1) I am not quite heart broken, but I am something adjacent. 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 that 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. If there was any way that i could go back and reverse what happened and never meet you in the first place, i would do it in a heartbeat. Because i broke your heart and i was your first.

2. I can still feel your eyes on me when we were driving to the funeral and the way it made me shift my weight in my seat. I wanted to explain that sometimes your love made me uncomfortable but I looked at you and all I saw was him. I choked on the letters rising out of my throat and you told me to pull over so you could drive. You said "you look like you've seen a ghost or something"

3. When you left, you changed your phone number. Now someone else has your ten digits. Digits as in numbers or fingers? Either way, no one else will ever be good enough to hold your hand.

4. Scar tissue can become your literal walls you put around yourself if you try hard enough. Those pink raised lines call for more fabric, less body movement, trying to remain a statue so people can't figure out what you're hiding. But your ceramic frame is far too willing to show your cracks.

5. I drink every night so I can forget you. After you die, your bones take up to 50 years to disintegrate. So for half a century after I stop feeling you on my skin, my bones will still contain you.

6. You twist and crack your back to replicate what it would feel like to snap it, and it scares you to know that it only always feels like relief rather than pain.

7. I am the empty seat in the front of the classroom, everyone notices when I'm vacant but nobody wants to fill me up.

8. When you started taking out the screws that held me together, i grasped onto my structure for dear life as my walls and windows swayed. I turned into the Leaning Tower of Pisa as my frame settled lopsided, too eager to fall with one more blow. I became a tourist attraction with people who come to find out why i don't stand up straight anymore, why i tilt my paper to the side so i can write in a straight line, why i never seem to see things the right way. People take pictures of them feigning to be the reason why I'm so crooked with their arms extended as if they were the ones who pushed me. But they will never know why i look the way i do until they see your hands, dirtied with the rust of bolts.

9. I may be in pieces but please do not take me in moderation.

10. I am the kind of tired that sleep can't fix. My sadness is so heavy that it's hard to keep my eyelids open. I think that even if i slept forever I could still never be satisfied. I am never whole.

Today it rained inside of me

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

You are not 21, college did not grant you 3 more years of life. Please be careful, this is my body too.
2. If you have come across beautiful minds to explore, don't be so quick to build a home yet. Start with a tent. And if they help you pitch it, things will be less likely to unravel.
3. On the first day, pack up your tent just in case. Because you are never the only being in a forest.
4. Don't bring a map, build one. Ask to explore the mountains and valleys and hills of them. Tell them it's for your geography project.
5. Don't really have a geography project.
6. When you come across a river, there will be no bridge. Others who have traveled here have probably turned back. Shock them, and swim.
7. People may try to stop you, but remember they may be the ones who don't know how to continue. Not everyone you meet is a blessing.
8. Not everyone you lose is a loss.
9. Listen to your mom, she's been through this before. Even though you are characteristically different, college is always the same.
10. If you find yourself missing someone who doesn't miss you, remind yourself that that is not love, that's co-dependence.
11. The difference between love and co-dependence is that one of them will burn you.
12. Love will never start the fire.
13. You don't need to be an architect to build your walls around you. Some people will tell you that you need blue prints but my father never once looked at directions and he created your home.
14. Don't bring the problems of your home with you. Nobody wants to see those shackles. Find the key, unlatch yourself, and run.
15. I know you are tired, but this is the way.
16. Keep your room clean. The clothes on your floor hold on to stress. If you keep everything in order, life will stay intact.
17. Know when to speak. Sometimes words are not as necessary as actions.
18. Step in love with yourself because if you fall, that means you have to find strength to get back up. Always keep yourself upright.
19. You are a universe in yourself, a crowded nebula of light. It's okay to get lost in yourself, because you will be immersed in the stars.

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

i. Metal cannot protect you. Car frames can distort just as much as bodies when heavier things get placed on them. Maybe the pole splitting your car in two is some kind of metaphor for the way you keep driving into your thoughts head on and they never seem to budge, only you do. You will twist and break open just to accommodate the sturdy burden of yourself.
ii. Locked doors sometimes keep out the ones who are trying to help you. I know they always tell you that it’s safer to be selective of who you let in, but when you can’t reach the door handle, not everyone will have a crowbar to pry your locked doors open. Sometimes, they have to wait for someone stronger, someone better equipped to deal with what you have to offer. Sometimes, they just keep driving.
iii. Seat belts are necessary. Some days, people stop without warning, break lights broken to test your reaction time. Only, I don’t think anyone has ever had that fast of feet. Maybe you should start taking walks.
iv. Checking 6 times for cars before you drive through an intersection can become a ritual. You would prefer the sound of impatient car horns behind you than be made a memory, made black tire tracks and pieces of glass right before the point of safety, made the definition of almost – the type of grave that you can’t keep visiting at after a while. Is that why you stopped coming over? Did my tombstone body pull the click of your trigger and turn you into lowered eyes and choked laughs?
v. Even if it’s not your fault, the other person will not hesitate to put the blame on you to save themselves the trouble. The cost of both your repairs is detrimental to their wallet, and they would rather watch you scramble to pick up all the pieces of their own apologies to make it seem like you’re forming your own. But don’t not be tempted to put them back together if you don’t have the money for it and they are undeserving. Never suffer more than you have to.

