has gotten too terrifying to continue much longer
i apologize for the short notice
but i think i want to die today.
The show might finally be over,
everyone else seems to be getting out of their seats to leave
and i might just have to follow.

I remember the first time i knew i loved you. We were sitting on the stairs of a pool that didn't belong to us and you were smiling at me like you could see something good in me. The sun rebounded off of the water and made your eyes squint like they were trying to smile like your mouth was. But the first time i was allowed to tell you i loved you was the morning before school when you wrote a poem for me to tell me that you loved me. I didn't even get to read it all the way because i saw those three words before anything else and my face blushed like it was 100 degrees even though it was winter. I say that i was finally allowed to say it because i was afraid that if i said it first you would run away, because you were a dream that finally came true and you were my best friend, my savior, my first love, my whole world. We didn't see each other as often as we wanted, but that's how i knew i really loved you, because our relationship didn't require *** or physicality to complete it like every other relationship. We were terrified of life, but mostly i was terrified of you. The thought of you was so fragile that I was afraid of speaking your name out loud in fear that it might shatter. But your voice was like every soft hello ever said to me at once, and when you left it was like every shouted goodbye. I can still feel the curve of your giant hands over mine, making me feel like the smallest human being possible, but in a good way. You consumed me. I had never met a man that i loved with everything inside of me until i met you. I loved you until i was blue in the face and couldn't feel my lungs. You were the best thing that had ever happened to me. On new year's, i ran to you and you picked me up and spun me around like a sappy 80's movie that makes teenage girls cry. You kissed me and told me that you didn't care if the world ended in 2012, as long as you had me. But then we grew apart, which was ironic because we wanted to be with each other so bad that we couldn't stand each other anymore. I loved you for a long time after that. I thought that we would spend the rest of our lives together, you saved my life and i tried to save yours and it was me who got you help that December. I thought that maybe you would be my first everything but i guess that won't happen. We've both changed and a lot has happened since then, but I still love you but in a different way now. Tonight made me remember what it was like to be your best friend again. My face still blushed and i didn't stop smiling one bit and it was nice to hold you again, even if it was just for a second. I missed your laugh, that was always one of my favourite things about you because the creases of your eyes wrinkled together and you smiled with your whole face, not just your mouth. But i missed the way you said my name, it always sounded safe in your voice. You make me feel safe. Thank you for teaching me how not to drown.

I met a man
who found monsters in the mirror
rather than himself
and for the first time
i felt as if i could give everything
and hold back at the same time
and this man would understand.
There was no pressure,
no expectations,
just time and patience and comprehension
that verbal confirmation of demons
was the only thing that made sense to us.
I have only known this man
for days
but his soul says years.
I have this weird theory
that some people are drawn to each other
because their atoms were near each other
when the universe was created.
Now, i am uncertain if this pertains
to him and i
but his friendship comes easy
and his words even easier.
I've told him about struggling
and how i am expected to be strong
but he told me
we can't all be strong forever.
Not even Atlas carried the weight of the heavens
for all eternity.

Bodies were galloping around,
almost forced to breathe in the other's
carbon dioxide due to close proximity.
Mouths were salivating
at the thought of another drink,
another boy,
another girl,
another blunt.
You could smell the stench
of body odor and drugs
throughout every corner of this house
that belonged to a girl whose face
and name i did not know
nor was i cohesive enough to remember even if i did.
In mid thought i felt strong hands
grip my hips and turn me
in the direction of the stairs.
"I'll get you out of here"
the voice said but i wasn't sure
if i had asked to be saved.
The 75% proof ***** in my blood stream
reassured me that it was a friend
not foe
so i let the hands guide me
through the house
up the stairs
through the door
in the bed.
The face i saw was no friend
no foe
just stranger.
Rough stranger,
tough stranger,
my way or your dead stranger.
Tall stranger,
too strong stranger,
i don't care if this isn't what you want stranger.
Forceful stranger,
stealing stranger,
tell anyone and i'll deny it stranger.

