little goldfish, you are so small
one tiny piece. in this gigantic place.
little goldfish, you swim in the same circles.
never going anywhere.
little goldfish, why do you stare?
your large eyes
empty. drowning.
little goldfish, you rise to the top
only to find it hard to breathe.
little goldfish, you swim
to find there is nothing
vast nothingness.
water. just water.
little goldfish, does it scare you?
little goldfish, i wish i could take
your bowl and throw you into
the river.
i wish i could throw you on land
and watch you fade.
little goldfish, your suffering would end.

little goldfish,
where is your mind?

i still **** my tummy in,
imagine it smooth.
my mom was surprised when i confessed
i was shirtless,
with nothing but my sports bra.
(at least I’m tan)
you say you like my tummy,
and some days I do too.
i still slap my thighs,
imagine scrawny flesh,
stretch marks are lost among
photoshop wonderland.
i’m an hourglass figure, you say,
but I find it silly we compare body types
to glasses, and fruit,
for we are a combination of things,
we are stars, and seas, and candy,
and railroad tracks that sometimes go around in circles until
we *****.
i still see my limbs as different people,
and i wish i could detach them like the toxins in my lungs.
people like my ***,
so maybe that’s why I move it so much when I’m drunk.
people say I’m Arabic,
people say I’m Mexican,
people say I’m Muslim,
but really I’m all of those combined into a mixing bowl,
and one day maybe, I’ll make cupcakes
and swallow them whole.

patience, i thought i understood.
your heavy weight on my shoulders is supposed
to teach me a lesson.
your repeated whispers are supposed
to comfort me and calm me down.
but i am about ready to throw you out the window.
i have been with you patience,
since the day i was born.
you cradled me in your arms
raising me, teaching me.
when the yelling and beating started,
you would shield my eyes
playing a lullaby until i fell asleep.
when the boys came along,
you held my hand.
when the boys broke my heart,
you kissed the tears away.
patience, your lessons are complete *******.
patience, i wait for him night and day
with no word.
and what am i gaining from this?
ribs that are cracking
and a throat too tight to breathe.
i love him, patience, but what am i to do?
i squeeze you, hoping that your words
become true, that one day he will be here.
patience, i am ready to give up
this pain is too great
but patience, you know, don't you?
that i can't...not yet.

He was angry because the boy with glasses and a gamer shirt had told me he wished he had a girl like me.
It’s not you, it’s me. And the fish bowl that was twice the size of your head.
Punching the wall, I knew
jealousy was a
understatement.
it crawls under your bed and waits until it is four in the morning and you have nothing left
Except tears and yearning for something different,
yet you know you cannot have anything different,
because the thought of mornings without him,
and the thought of phone calls absent of his vocals
makes you want to rip open your ribs until you color his
freckles.
He was angry because he was threatened,
and it was so stupid, so animalistic.
I am not territory, not a tree you lift your leg to mark on.
I am a human, a human, a human, I just want to be
loved.
the door broken, his lips bleeding,
he kissed me until I thawed.
his shoulders shook as he cried and cried and cried,
please be mine, please be mine, please be mine.
jealousy is what we romanticize about,
yet it is the monster we will
become.

my beautiful baby, would it hurt to know
how his mouth hungrily ate my lips?
would it **** you to know
how his hands encountered my
aches, my scars,
my lady love?
my beautiful darling, what would
your face look like if i told you
his arms closely resembled yours?
what colors would your eyes be when
i described the rumble of his voice?
where would your fingers touch
when i showed you the bite marks,
the bruises of savage love?

i know what i would do.
i would touch your cheeks with my fingertips.
i would **** every color of yours into my lungs
and breathe them out into the rising dawn.
i would nibble your fingers, tasting
the throbbing of distress.

and i would kiss you. kiss you. kiss you.

for no matter who. no matter what.
my handsome man.
no one compares.
believe me when i say,
my heart is yours.
oh, my handsome man,
i am yours.