I love you
but you are not medicine.

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 drank from you like wine
Engorging myself with the sins of another
But the thing about alcohol is the more you drink the thirstier you feel
I became so dehydrated i was bedridden with sadness
I wished this melancholy would come in waves
So i could find the water my body needed
But i only felt satisfied empty
Which was okay because you took more of me than i anticipated
So I'm left feeling antiquated
And i think i make a better ghost than human being
But today i woke up and decided that your face and name would no longer make me sad
But i never said it'd make me feel whole either

i. Am i everything you thought i'd be? I know i'm not much but i just really hope you liked me.
ii. I'm sorry i didn't answer you after you purposefully ignored my texts for 3 days after i tried to **** myself.
iii. How do you feel on the *******? Are you okay? Do you need me to do anything for you?
iv. Just please call me to warn me before you actually shoot him
v. I know. Park a half mile away. He'll never hear you coming.
vi. I wish you didn't miss either. Did he know it was you? Good.
vii. I think i might love you
viii. I'm sorry, i shouldn't have said that. Did i mess this up?
ix. I dreamt about you
ix. I write all my poetry about you
ix. Did you leave me again? I stopped wanting to hurt myself. I promise. Please come back. I'm better now. For you.
x. I feel empty on these meds. Please come lay with me. I need to feel something again.
xi. I'm so drunk that all i can think about is you. Everything is you.
xii. I miss you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.
xiii. I know it's 4 am. And you probably won't answer. But i just wanted you to know that i really care about you. I would've given you the whole world if you asked. I would've let you put that bullet in me. At least i know now that you wouldn't have missed

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.

Baby ever since you left,
i couldn’t be
happier.
i’ve felt compelled
to shout to strangers
how easily i fell out of love with you.
Baby i’ve been fine.
and i mean the
shower-singing,
curtain-opening,
chinese-food-because-it’s-*******-delicious
-not-because-i’m-dep­ressed fine.
Speaking of which,
ever since you left baby,
i started eating again.
Not because i’m trying to
fill up this space but because
you stopped demanding so much of it.
I wanted to be skin
and bones for you,
expose every inch of my
flesh-tight ribcage, laying out
the pieces of me like showing you
all of my cards.
But you taught me the meaning
of a good bluff. Always pokerface,
always blank stare and
hoping i translate that as “i love you”
instead of “i’ve got more cards than you think.”
Baby you left me elbow deep in my
red dye 40 spill of a dorm room shower,
grabbing a mop
instead of stitches.
You’ve never been one to get
blood on your own hands. Baby,
baby ever since you left
i’ve had wind chimes in my bed springs,
i’ve never heard music
begging me to get out of bed before.
Brass wind instruments
making symphony of my footsteps,
creating keyboard music sheets
with each imprint.
Baby, i feel good.
Feel like that first paycheck
after a month of drought,
drinking in all of my wealth.
Ever since you left
i’ve been rich, the
juicy bite of a fresh picked apple,
the sweet lick of warm brownie
that needs milk to keep the taste from
owning you.
The whiskey glasses that kiss
the red back into my cheeks,
now that you’re gone baby
that
no longer owns me.
I can doll myself up rosacea
without having to put
a decimal point at the bottom
of my cup. Getting sober
has never felt like holding my own hand.
But baby ever since you left,
getting sober feels like my own hand,
letting go of
lipstick stained bourbon glasses
and picking up the
fingertips to the rest of my life.
it feels like nail polish
dipped in tomorrow
i have no other choice than
to keep painting myself into the picture.
and i am not sorry,
baby,
but with each brush stroke of my future,
i keep blurring you out,
making you unrecognizable.
baby, the next time you see me
i will be singing good mornings
from the soles of my shoes,
standing spinal cord straight
with a full stomach
of proud. and i will eat,
and you will wonder
how such a masterpiece
could fit onto my finger beds.
and i will wear my sobriety
like a promise ring
instead of handcuffs.
baby ever since you left
i couldn’t be happier,
even the strangers know
i will be fine.