They describe in text books
how women should protect themselves
by kicking and screaming and punching,
but they didn't write about
how i wouldn't even try to fight,
how he would spit on me after he was done like a pile of trash,
how i would repeat the word "no" until it was worthless.
I started guessing names
because I wanted to put a name to the hands that defiled me.
Michael, Jacob, Aaron, Eric, Ryan, Brian,
****** bag, *******, *******
*******
*******.

He left me screaming into nothing
because the music was too loud for anyone to hear me.
I yelled at him
I'M SEVENTEEN
I'M SEVENTEEN
I'M SEVENTEEN
Maybe he thought that's what my name was
because he never bothered to ask.

I was Seventeen, but to him I was Consensual.

You have wrinkles at all the creases of your appendages, which gives me no other choice but to believe that angels were the ones to sew on your extremities. They took thread made of silk and carefully attached your body parts together, one by one. With one small kiss from above, the silk dissolved into your skin and the scars turned into wrinkles that i would someday memorize with my eyes closed. Not only did the heaven's create every inch of your body, but your soul as well. You're constantly telling me that old souls are common among those whose bodies look worn in close proximity. But in close proximity, i can't help but see lines of life, not death. You see tire tracks and old skin, but i see footprints in the sand and a body reborn. You see muddy brown pools inside of pure white, but i see a coconut cracked open to let the milk absorb into your body and maybe that's why you melt in my hands. Your voice is like the sound of every hello ever said to me at once. When you sing to me, i hear every soft "goodnight". I would always tell you to not let the bed bugs bite, and if they did, bite them back. But your teeth could never harm a being so vulnerable standing right in front of them, which is why i never bled because of you. I only received tiny black and blue marks on the soft flesh that connects my neck to my shoulder. When i sighed your name, my mouth tasted unworthy and frightened that if i spoke too loudly you might shatter. The thought of you is so fragile and intoxicating that i am consumed by you for hours even after you're gone, wondering if you're safe and tucked in your bed or if you're tucked inside of somebody else's. When i spoke to you, sunflowers sprouted from my tongue just so i could trap my words in something tangible enough to give to you by the handful. But mostly, i swallowed my words along with my pride and sunflower seeds that rooted into my spine. If you're quiet enough you can hear the stems snapping with all the pressure.

When I remember that angels created you, it also dawns on me that you must have fallen from the heavens. There is only two explanations that i could possibly think of for this: 1. You slipped out because you saw that i needed help. Because that is what we do, that is what humans do, they stay alive for each other. 2. You are the devil in disguise. I have to remember not to trust you because the devil was once an angel too. He was the most beautiful angel of all. And i can't help but think, as you lay in front of me with nothing but your grey bed sheets and a smile on your face, you are the most beautiful, astounding angel i have ever met; and i can't help but fear that underneath the hairpin curl of your lips is the devil's tongue.

I can see it now, I was in 4th grade and we were all saying the pledge of allegiance with our hands over our hearts. "One nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all." I always thought it was "invisible". One nation, under God, invisible. It suddenly turned our nation into a superhero with the sickest super power ever, invisibility. Our nation was leaping over buildings and fighting crime in the moonlight with a bad *** sidekick named God.
One nation, under God, invisible. That's what i have become to this sidekick, invisible. I subsequently have fallen victim to the rare oddity that is my brain and finally realized that God doesn't even know who i am. Suddenly, this nation was not jumping over tall buildings, it was blocking the sunlight and causing an eclipse.
One nation, under God, invisible. I am invisible in this darkness of the night. But i searched for the moon relentlessly, knowing that it was my only chance of finding my way out of here. And once i found it, i held it in my arms, cradled it like a sleeping baby and careful not to wake it up because once it awakens it must escape to the sky and will no longer be mine. But to no avail, the moon was awake and whispered to me, "Dear child, did you really think you could escape God?"