you pulled the pearls tighter upon
my throat and maybe it was the alcohol,
or the way your tongue fit between my teeth
too perfectly,
but i swear i could see our atoms colliding together,
and i wanted our explosions
to fill the night sky with asteroids
and shooting
stars.

i am a summer wild child,
i was born with sunflowers in my hair,
sand tickling my pores.
i am a fairy with periwinkle lids,
gold dust when i need to..
jolt.
i am a mermaid with scales to
mesmerize, hypnotize, glorify.
(but i fell in love with a two-legged fellow)

i am the pixie your mother told you to stay away from,
but you frolic through the meadows,
hoping to catch a glimpse.

sleeping next to you...
(how do i put it?)
is the meaning of absolute bliss.
like that taste of perfect lemonade
on a sizzling summer day.
in a state of semi-consciousness
turning, to find you next to me
with a simple sigh
i smile.
listen to your breathing
feel your chest slowly rise and fall.
i trace my fingers over your face
hoping they will be forever remembered.

if i could have one wish come true
i would wish to sleep next to you every night
with the sound of our silence
be my soundtrack.

summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.


his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.

what happened to you?

i keep asking myself everyday


once, you were my sunshine.
your warmth enveloped me. your smile
was alive.

i don't see sun anymore.

gray clouds. thunderstorms lurking




i have tried everything.
to bring that light back.
i provided nutrition
i spoke with hopeful words
and i held my palms toward you


you ran away.
with the sun in your hands.



what have i done?
where is my sunshine?


you have hid it, far away.
i can never find it again.
now, you merely radiate cold.

i shiver.






where is my sunshine?

open up my lungs,
set the soiled insects free,
the water is boiling,
and the vapor gathers too quickly,
too much.

“we are mortals”
are words no twenty something wants to hear,
i would like to think i’m some greek goddess,
frolicking forever and ever,
loving until i am drained
(but i am already, darling)

once i knew a woman who closed herself up.
i think i am her now,
i see lemon fangs instead of pearly whites.
i seek adventures within myself,
to find roads with tumbleweeds and empty
ideas

i wish i knew how to stop,
because my skin is frayed and tattered,
from your yanking and feeding.

i wish i knew how to be beautiful,
because that is all we want in life,
and i keep looking at my blood vessels,
“beauty”
yet i see none.

you think you're so high and mighty
with your tight shirt and
backwards cap
you believe you rule

bile rises in my throat while i pass
shivers crawl into my veins
and the words i say are thick
and coated
with something you've
never heard before

i see your eyes
as i speak

they are full of nothing.
black. black.
an emptiness i cannot find
the end to

you lips lift in a twisted swirl
but your eyes tell all

realize. this is more.
realize. that your cowardice will be your own defeat.
realize. that your big words and stupid smile
will do the exact opposite.
realize. that you are nothing to me.
you are the ground beneath my feet
you are the maggots squirming in corpses
you are the bitter frost that creeps
during a winter morning
realize. you are empty.
and your words are empty.
and you look like nothing else
but a fool

you spread me like strawberry jam,
licking syrupy wrists and chewing on pips.
i will thaw leisurely, until my skin has saturated through
your insanity.
open me like a mango,
slurping, drops of juice upon blemishes,
sprinkling candy through open wounds.
bite through me, an apple hard and
mouth watering.
the pits of me will fall, searching for fertile soil,
and grow.grow.grow.

cotton candy kisses
your mouth are sour patch kids
licking the lips, they are sour
but the tongue is oh so sweet
taste buds are alive. tingling. sizzling.
your ears are hershey kisses
small, adorable and delectable.
your skin is mouth watering taffy
melting all over me.

your tootise pop is my favorite
the exterior is hard, just like tasty candy
the inside gooey and messy
not too many licks
but just enough, to ******* favorite
treat of all

kitty has come out to play
her whiskers detect the yearning trembles
her nose smells the fragrance of lust
am i your **** cheetah?
the spots inky, the fur lustrous
the paws aching and alive
the eyes full of thirst
i purr with the twitch of your skin
my teeth scrape
my tongue salivates
my heart beat escalates
my ***** pulsate
my claws absorb you
my lean mean enraptures,
takes over.

don't move,
kitty wants to play.
she'll make you purr
before the night is through

911 used to be scabbed on the back of my
knees, and soaked carpets
were like coming
home. her eyes were nothing like
mine, and the police always
wanted to know. but i hated the way their
lips smacked against their teeth.