It's been a while since you've written,
and it's been 3 weeks since my blankets have stopped smelling like you.
I couldn't help but notice the way my body drowns in these sheets
because you were my life vest but you were not there when i jumped in.
I looked back at the dock before my head went under
and i saw you just sitting there, watching me struggle.
I tore you apart in my head
every single strand of thread and love was separated
until every bit of silence that was woven in has been exposed.
But these strands don't hold any value when you're drowning,
what I have done is destroyed the only thing that could give me buoyancy.
Now I am left with extra weight on these shackles i bear
and water filling up my lungs like a measuring cup
to a recipe from Hell's kitchen.
In your last letter you asked "Are we okay?"
but you don't just tell someone you love them then let them drown.

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 did not turn rapture
when hell made its home in my womb.
Hades swooned over the wreckage
placing a bow on top for good measure.
Legend says I was more myth, than anything,
searching for definition after
too familiar body made drunk bed
of my flesh, pinning down
my Velcro limbs. The only choice I had
was to rip them off. Or you would
play god, play surgeon, blade in hand,
ready to make a mess of my flesh
curl me ribbon, hands to fold me over;
turning pages of my fable
writing your own chapter of monsters.

You said all folklores have truth,
that werewolves are disguised as broken bodies.
Well five full moons have passed
and I still howl when I see you.
My muscles remember dehydration
when they cringe at the memory
of your frame perched on top of mine
wielding weaponry like promises,
like you’ve been training to build
cemeteries inside of people,
calculating the angles of hips,
leaving shrapnel you can’t dig out.
I thought if I made myself small,
the knife wouldn’t find my skin
and you wouldn’t find me either.
But I learned that begging purge of my innards
does not extract the emptiness,
but further entices it. So I drip sweat,
clenching my gut in order to make
a lean body rather than to brace myself
when I see male hands. Flexing muscle
metal armor to conceal my wish
to be Medusa; I am half way there,
she was ***** too, only I wasn't in a temple.

I’ve been told to find god,
but do you think if I crane my face up
eager child toward Him, He will treat me
like you, like you did.
I pray my God
is a fearless woman, a fierce Atalanta
daughter of Iasus, who begged for son
out his wife’s hips. Daughter of proud ***,
proud ***** and fertile garden,
left to die on a mountaintop
claiming fragile She. Throwing dirt down
the mouth of God, Atalanta learned to hunt
and fight like a bear
like a woman, surviving the death wish of male.

This nightmare of She
my death wish from male. Remembering
the pin ***** of sharp knife against my throat,
I had no other choice than to become my own edge.
I made my body sharp, turned every bone
into a quick “no” and instinctual incision.
I want to be cutthroat woman, standing tall
and vicious, never allowing my memory
to become deja vu again and again. I am not
a story with sequels. I am the legend.

Bill Wilson sat down for his 10th
and 11th drinks tonight,
drowning out World War I
with shots of top shelf
bullets.
Pulling the trigger on his own body,
satiating the burning in his gut.
He almost forgot what a
sober night
tasted like.
This kind of alcoholism takes
patience, practice makes perfect.
Months of one drink as too many,
and one hundred as not enough.
Written off as a man destined to die,
Bill downed bottle after bottle,
leaving the shelves heaving for
company, wonder how he drank himself
solitude, empty?
Or was he full gut war,
bodies stacked to his brim,
leaking post-traumatic stress into
everything he touched.
Each ****** drink a reminder
of too many sober deaths he caused,
each granite countertop
the cold touch of tombstone, the silent
wish for his own, not sure when he started dying
but determined to make this pub
his own battle field. Metal of honor turned
Jack Daniel’s bottle top, wearing it noose
hoping it won’t slip off, needing to
cap his own demons.
This kind of alcoholism takes
steps, 12 to be exact.
Bill created AA for people just like him,
Each meeting pouring out
unquenchable thirst, trigger warning written
inside the door next to the exit sign.
Trigger warning: real life
Trigger warning: you’ll wish fire hydrants were taps.
Trigger warning: communion wine looks devils blood,
looks so good.
Trigger warning: the small girl who wrote this
is shaking from withdrawal right now.
The creases of her palms ache in absence,
in remembering what sobriety tastes like.
5 days sober and her mouth waters
at liquid death, her own southern comfort.
She is daydreaming of the three years
she spent intoxicated, sitting down for her
10th and 11th drinks of the night.
Her expertise in lower-spine life
has recovery seem dishonorable discharge
with no health benefits.
Seem loaded gun, cocked in mouth,
brain matter saying brain doesn’t matter,
saying swim in the trenches of this
World War between Russian *****
and German schnapps. Would take this
over the war in her own head.
This kind of alcoholism takes
patience, takes steps,
practice makes perfect.
Bill Wilson made AA for the nights
I would drive by the meetings on purpose,
trying to trick myself into entering.
Bill Wilson taught me that the need
for liquor is laying dormant in my bones,
a monster who i know is only sleeping,
waiting to make me eternal dirt nap.
And i am just
so god ****** exhausted.