You told me you were ready, that this was not a huge deal to you. I had been waiting a long time for this to happen and you told me you were ready, so i believed you until i stepped one foot in the door and i could see the fear deep inside your corneas. That fear has been resonating there for the past few days, knowing that you had lied to, not only yourself, but me as well. You were not ready for this but you told me otherwise. So i took you out to dinner and you did not eat your food, you even had the audacity to tell me that i was making you nauseous, that you were holding back *****. So i told you that if you were that scared i would just go home but you insisted that i stayed. We drove back to your house and i laid on your couch and you cuddled up next to me. I knew in my head that you were not ready so i did not try anything. I wrapped my arms around you and we watched the movie together. But at the last second, before i left, you kissed me. And all hell broke loose after that. I felt as if i stole you away from your body, stole you away from the things that you are comfortable with. I felt guilty and angry that I was the one you chose to be your first. You were not ready for this and i could feel your body trembling underneath of me as if in agreement to what i was thinking but i let it happen anyway. And if there was any way that i could reverse what happened and never meet you in the first place, i would do it in a heartbeat. i broke your heart and i was your first. I think i'm more broken about this than you are. But the thing was, you never really kissed me. You did this because you were afraid to lose me. As if giving yourself to me was a form of glue, that if our skin touched together we would become inseparable but that is not how this works. You kissed your fear instead of me.

The naked truth about men is that they are ferocious creatures of the night, constantly preying on the lonely and the weak in hopes that they'll get laid and maybe rip a few hearts out in the process. They believe that if they consistently make the muscles in your face turn towards the sky that they can finally make your undergarments fall to the ground. The can stick their claws into the holes of your vertebrae and rip out the nerves wiring from your neck to your tailbone in one foul swoop. They will sink their teeth into your flesh and only tear at it inch by inch because they know you will become numb to them soon enough if they tear you apart too fast. But if they take their time to shred you to pieces inch by inch, the pain becomes almost as worse as the anticipation.

The naked truth about men is that once they've seen you naked they think they own you; body and soul. They begin to taunt you with things like love and dinners just to see you naked again. However, you must comprehend that once they see you naked, a part of them dies inside because there is nothing left to explore. Everything leading up to your nakedness is just the chase of getting you naked. Once the act is accomplished there is nothing else to chase, nothing else to acquire. The truth is that you will eventually become an old toy to the man that saw you naked. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sight of naked flesh against his own. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sound of tearing clothes. That man doesn't love you, he loves the taste of your soft skin in his mouth.

The naked truth about men is that this doesn't apply to every man, but a grand majority of them. The naked truth about men is that it is hard to figure out which man is a good one and which ones are there to throw you away in 4 months and 6 days. The naked truth about men is that only 1 out of 10 men look good naked. And the naked truth about men is that 10 out of 10 men will like you naked.

i found myself alone in my living room at ungodly hours of the night watching tv shows about politics and listening to poetry at the same time and trying not to say the wrong thing to tip off my friends that i want to **** myself because hey if i tell them then i can't do it and that's my problem. but then i started wonder why they're called ungodly hours. is it because god doesn't save anyone during these times? or did he just never save in the first place?

i found myself when i did not need to find myself in a higher power to find peace. how can you love someone else if you can't love yourself first? i spent an entire year researching and experimenting ways to "enlighten" myself (and i use that word lightly) and i think i finally found the way but when i introduced the idea of Buddhist meditation and chanting mantras of self healing and finding peace to my parents, my father told me i was tearing this family apart and "why can't you be normal?" and "this is not what our family believes in." and "what's wrong with the catholic church?" What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like a lesbian drug addict who needs massive amounts of alcohol to keep from killing herself whenever the priest looks at me, as if he can smell the gay on me like a dog who can sniff out a cancerous disease. What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like i'm stepping inside a political headquarters rather than praying to a god to help me not feel guilty about doing bad things and perhaps hoping he'll send something good my way even though i don't deserve it and i'm probably not going to heaven anyway because the bible told me that if i make love to another woman then i'm going to find a gathering of NHL hockey goalies in front of the pearly gates to keep me out. but my question is why people are so concerned with the sexuality of people that they aren't sleeping with, this was not the technical form of *** so i wasn't breaking two rules in one stone but i just "chose" the wrong sin. but hey, the devil said he's down to hang out with me as long as i don't mind the heat.