911 used to be tied to my fingers with
****** ribbons, and if you ask me who my kindergarten
teacher was, i couldn’t tell you.
chocolate milk nights were thick with
bruises. i made friends with the images in between the tiles
in the bathroom.

911 used to be etched on my stomach,
and even now i cannot see red blue and white flashing lights
without wanting to puke.
six months is forever when you’re seven years old,
but daddy
always said life is too short
anyway.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas blotched upon the white wall from where you pushed me up against. From when your hips gridded against my thighs, a graph with linear equations that doubled and doubled and tripled. From when your fingers found the furrows inside my skin, planting seeds I am eager yet scared to see blossom.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas specked upon the wall, from when our hunger was too ravenous for even the wolves I tried to suppress. From the sweat I licked off and tasted sweeter than gumdrops coated with honey. From when my legs found your waist, squeezing, Medua’s hair demolishing a man too good, too tasty. From where your palms collided with my wrists, blacks and blues and yellows shooting through closely knit pores.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas splattered upon the wall, and I pass it with a smirk, feeling the presence of you. What will be our next victim, I wonder

beautiful girl, you are not ugly.
society is.
indeed you are so brilliant, society can only cower, trying to find someone else for the blame.
beautiful girl, you are not fat.
society is.
indeed it is so large and grotesque, spitting fumes of hate.
beautiful girl, you are not a *****.
society is.
condemning everyone's move, it's hypocrisy could paint the walls.
beautiful girl, you are not a ****.
society is.
throwing itself at every broken promise, silver-polished lie.
beautiful girl, you are not a freak
society is.
howling until all glance their way, foaming at the mouth with every inch of lunacy.
beautiful girl,
you are special. intelligent.
astonishing. inspiring.
phenomenal. mind-blowing.
breathtaking. remarkable.
stupefying. jaw-dropping.

society knows all of this,
but it wants to be the one on top.
so keep your head up, beautiful girl.
and smile.
smile.
smile.

i did not grow up with siblings.
i grew up with half-sisters, half-brothers,
a step mom, just like in cinderella. except i never met her.
and i never will. (my dad would rather slash his own throat)
i was by myself,
with beanie babies and whispering sunlight.
i had to cover my ears when the screaming pierced,
blindfold my eyes when blood tainted the creases.
i made friends through my bathroom tiles,
the wavy puddles looked like old men, like crushed flowers.
i talked to inanimate objects, squirrels lurking behind bushes.
with the first bunny, i grabbed onto his fur.
with the first dog, i howled and panted, hoping to become.
i drew elaborate stories upon sidewalks, vanished into the lines of
majestic quests.
the real world was nothing but glass with tainted red.

“didn’t you wish you had siblings?”

i escaped. i’m here,
with scrapes and broken bones,
but i’m here.

i'm not perfect. well, actually
no one is.
faces with the clearest skin
bodies without an inch of flaw

i swallow to keep the hatred down

i'm not perfect

my stomach is
not flat
and yes, i
have acne. but that means
i'm human

i'm not perfect

pressure. pressure. pressure.

look at her
watch how she drifts
i bite my lip
and all i taste is steel
i don't always shave
and i don't
always bother with the brush

i'm not perfect

anyone who tells you they are
have lies dripping from their lips

burn those ******* magazines
turn off the useless screen

real women
are beautiful. are pure. are chubby. are hairy. are weird. are sweet.

are full of imperfections.

i'm not perfect

he said, “you’re such a doll”
beautiful on the outside,
with nothing but hollow thoughts
and jingling parts tangoing
inside.
"i’m no doll."
more like a rag doll,
waiting for the next
throw.