Chinaski licked his tongue over the opening of the whiskey bottle, knowing that it wouldn't stop me but he knew it would delay the use for someone else. He kept repeating his poem "she is dark. she is dark. she is reading about god. i am god." and the whiskey label suddenly turned into a lullaby, the only thing able to keep me under water and i heard it with blurry vision. she is dark. i am dark. i am reading about god. he is god. he is blood alcohol content whispering numbers too high for decimals, hoping i'd be my whole self tonight. waking up fractions of a second too close to consistent unconscious, wondering if i could even make it home with muscles meant for the sea floor. I have no legs when i am around him, and He as in Liquor, as in The Only Thing Keeping Me Up Right, The Only Thing Keeping Me Above Ground. I am sinking, slipping under waves crashing over my lungs like the wrong pipe. But he promises he's got the right one, Chinaski blowing O's over my bed frame. He is dark. I am dark. We are reading about God. He is God. Asking where is God? We are sullen prayer folding over the pew, removing shoes to show how raw we are, or are we removing soul? I've got no time to play in the second coming, Chinaski drowning himself in women promising their second coming, I've never admired him. Or Him, making hymn out of moans, telling everyone i am dark. i am dark. i should be reading about god, he is god. I never knew god. I don't know how to read a book considered fiction, running my tongue up the necks of the sacrilegious whimpering out Christ's name like he will know how to sacrifice the hands that tame the unholy. I pray he will learn to split time or bible, explaining truth from love. Chinaski never loved more than once, and that was with the glass in his hand and full gut of scotch. I am dark. I am Chinaski. I am reading about God. He is God.

I know you're tired
But come, Love, this is the way.
You've endured too much.

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

Your feigned approval of me for the last few years has always been the root of my destruction. When you started taking out the screws that held me together, i held onto my structure for dear life as my walls and windows swayed. I turned into the Leaning Tower of Pisa as my frame settled lopsided, too eager to fall with one more blow. I became a tourist attraction with people who come to find out why i don't stand up straight anymore, why i tilt my paper to the side so i can write in a straight line, why i never seem to see things the right way. People take pictures of them feigning to be the reason as to why I'm so crooked with their arms extended as if they were the ones who pushed me. But Dad, they will never know why i look the way i do until they see your hands, dirtied with the rust of bolts and gun powder from placing these last bombs around me. I thought construction was over but i see it was just on remission, just a residual case of building. Of course you must return to finish the job. Welcome, dad, i know you've got the blue print on just how exactly to destroy me. You've set one bomb off tonight, how long until you release the others?

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.

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.

After you die, your bones take up to 50 years to disintegrate.
So for half a century after I stop feeling you on my skin,
my bones will still contain you.

Last week, I spoke to my ex-boyfriend
for the first time since he betrayed my body
and it turns out he’s doing well;
a new job
a new tattoo
new apologies for contacting me
after turning my body hollow grave
and empty echo.
He left me gasping for more than air,
flat tire with rocks lodging in my throat
and two days after i couldn’t wait
so i started drinking at work.
My mouth started tasting like Communion,
fake holy and in need of wine,
anything to help swallow these cardboard words.
I drank from you like my favorite sin.
I thought i would drive home drunk,
so I told all my friends i loved them,
didn’t want them guessing
if i didn’t make it home.
I kept wondering why God didn’t give me
a trigger warning,
at least my phone did.
Before I got his text,
my phone flashed an alert
“20% left, will die soon” like
“let your phone shut off, you’ll want to die soon”
but i plugged it in anyway,
which is to say i’ve always found comfort
in discord, i’ve always known how to be ****,
never stitches.
With my flesh torn open,
i wanted to lick the wound clean.
Pretend dog in a field of mice;
everyone tends to be more afraid
if they know who you hunt.
But with my matted coat and bared teeth,
the mice couldn’t see my tail
trembling earthquake between my legs,
couldn’t sense aftershock in my claws.
I’ve never preyed on anyone,
but i’ve been prayed for.
The doctors have seen me carted in
with drool dripping sloppy apology,
creating a mess for this body
committing treason against itself.
But how do you gain back your own trust?
How do you explain to your thighs
that you’re letting their thief back in for seconds
without them refusing to work anymore?
Today I turned fist,
turned clenched jaw,
turned dehydrated muscles,
my body writing with the pain of memory
the knowledge of being told i was too enticing
to listen to the word “no.”
But today when he told me he was sorry,
that he loved me this whole time,
i opened my heart abandoned safe,
wiped the dust off my trigger
and habitually pulled it when he whispered “baby”
in the crook of my neck
like melting wax dripping off a candle,
like the sound of dirt slowly filling my grave
but i don’t know how long i’ve been down there.
It must have been after he made me
grasp his shovel without gloves
and dig myself cemetery.
For days after, i was terrified he left splinters,
i couldn’t stop checking my hands
although i never found an exit wound,
i can guarantee there was forced entry.
So why am i opening up my door again?
Leaving the key under mat
with no protection,
just open arms and beach waves,
saying the word “no” periodically
just in case he forgets,
saying “stop” when i want to,
so i know what control feels like,
placing kisses on his neck
like a dog collar
so i can pull back when he comes in too close.
I will choke him if he gets out of line,
i will shock him if he speaks over my refusal,
I will be the owner of this relationship.
I will never have to lick my wounds clean
from his aftershock claws again.
I know this will probably be a mistake
but I’ve got to find out for myself
if i am strong enough to keep myself together this time.
I will keep myself together this time.