i found myself in the bed of a girl who always smelled like coconuts and had no respect except for herself and for me. she made me feel like i was at home even though i was miles away and didn't speak the language that well. i wanted to carve poems into the bones of her spine, she would never be able to see them but she would have the knowledge that they existed because her skin did. her existence ultimately created a contradiction for me, do i fall in love with a girl who could never love me back or am i able to stick to what my parents believe in but they'll never be happy with me anyway? i had to pick the lesser evils of the two, and she could never be evil to me. she could grab me by the throat, tell me to beg for mercy and i could reach out to shake death's hand and i would still want to kiss the fingertips the were wrapped around my neck. she could throw me down the flight of stairs and i'd still stare at her all the way down because if i were to die i want her to be the last thing i see. she could rip off my fingers at the knuckles and tie them around the christmas tree like the lights we use every year and i would still find ways to trace her body even more gently than before. she cannot cause harm to me as long as she is still within plane distance. as long as i don't have to give my life to see her again then i will always find myself in her. and even when we are dead and buried in the ground, i will swim to you like a mermaid of the soil just to be next to your bones.

i found myself when i started to get into fist fights with a god who forgot about me. i found myself when i started to call out death's bluffs, and death talked a lot of **** for a guy who couldn't follow through with anything. i found myself in the drugs and alcohol and my sudden stoppage of my use. i found myself in my yearning for death and drugs and alcohol but i found myself in my ability to say no because they only worsen my state of mind. And you only worsen me.

Just wanted to remind you
That you are a soldier
Not a slave

you are my first thought
you are my last thought
you are my only thought
you are my first
you are my last
you are my only
you are
my
my
mine

its 3:25 am
and not only are you
consuming my mind
but my dreams
and soul.
perhaps you werent
meant to leave
after all

do you think if i
reached up to kiss god he would
finally love me back?