it took you quite some time
but with the tropic breeze and a historical book,
you were there.
the grass tickled.
i wonder if it tickled you too.
i always knew.
sly glances. quick comments.
timing is everything, or something like that.
you make me laugh, which is rare
(especially for your kind)
reminds me of bubblegum and sunshine.
time when clues were not given or received.
i bat my eyelashes in return,
respond with chirps and playfulness.
i haven't played in a while.

it's a shame the grass didn't tickle sooner,
you could have had a taste a long time ago.

we’re hipster lovers with our
baggy sweaters and tortoise-rimmed
glasses.
your choice in music is too cool,
i gobble up literature like oreo milkshakes.
we’re hipster lovers
with our admiring Blake,
your multi-colored jeans, my eyeliner
thick and sharp.
you’re the hipster boy with unruly hair,
and cool as a cucumber temper.
i’m the hipster girl cool with too much sadness and
a fetish with Plath.
we make an awkward, cute team, you and i.

i’ll borrow your drug impacted jumper,
if you keep reading me zen poetry,
and we can dawdle inside indie
coffee shops while we hold
hands and sip
slowly.

distance,
you make the miles between us appear
like a never ending desert
distance,
you make me forget the shape of his
lips
distance,
you make time freeze
distance,
you put pressure on the cracks
distance,
you kick me when i'm down
distance,
why can't i remember how his tongue
tasted?
distance,
you're not even that long, yet it's as if
i'm in another country
distance,
why must i sleep alone every night?
distance,
when can i have him again?

i guess i need more mentally disturbed
friends.
i’m feeling lately like the scab that’s been picked off,
forgotten, dried up, designating.
people don’t understand when i say my heart feels like it will
explode out of my lungs, throughmythroat and get caught between
myteeth.
my anxieties need a **** buddy, because making eye contact
is even too
much. and i wish i could stop assuming the worst.
"jesus, you worry too much"
i can’t help that i find the flaws, the nit picky things,
the traits that i want to squish like
blueberries.
i can’t help that when i sit alone in my car,
i think too often of swerving into highways and wondering what a deer
sees before it
dies.
that’s why i don’t talk about this, i never can anyway,
they swell and sit upon my tongue like when you ate that pepper whole
and all i tasted was flames.  
my anxieties and i are the kind of friends where we speak nicely
and are all smiles in front of one another,
but as soon as we turn around,
all we say is venom.

"Your father and I almost had an affair. I thought it was so…romantic!"

My food lingers inside my intestines, attempting to slither back through my throat and wade on my tongue.

The only time I remember my parents sleeping in the same bed was when I was six, and that memory is fuzzy, like fumbling to the bathroom in the dark. I hit corners and trip over my own feet. I remember crawling between the two of them.

And the next memory is my mom in her bed, my father in his. They are not happy with each other.

They are not in love.

The memory after that is both of them yelling. Screaming. Words that are acid filled and burn my flesh.

The memory after is my father being drunk and my mother throwing objects at already stained walls.

The memory after that is me attempting to escape a house I could not find a home in. My mother tearing through my ribs until my plasma trickled down my arms. My father is sober, but sad.

My mother touches my father’s hand,

And I must excuse myself so I can run to the bathroom and punch the mirror until I see the shards poking through my knuckles and feel nothing but pain.

*Lovesinotrealloveisnotrealloveisnotreal.

this side of me scares you
(it scares everyone)
running on open roads, with nothing but
hair choking me. you could never comprehend
the noiseless drowning. the blissful sleep.
once. twice.
i just need the *****, i guess.
your words are sugar, quickly dissolved.
my stomach urges. but nothing ever comes up.
congratulations!
you're now officially in love with a
****** up girl.
a girl with emotions will swing with a snap,
a girl with will never fully make sense to you,
a girl who's eyes never seem to stay dry long enough.
i thought you would
(or at least, kind of)
instead your mouth droops, your fingers fidget.
i need the red. the adrenaline wants me.
i long for it, especially when we lie.
i ponder which item to use. how it will trickle,
and how you will pretend.
your ****** up girl, she loves you though.
so much she can't breathe sometimes.
your ****** up girl, would lie down and wait,
even with thunderstorms and cruel footsteps.
she knows you wouldn't do the same, and every time
she thinks about it, she shatters.

speak strawberries to me,
and i will caress jam
for you.

when your lips met mine,
life returned to my bones.
when your hand met mine,
silk butterflies kissed my skin.
when your eyes met mine,
fireworks crashed into the sea,
when your body met mine,
i no longer knew the meaning of empty.
when your heart met mine,
it finally started to beat.