I want to put you back together again
Piece by piece.
I want the struggle of not knowing where things go
And i want the victory of finally making you whole.
But you are more than just a game
You are the shattered fragments of a glass vase
That i vowed to return back to its original state before mother gets home.
You are the superglue sticking to my fingers making this messier than it should be.
You are that small shard of glass i stepped on after i thought i picked up everything.
You are my constant reminder to breathe.
You are my constant reminder of battle.
You we my constant reminder of time.

Have you ever started hanging out with someone new only to begin wondering why you want to bathe in their shampoo and make poetry out of the way their eyebrows look?!
WELL NOT TO WORRY!
I have a few simple steps you can follow to destroy those feelings.

Step 1: Imagine your grandma's lips every time you feel compelled to kiss them! THIS is a surefire way to never want to look at them again. The embarrassment will hit you like a train. Unless you do like to kiss your grandma. In which case: (shrugs)

Step 2: Keep at least 3 feet of distance between you at all times. You will soon become obsessed with the inches between you instead of the warmth of their body on yours. If you get cold, buy a blanket.

Step 3: Leave yourself voicemails until your inbox gets full. That way, when you ignore their calls, you don't have to say "no" to their voice, only to their name on a screen. That's if you even want to respond them at all, because we all know the best way to get out of doing anything is to completely ignore the problem!

Step 4: When your friends start to ask where this person's been, tell them you don't know; even though you've been keeping tabs on their tweets to make sure they're still okay without you. Make up lies to tell your friends. Tell them they left you, so your friends will feel compelled to tell you how they were never good enough for you in the first place and that this will get easier with time. The truth is, that you don't want to talk about them again because their name adds to the clockwork ache of your stomach like you've been skipping meals since their absence.

Step 5: Stop making room for someone who's not coming, stop saving seats for imaginary bodies.

Step 6: Get rid of anything that reminds you of them; your favorite tshirt, the art piece they bought for you hanging above your head board. Matter of fact, get rid of the headboard too. Make your room even emptier without them. Don't let yourself remind you of them either because you'll have to get rid of that too. So start running, change the shape of your body so no one will fit next to you like they did. But just in case, maybe you should just keep running. Don't slow down for anyone.

Step 7: Give yourself a new name. It will get easier to hear from someone else in case they say your old name the way the person you're running from used to. Tell yourself that this is okay because you've been starting to feel like a stranger to yourself anyway.

Step 8: when the house in your chest starts burning down, leave your old self inside it, leave the memory of them inside it. You always talked about how romantic it would be to die together anyway. Wear your smoke drenched lungs like a medal of honor, let it hang from your neck like a noose that snapped from the weight even though you promise you stopped eating your meals without them.

Step 9: hold your own body close at night. Keep the pieces of youself pressed together tightly with your own palms. Don't let their broken ceramic promises crucify your hands, don't make a deity out of them if they're not the ones dying for your sins.

Step 10: Everything is in place. Stand in front of your mirror and try calling yourself by your old name. Recognize the foreign language leaking from your tongue, understand that you have turned yourself into an empty tomb, a massacre disguised as a new body. You never knew pain until this moment, placing your hand on the reflection in front of you knowing you can't even get through to yourself. Ask yourself, was this worth it?

Sixteen
and taking my first sip of alcohol
and ******* DOES THIS TASTE.....
like absolute ****,
how the **** do you guys even drink this stuff?
Shots?
like from the doctors? Yeah I got all mine.
Oh you mean like, (makes shot-taking motion)
.....yep I'll have a few more drinks.
You said I'd feel better in 15 minutes
but it's been an hour and a half
and I guess I'm still waiting.
But I really hate sitting on this couch by myself
because I think I could actually be stuck here forever.