i wrote a poem. it wasnt about the leaves falling or growing back. it was about a boy that was too sad to
even look at himself in the mirror. sometimes he believed that if he looked in the mirror for too long he wasnt who he was supposed to be, sometimes if he looked in the mirror too long he became a monster and thats particularly the reason why he avoided the mirror at night because thats when monsters become real and he was tired of thinking of himself as a monster.
i wrote a poem but it wasnt about summertime or the way the sand feels between your toes or the cold rush of ocean water on a hot day. it was about the salty tears that he would cry because demons were haunting his room at night. and not the demons like ghosts but the demons from within. the kind of demons that you cant run away from.
i wrote a poem it wasnt about a bride blushing when the groom snuck a kiss when the priest wasn't looking it was about the funeral we gave you. it was about the hundreds of people who stood in line just to see your face one last time before youre put in the ground. it was about me staring at your chest from afar hoping that it would move that maybe this was one of your famous jokes and maybe your lungs would start working again along with your heart and your organs and your brain and maybe your eyes would open. perhaps itll scare someone whos standing right next to you but who cares bc youre alive. but you didnt. and now now youre in the ground.
i wrote a poem and it wasnt about me it was about finding the demons. i found the demons inside of you when you were put into the ground. i found the demons because as they lowered your casket into the 6 foot hole they dug for you i saw one slip out before they closed it. the demon was dancing on your casket and as they lowered you to the ground, i jumped. i didnt jump up i didnt jump back. i jumped in and i started hitting that demon as hard as i could because now that youre gone the demon had no place else to go. the demon knew he had won but even the best fall down sometimes and i made sure he fell as hard and as far as he could.
i wrote a poem but i couldnt save you from yourself. if i could have shrunken down and fought that demon before you left me i would have. but i couldnt. i had all these words left to say to you but they started in my chest and never made it to my throat and now im sitting here with all the words that couldnt have saved you anyway because the demons were trapped inside of you. the only way for you to be happy again is to cut yourself open & rip them out yourself, so you did. the demons were trapped & stuck inside you, and i know because i have demons stuck inside of me too. but sometimes i get so mad because if im still here then why arent you? if im still here fighting myself trying not to rip out my own demons, then why couldnt you have done the same? i needed you.
i wrote a poem. and it was about my demons being stuck inside of me and theyre crawling and theyre running around and sometimes they run to a dead end and they hit my fingertips and they bounce  back and run straight into my heart. they run through my veins, through my arteries. sometimes they break my ribs in the process but they heal so quickly that the doctors dont believe me and call me crazy but i promise them that theres a demon inside of me and hes breaking my ribs and hes breaking my soul and hes breaking my heart but i can still feel the demons running inside me. and i dont know how or why or when but i just want them to go away i dont know how im going to do that but i said some day i would. and i think thats the reason i cut myself open, to try and find a way to show the demons a way out but they run through my blood stream and i can feel them in my fingertips and i can feel them
in my forearms and i can feel them in my elbows and i can feel them in my shoulders and in my neck and i can feel them going down my throat. and i can feel it in my chest and i can feel it in my liver and i can feel it in my stomach and i can feel it in my pelvis. and i can feel it in my knees and i can feel it in my shins and i can feel it in my ankles and i can feel it all the way down to my toes and suddenly its like an electric current and it flows all the way back up to my head and shock the hair in its roots. it feels like i cant say anything fast enough or correctly.
i wrote a poem & it was about sometimes i believe that why i write & not speak is because i cant say the right words and maybe if i state at a blank piece of paper long enough the right words will come out but i know, i know they wont bc the demons are still stuck inside of me and i think thats why you wrote so beautifully that night and didnt ask for help. the demons knew that they were finally coming out and sometimes when the demons come out its the best time to say things.
i wrote a poem and it was about wanting peace. i just dont have peace but rather i have pieces of myself.
i will never have peace until my demons are gone. but im trying to find a way to get the demons to leave me alone without dying im not sure if i know the right way but im sure as hell trying. but the drugs dont work and the alcohol doesnt work and the cigarettes dont work and the blood doesnt work and the pills dont work. but i have to find a way to stop them before they eat me up inside and they tear me apart. in order to stop them ill have to tear myself apart and thats why i break things and thats why
i throw things because i have to find something to destroy other than myself and sometimes i pull my hair because i cant understand whats happening to me.
i wrote a poem and i started to see red for a bit but i stopped seeing red because the curtains are red and the walls are yellow. the candle on top of the cabinent is red brown and yellow and the book on the couch is  yellow and red the couch is yellow red tan green blue. the table is brown and the floor is brown but the carpet and the drapes are red.
i wrote a poem. maybe i should stop talking about them before they come back its like a taboo its like the  field of dreams and the saying"if you build it they will come" and i promise you that if i built a bridge from my heart to my brain the demons would make their way back & i would be consumed by them and im not sure if i can deal with that so ill cut the bridge in half before they start walking towards my brain.
i wrote a poem. and it was about me snapping that bridge in half and watching the demons fall down my throat and into the acid in my stomach, but that doesnt make any difference because once one does another one is born. so as long as the demons keep walking they will die with my secrets but the new ones will find  a new way to torture me, and maybe thats worse because if they need new ways to torture me then every thing will torture me. perhaps thats what happened to you.
i wrote a poem but im not sure what its about anymore. but i do know that its not good and im tired of speaking.

I told myself that if i were to talk to you first then i was losing the battle, but i was unaware that a battle had begun seeing as though we haven't exchanged more than a few words in weeks and haven't seen each other in months. But the fact of the matter is that i am still hopelessly in love with everything about you and you have no idea. It's around that time in the fall where we went pumpkin picking and you were so happy because your parents were getting along and you kissed my face and picked the smallest pumpkin and cradled it because you thought it reminded you of me. you had me take pictures of you while you posed in weird ways for facebook and then we ran away from everyone in the sunflower maze and suddenly i wasn't lost anymore. We went deeper and deeper into the forest of flowers and you picked one for me, and a butterfly landed on it and i couldn't help but smile because beautiful things happen when you least expect them to.

We all sat in the hayride; your parents, your sister, and you and me. And you looped your finger in the belt loop of my jeans so you could latch on to me in someway and somehow along the way that need for closeness died. In the last few months of our friendship, I slept in another room, in another bed, and i could hardly keep eye contact with you because you were always talking about getting something for some girl hundreds of miles away or you managed to bring up her name over 17,000 times and i just couldn't take it anymore. You loved me once, you needed me once, and all of a sudden it vanished with the newest toy. I don't even know if you're still together. Probably not. You always liked to have a new person around that you could **** and **** over. It demolished me that i turned into one of those people, and it hurt so much to the point where i couldn't breathe. Do you know how hard it is to take away a persons lungs without having to perform surgery?