She clung on to the past
Wrapped her arms around it
Pressed against her heart
Old memories stuck on her
Like a virus
Never wanting to heal
She was trapped,
Stuck with nowhere to go
She’s been crying
For so long
Waiting for a miracle
But she woke up today
And saw the sunlight
Creeping in through her shades
She opened them
And was greeted with such brightness
It was so warm
It was so perfect
The light danced upon her skin
And she smiled
And thought
‘Today is beautiful’
She opened her arms
And welcomed the new day
The new time
The new life
She feels a little frightened
But has never felt more ready
It’s time to start fresh
New
Letting go
And reaching out
Everyday is beautiful
And she's gonna let the beauty shine

what can i say,
that hasn't already been said?
in the epic stories
in the love poems recited
too many times.

i could try to make up
lines saying how you
make me feel

but i can't.
because, words cannot
describe it.
words cannot describe how
fast my heart races.
words cannot describe how
what your lips feel like.
words cannot describe how
your eyes paralyze me.
words cannot describe

how perfect you are.

i tried
in this silly poem
still, it does you no justice

i will keep trying
thinking of words that describe
your beauty

there are so many words in the dictionary.

but none describe you

no one is perfect. we all make mistakes.
are you one of them?

relationships are messy
(all of them)

friends, parents, teachers
lovers

emotions, tears, pain.
but, here's the thing...
i feel myself becoming attached
like elmer's glue on construction paper
messy and sticky
and with one touch, it's hard to
clean off

i try to imagine
hooking up, sleeping around, being with
someone else...
and i all i feel is...
"eh"

but i swallow it.

and i feel it all the way in my
stomach. gurgling. threatening.
to find it's way back up
i fake it

i like you.


but not that much

i had waited too long for today.
heat sauteing upon toast skin.
“you have some caramel on your lip”
trying, with no effort to lick it off,
you kissed it, placing your tongue between
my teeth.
my hands and heart were sticky with melted custard.
summer’s calling me home.

she licked her lips, tasted a pinch of salt.
"i’m not like other girls"
isn’t that what every other girl says?
****** bambi eyes, eyelashes curled in a q.
he drinks until she cries, scared she will be
shot. imagine pretty little petals upon pretty little
thighs.
"i’m not like other girls"
ringlets, hair bouncing waves upon waves upon
ocean, sea, tidal
waves.
he smokes until she dances, in circles, through
vapors, underneath a table that holds too much
quick *** and liquor.
"i’m not like other girls"
and he could have said, “i’m not like other boys”
but he was broke, in denial, in and out of love, in and out of
hotel rooms.
words sound so much more appealing in darken
rooms.
"no, bambi dear, no you’re not."

i wear my insecurities like my eyeliner, bold,
thick, never exactly matching,
never exactly perfect.
i embrace my flaws, like i shake
my *** when i dance,
unsteady. wild, a flame that festers
and blossoms.
i kiss my demons, like i eat a
milkshake, salivating, slurping,
a lover with no inhibitions.

i do not wear my insecurities,
instead i shove them down my throat,
hoping the stomach acid will dissolve.
destroy. them.
i do not embrace my flaws,
instead i push them back hard,
watching them fall to the ground and
break like glass.
i do not kiss my demons,
instead i spit in their faces, bite on
their cheeks until the hot, pulsing
tastes like
peppermint.