Eighteen
and it's the summer before my first year of college.
I'm sitting on my friend's back porch
killing a bottle of whiskey by myself
because I'm still waiting for those 15 minutes to go by
so I can feel better.
I now need more than one bottle
and my BAC has been at a consistent .15 for last three weeks
don't ask me how I got here.
Better yet,
don't ask me how I drove here.
I convinced myself that drowning my liver
was a lot better than drowning myself
but now I can't tell the difference
because I always feel like choking.
The same way the face made by my ex girlfriend did
when I said I had *** for the first time since her.
It was the same face I made
the first time I took a sip of whiskey without a mixer,
her face twisted together sour lemon
and I can only imagine the burning feeling she got in her throat.
But now I can drink whiskey just fine
and I'm sure she doesn't remember what I taste like either.

Three months into my first semester
I'm still waiting for those fifteen minutes
even though the clock says I've been awake for 34 hours straight.
At this point,
if I don't drink
my skin crawls with the bugs underneath of it
and I've started to wonder if I'll have to **** myself to make this stop.

Two days ago,
i found out how content i would be
if i died,
if my blood poured out broken faucet
and i turned soft clay
in a cocoon of metal,
glass littering the street
so God could see the reflection,
see where to pick me up at.
I imagine it like a taxi,
there's a price to pay
to get all the way to the gates,
it just depends on how much
you're willing to sacrifice.
I never knew salvation required negotiation.
But I guess it was the same way
I bargained my life with
emptying the canister of xanax
and lexapro;
counting them,
wondering how many it would take
to make people miss me.
I already missed me.
I haven't known what i feel like sober
in three years
even though i've stopped drinking.
I told myself i would rather be dead
than medicated,
but here i am,
three years intoxicated,
making love to whiskey bottles
with only the tips of my fingers.
They told me love is now
a fatal thing to put my tongue on,
but i think my lips would die for that.
My mouth waters at the thought.
Love used to be a half-drank box of wine,
the other 2.5 liters already crossed
the threshold of my stomach.
I know you said, "drink this
and you'll feel better in 15 minutes."
But I can't remember
how long it's been
since i've started feeling like this
and i'm not sure
if one more drink
or one more pill
will make this stop.
i'm not sure
if any of this was worth it.

I am working on filling the hollow ache of myself,
extracting the lonely with hands that do not belong to me.
You are my constant reminder of time,
my clockwork heartbeat ticking
with your helpful reassurance
that it is okay to have loose seams.
You pull me tight like boot strings,
placing my sole // soul by your bedside
and never at your back door.
I want to be where you place your feet in the morning,
carry you through your day,
never letting dirt get to your skin.
And if I someday fail to keep you safe from filth,
i will unclench my hands and wash you holy,
baptize you clean from my sins,
let me make a mess of only myself
and pray for your renewal.
Your sun kissed smile begs search of my happy,
reminds me to breathe,
tells me there is life in this oxygen.
You are water,
able to hold up my sinking ship
but still can slip through my fingers if I am not careful.
Your tide controlled by the moon,
is it a thrilled howl or a scream when you see it // me?
Either way my presence beckons quake from your throat
and I can only hope
that it will stay as sweet as the first time i met you.
The small tremble of vocal chords
as existence being born of your tongue;
you make words an easy thing,
can only threaten stutter
dare it to try and damage your speech.
You are smooth like tumbled sea glass,
turning thing handled by hands
into a pendant to wear around my neck;
wanting the world to see you,
never will I want to hide you in my back pocket.
They will ask where I found you,
such a beautiful treasure of body,
and I will tell them
that I did not have to go to the shore to find you,
that the shore found me,
and I was just lucky enough to witness the tide
unravel you into my hands
but it turns out
that I was the one enveloped
by you.

God doesn't hear you unless you say things out loud.
So if you talk about how great the weather's been lately
and the next day it rains,
it's not called a jinx
its a joke.
Our God is known to punish
more than forgive
so it's no coincidence
that after I told you I loved you
that you left.

I never knew that God could be so ruthless
until I watched the days pile up without you here.
You are the clothes carelessly thrown on my floor,
the empty bottles on my night desk,
my wrinkled sheets that are never smoothed out.
You are a burden
but something i cannot bare to part with
in fear that i'll need you once you're gone.

If i iron my sheets
i'll miss the indents they made on my body
but i'll miss your body more.
Your absence has created a void
that can never be filled,
an empty crate that's too small for books
but too big for my words,
a hollow sorry with enough tears to fill up a baby pool
but not enough to drown me in.

It's been 42 days since we've last spoken
and I can still hear your sigh in the back of my head.
But God only hears you when you speak
so when I whispered Hello,
He arranged for a Goodbye.
I've never been good at them,
I always stutter when the words start leaving my throat
like the letters are ripping their way out of my chest.
No wonder why it keeps throbbing
because it seems that I have a gaping hole inside of me.