But i dreamt that i knocked on your door on Halloween and said "trick or treat" and the trick was that you loved me but could never see me again, and the treat was that you killed me.

You are the wind shoving me backwards,
the hands of corpses dragging me down,
the pit of fire i am bein tossed in,
the ocean of water in which i drown.
I am trying to beg you to save me,
but i am not quite sure how.
Perhaps the sad boat that i am sailing
has caused me to become shark chow.
The monsters in my head have consumed me,
and i fear that this might be the end.
Well maybe im not really fearing,
i was just hoping for more time to spend.
But my time has come, the bell has rung,
and i am finally dead.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but i want them to break my head.
The words you say sting like poison,
and your hands bruise but they dont heal.
Although you try your best to hold me,
i cant help but be made of steel.
The home in my chest is a forest
and i go deeper and deeper every day.
I try so hard to get lost in there
because there really is no other way.
No matter what you say i feel sorry,
because perhaps this is all my fault.
I think i just need you to love me,
but what i really need is a brand new heart.
For mine is broken and shattered,
and it is damaged beyond repair.
And maybe if i destroy all my flesh
i'll **** all of the monsters in there.
Now all of the bugs are crawling,
i feel them all on my skin,
i bang on the door on the home in my chest
and i beg to be let back in.
Because i know that the bug are not real,
its just the demons who haunt me at night.
They like to play tricks and make me get sick
because they know im not feeling alright.
Oh God why did you do this?
Please tell what i have done,
im sorry if i have deserved this
but life is no longer fun.
Please tell my family im sorry,
tell my girl ive loved her for years.
Tell her i said thank you for everything,
tell her not to shed any tears.
Im finally done and over with,
this poem is the last thing i'll write.
The monsters in my head have taken over me
and they will all win tonight.
Im sorry for all that ive done,
im sorry for all that i couldnt do.
But i will finally be happy now,
and you all should be too.

The trouble with never sleeping is that you start to develop weird habits and because of my diagnosed anxiety disorder i am constantly paranoid that i will develop ocd and perhaps it will take over my life like mtv true life tells me it will. insomnia is crippling and demeaning because no one understands that i only remember what day it is because i have a ritual every morning at 3:47 am that i cross out yesterdays date and now it officially begins today. the demeaning part begins when someone asks me why im so tired and i have to explain to them that i dont remember what it feels like to sleep for more than 3 hours or i just say its been a long day because who has the time to listen me talk about my sleeping habits or lack there of. in fact, i dont even have the time to listen to myself talk about it even though i’ve had almost 76 hours straight to hear myself talk. i didnt always have insomnia, i think it welcomed itself when you left because i always used to sleep with you, in both meanings of the phrase. i was afraid of the dark so you bought me glow in the dark stars and stuck them onto your ceiling and wrote little love messages on them so when i couldnt sleep at night, i could watch the stars you made for me.

Not laying in your bed anymore caused a **** load of thoughts to come racing back to my head. i thought about the crickets who always stopped chirping at 2:38 am, i thought about how i could hear her mother's coffee maker gurgle from the kitchen even though i was 200 feet away and you always liked to snore in my ear. i thought about the way you painted your room a different color because you thought it made you more grown up. i thought about zipping the back of your dress up before a party almost 10 months ago. i thought about you leaving me to go overseas one day. i thought about the seas. i thought about a boat fighting its way through the ocean and wondering why it wasn't moving anywhere because the captain forgot to pull up the anchor. i thought about not being able to breathe because you're gone. although you're probably home asleep in your bed. you're not over seas. you're not under the seas.

Sometimes you don't need water to drown.

there was a time when i thought that maybe i could start to be alive. i stayed away from drugs and alcohol and i trained for hours every day and learned what not to eat and practiced a religion i had no idea about. but i felt something was missing and i had no idea why i felt so empty. i saw the people i love start to turn sad and gray and most days they couldn't lift their head out of bed. i soon began to realize that i had stolen all of their happiness, all of their hope and all of their motivation to live. it was like once i started to feel happy i drained all others of theirs. of course the only moral thing to do was to give back their happiness but i did not want to.

i am selfish and i am selfless and i am without self.

i felt it was mine, not theirs. i worked so hard to be happy for the first time in my life. i was independent, i was hopeful and positive, i was everything i had wished i could be. but i understood that this happiness was not mine and so i drained myself with cigarettes and bottles on top of bottles of old liquor and a different drug every day. i began to dream feverishly of fresh grass and old tasting food and sickness. i began to dream of my death. death was an old friend and he did not mind reuniting. i had dabbled with death for a long time, always testing him and some times begging him to take me with him when he left. he always knew the right times to kiss me but he never followed through.

death talked a lot of **** for a guy who didn't know how to take a hint.

i prayed to a god who didn't listen to me. i constantly got into fist fights with a god who forgot about me

I stood there staring
at the distance between you and i
There are worlds, universes even, or perhaps
three measly steps.
Your hand twitched
and I thought for a moment you wanted to hold my hand
but i realized how stupid that sounded
and i kept that idea locked in the vault in my brain.

Your eyes refused to look at me as if i
was a foul beast whose appearance was so repulsing
that if you looked at me even the slightest bit
your eyes would shrivel up
and your heart might collapse.

But as i stood there measuring the distance
between us
i realized i had begun to miss you.
And that's really something,
to miss a person who is standing right in front of you.

You are the wrinkled sheet I have no intention of smoothing out
the empty bottles on my night desk
the clothes fallen and never picked up.
You have become a bother
but something i cannot bear to part with
in fear i will need you once you're gone.
If i smooth out the wrinkles
I'll miss the marks they left on my body
but i'll miss your body more.
You are the scars that will never go away.

When I finally spoke, I said
"I believe there are Gods
but there are no Gods watching over me tonight.
If you put more worlds between us
I won't be able to find my way home."
With that he put one more world in between us
then three more universes followed
and then six more steps.
I saw his back turn then.
I saw his eyes go ark when he turned.

All I could think of was
"If a body catch a body comin' through the rye"
and Holden Caufield's voice thundered through my brain.
He said "We should go after him
but you have to be in the mood for that sort of thing."

And I said all i could think of to you
and for a boy who was never good with words
you sure knew the right ones to leave me with.

I kissed your cold face for the last time
and i started to wonder
if i would die too
like it was a plague i could catch
but you died from drugs
too many of them to be exact.
My grandfather whispered to his wife
"he is just a cold shell of the man he used to be"
isn't that a ****** way
to talk about your son?

I gave a speech after all his friends
they talked about getting high
and getting drunk
and getting into trouble
but tha'ts why they loved him
and i couldn't judge them for that
because love is love.
But i talked about feeling like a princess when he walked in the room
the stubborn ******* rarely did though
drugs were his family
not us.
But towards the end of my speech
many people were crying
and one man in particular held onto a woman and stared at me
and i stared back and said
"Inch for inch, they say, your bones can hold up to 19,000 pounds,
and luckily for us, this only weighs
18,999"

A piano I was born to be. But not just black and white because my fingernails are blue except for three of them. I feel safer in fresh white sheets and 8 foot deep water than I do by your side. You are a dangerous convict who has never committed a felony but you are also the vulnerable grandmother who has a mean right hook.

One time I sat and watched a tree fall and **** the ground almost, shot it right in the center and left a crater for critters to crawl. Adult hood should be a lot more scarier than my childhood. But it isn't. Fear of the Inevitable is irrational because God is inevitable and so is Buddha and Jesus and any other deities. Speaking of diets, my mother went on one and lost a lot of money (weight, too) because I could have told her for free but parents are a weird thing because they always say they're looking out for you but instead all they do is look down (or up depending on how tall you are). I'm 5'3" but I like to think I'm 5'2" but I act like I'm 6'4" but I feel like I'm 4'3".

And every day is a struggle when you aren't the same height as you feel.

The gas in my car goes quick and so does my temper and my friends. When waterfalls crash another boat is built to break. Whoever created the car also created the car crash and that deserves a round of applause because it is beautiful and destructive and just the way i like it. I'm a ******* so when people tell me to cheer up I take it to offense, but a fence gouged my stomach once and I told all my friends it was my appendix which is an appendage you don't need like your heart when it turns cold because no one can thaw ice without melting it to a puddle.