I've tried to right myself with the wrong people,
the wrong ***,
the wrong drinks,
and usually i'm left feeling emptier than i started
which is hard to do
seeing as though i'm always vacant.
I've started to become concave,
allowing more room for others
and I can't help but continue to apologize for the space I occupy.
Someone once told me
that i make a better door than window
and I wonder if it's because when you look at me
you can see it's always raining on the other side.

God can only hear you if you speak
so that's why I breathe my words
in fear that if i say them too loudly
He might make them shatter.
The broken shards of syllables
and chipped letters of your name
falling gracefully around me;
raining down like a slow motion hurricane.
I thought about grabbing on to your vowels
but you vowed to never make me bleed
so i stuffed my hands back in my pockets
only find your broken ceramic promises
digging deep into my palms.
I felt crucified and wondered
if one day Jesus would tell everyone
that I died for their sins.

Give me your poor,
your weak,
your sick
and your ******
and i will find a way to make them live forever.
Scream their names into the sky,
fracture the clouds with their stories.
Make the lightning bolts crumble
before ever leaving their homes
to give God an accurate representation
of what it feels like to want to die every morning.
Because I have crumbled long before the lightning,
long before the fractures in the clouds,
long before the names being thrown into the sky.
I have known the days
before silence became almost as excruciating as the screams
because God only hears you when you speak.

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

Last night I was
experimenting empty body with twin bottle.
Spewing colors out of mouth,
like it's a ******* celebration.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every friend I've had to put in the ground.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every time I've wished I was one of them.
I was mumbling existence
until I became unconscious scientist,
collecting data,
hoping if i continue to announce births
that we'll all be born back to flesh
that feels like home, that sings
like porch light wind chimes
that stops the announcements of deaths.
Or at least, strings together
those who want to cut their ties.
Happy birthday.
Research shows my edges
were strung a little too tight,
holding needle in hand,
i plucked away the stitching
until I was all unraveled, stay spilling over
at the seam. Everything seems low.
6 feet under, making poppy flowers
out of freshly turned graves. Happy birthday.
My vice is bath tub overflowing with drunk bodies,
leaking love into the crevices of laughter.
Testing out the theory that arms
can be used as medicine.
Turning experimental phases
into investigations. You know,
people can be placebos too.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.

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

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.

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.

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?"

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.

Never have I wanted to use your body like a piano until now,
play it vigorously until it breaks.
I don't know many chords
but the effort could be beautiful.
I could become devoted to your keys,
your sounds,
the difference between your sharps and flats.
I've learned to take pride in simplicity,
like three notes coming together to sing your moan.
Was it the right keys or an accident?
I've heard symphonies made out of you,
but i am still unaware of how to make you play for me.
My hands aren't big enough to play you properly,
there is always one key missing.
No matter how carefully i play,
I find it difficult to produce the same melody twice.
You were never meant to be replayed.
Instead, you are captured in one vast fleeting moment
praying to be heard by the ears of the restless
in hopes of making them complete once more.
But how can you yearn for the wholeness of others
if you will not fill me up first.
I long to fill this room with your music,
I want to hear you just one last time.

I have let human beings become my ruin.

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

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 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"

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.

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 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.

Last week I got a call from
one of my friends. He sounded
scared, like he just got caught
5 yr old with hands in cookie jar.
He said, “I gotta tell you something,
gotta get rid of some weight off
this heavy burdened chest. Will
you listen?” So of course I told
him to hand me his hurt.
But when he told me that his
cookie jar
was a sorority girl with too much
liquor and not enough consent,
that his hands took dessert before
dinner, I had to tell him
to take his hurt back.
I couldn’t stop seeing the small boy
from a big town who’s hands
shook at the thought of talking
to strangers. How ironic it was
that no part of him trembled when
he spoke that night because she
couldn’t hear him.
I though of his midwife mother
and how devastated she’d be
to know her son is now building
graveyards in the bodies of
drunk women, how she may be
the one to have to remove this
tombstone.
I thought of the times
i’ve been decimals away from
unconscious in his dorm room.
How party
turned blackout
and I wonder if his hands
stopped trembling then too.
I wonder if he thought
of becoming the 3rd man
to make me his midnight snack.

He came to me to find solace
but instead he found me repeating
the word “no”
because he needed to hear it
because no one taught him that
blackout meant “no”
that if you can move their limbs like
jello, that is not ***
that is a puppet show and you are
just controlling the strings.

No —> Adverb; used to express
negation, denial, or refusal.
Example: No, I’m not going.
Example: No, don’t touch me,
Example: No, I don’t want this.
Example: No, she didn’t want this
but you gave it to her anyway.
How do I tell someone who has
lifted me up from my depths
to take this weight on his chest
and let it crush him.
Gyles Corey yelling “more weight”
as we press boulders on his sternum,
bone-crushing pressure.
Maybe then he will finally
understand “no”.

Two weeks ago, I got a call
from a friend. But last week
I got a call from a ****** who still
wanted to be called my friend.
Who has seen me shattered bottle
over my own cemetery of a body
and still wanted to be called
my friend.
But yesterday, I deleted a contact
from my phone book,
told my parents not to answer
if he knocks, but to be careful
because he may try to enter anyway.
Just so they know
that they have other hands to worry about
besides my own

Before I start,
I want to warn you that I'm not very good at dealing with this kind of thing.
It's been a while since I've thought about you this much.
I tried talking about you the other day,
it didn't really work out so well, I mean
I haven't talked to you in seven years
and even then I never really knew how to explain you.
With your middle name being Patrick,
I celebrated you like you were a Saint
and the entirety of my days were March 17th.
You were all wind chimes and four leaf clovers,
brand new horseshoes and rabbits feet.
I never told anyone what you meant to me
because I never had to.

I knew that things at home were getting bad for you
and you told me you didn't want to talk about it.
But you should have told me when you stopped sleeping,
because I could see the bags under your eyes
like they were carrying your burdens
instead of your shoulders
instead of me.

I started wondering why your boyfriend stopped hanging out with us
but I knew it was because your parents
were giving you black and blue islands as welcoming gifts
and to be frank, I never liked vacationing
so I didn't want to dive into their oceans.
But you cried so often that I could have.

You said
"If I'm gay, why can't I feel like the rainbows
instead of having to explain them?"
I tried to tell you that not everyone knows what to do with a *** of gold when they find it.
So when your parents kept having to take you to the hospital,
that was the only way they knew how to spend the fortune they found.
They spent those gold bricks
buying you therapists who validated your feelings
but pacified your parents by telling them you were "getting better."

But one morning before school,
the phone rang like church tolls.
And my stomach dropped through the floor
and went six feet past the dirt
like it was digging your grave for you
before we even had a service.

On the other end of the line
a woman's voice was broke in half
trembling out the words
"we found him this morning"
like they were her hands reaching for the rope all over again.

Leo, you know how you said you wouldn't break me?
Well my twelve year old heart,
it had broke.
It spilled on the floor like the metal pieces
in the game of jacks
and the ball kept bouncing
but my hands were too clumsy to know how to pick all of myself back up at once.
All of the nerves in my body were malfunctioning
and I swear to God I think I apologized for breathing
because I felt like I was stealing it from you.
The air was all fire and ice,
dancing in my lungs like Armageddon;
the final battle between my breath and yours
and it seems like you lost
but I never won.

It's been seven years since your death
and I still don't feel properly equipped to deal with it yet.
I still haven't finished the letter you addressed to me
and if i'm being honest I can't even get halfway through without crying
or wishing it was me.
But you started it off with
"I am so sorry for breaking you"
and I never made it to the funeral
because I never told my parents you were dead
I just thought it'd be easier to deal with this alone.
But it's been seven years
and I am alone
and I still don't know how to deal with it yet
because you were my *** of gold
and not everyone knows what to do with one when they find it.

Don't tell me about Long Distance.
I have known Long Distance
since the day I saw you waving out of the back window of that silver Prius.
The snow banks insulating my car
because i spent the last 47 hours with you
and held you while you cried
because you weren't ready to leave for the marines yet.
But your body said other wise,
your muscles sharp and deadly.
It's been a while since you've written,
and it's been 8 months since my blankets have stopped smelling like you.
I couldn't help but notice
the way my body drowns in these sheets
because you were my life vest
but you were not there when i jumped in.
I looked back at the dock before my head went under
and i saw you just sitting there,
watching me struggle.
I tore you apart in my head
every single strand of thread and love was separated
until every bit of silence that was woven in has been exposed.
But these strands don't hold any value when you're drowning,
what I have done is destroyed the only thing that could give me buoyancy.
Now I am left with extra weight on these shackles
i bear and water filling up my lungs
like a measuring cup to a recipe from Hell's kitchen.
In your last letter you asked
"Are we okay?"
but you don't just tell someone you love them then let them drown.
I have known Long Distance since you came back home today.
You are so close to me
but I still feel like you are not present.
There is something to be said
about missing someone who is right next to you.
Usually it is the person at home
who gives up on the one in the military,
but you found your home inside of those bunks and those guns.
You have only taught me to never make homes out of human beings.
I have to keep reminding myself
that you are a woman to never be slowed down
because you will leave everyone else behind
and I never wanted to come last to you
but i never wanted to beat you either.
I have known Long Distance
when I reach my hand out
and you've always been just slightly out of my grasp.
You were a goal to work towards,
a beautiful woman sitting on a pedestal waiting to be won
and I've always been too inadequate to be the one to have you.
You are the Epitome of Long Distance,
and I have known you for much longer than I would have liked.