i have found myself while dancing,
grinding against walls scribbled with
martinis and broken ideas.
i have seen myself through others,
the girl who wobbles through neon colors,
the girl who shakes until sweat paints a fresh new coat.
i have heard my gospel,
through the thunderous speakers,
the screams of people who want a warm bed.
i have lost myself while dancing,
falling to absent galaxies,
trying to find a light to guide me home.
relying on the touch of unknown men,
to **** this star wallowing deep inside of me.
i do not know who i am
when i am dancing.
i want to think i am the milky way,
or a black hole,
gasping everything entirely.

behind pseudo sickness you crawl to me,
with your lies like flies between your teeth,
adderall caked on your cheeks. your fingers are
unwilling to leave prints, and i can only shake you
off.

yes, go leave. yes, escape if you must,
but i know any lands you walk on will spring with dead
weeds. because you twisted and turned me for two years,
speaking of love but instead giving me
icy nights and days full of eyeliner streaked tears.

go and live with your “gluten-sensitive” lifestyle,
your hypochondriac tainted glasses, seeing nothing but
no and no and no and empty voids,
running through role-plays that are always so much more appealing then
a beautiful girl who ripped her heart out for
you.

no, i’m not cynical. no, i’m not
angry.
i am frustrated. wishing you had cried for me for weeks, and i know
you didn’t. i am thinking of those bruises on your neck, your
"**** buddy" and how your step-sister was a better choice
for you.

so leave, please, just leave.
and no, i don’t want to see you.
you can’t leave ashes in my mouth, not this time.

"1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer over her lifetime"
my mother’s eyes did not blink as she spoked riddles.
i stared at the lump. an alien invading.
War of the Worlds.
"For women in the U.S., breast cancer death rates are higher than those for any other cancer, besides lung cancer."
she was in the hospital, a week, or two. it felt like five years.
i did not sleep that summer.
drunk off sake, my mother still did not cry.
"In 2011, an estimated 230,480 new cases of invasive breast cancer were expected to be diagnosed in women in the U.S."
the night before surgery, I cried until my lungs flopped to the floor
like two useless sacs of atoms.
I scratched my skin until morning,
waiting until my veins leaked.
"A woman’s risk of breast cancer approximately doubles if she has a first-degree relative (mother, sister, daughter) who has been diagnosed with breast cancer."
some days my ******* will sting, and I imagine a small demon,
with horns and razor teeth eating away at the inside of my *******.
when in the shower, I will cusp them in my hands, waiting to feel bumps.
instead I feel too small *******, with a heart that beats too fast.
nights, I dream of my mother with only one breast,
I dream of myself with no *******
The most significant risk factors for breast cancer are gender (being a woman) and age (growing older).*
let me never grow older, for I do not want my territory
stained. but I feel it squirming, and I want to **** it out with my
teeth.

it is pathetic that I am most worried about shaving my
head.

at a young age, my father taught me to love
insects.
instead of killing, my father would capture spiders,
centipedes, beetles in empty pickle jars.
he would show me the anatomy, let me admire
the different colors, the shape of the pinchers,
how each one moved.
we had a praying mantis hung up on the wall,
it scared my girlfriends.
we had a hairy tarantula encased in a glass orb,
guests could never stare at it for too long.

i compare these insects to my father.
elegiac, with pinchers hidden but
present.
like the insects, i could never understand my father.
when he disappeared for days, reappearing with nothing
but a frown and the scent of beer,
i imagined him with the wings of a beetle, and he had
to fly off to a faraway kingdom.

i compare these insects to my father,
beautiful, but threatening.
his scorpion’s tail was his hand with a bottle,
his poison was the amber liquid squishing
his blood.

i compare these insects to my father,
fragile, unwieldy.
as a butterfly glides through spring, it is similar
to my father discussing his favorite things,
or deep in thought in a novel, or how his eyes
glint when he sees me after a long
absence.
but my father is far more exquisite than
any butterfly.

i still am intrigued by insects, yet i do not
admire them in empty jars.
i set them free, imagining if my father ever longed
to escape his own
jar.

yes, i have not removed an inch of makeup, these
past three days.
i can still taste beers and united kingdom’s colloquialisms
on my burdened  
tongue.
and i have holes in stockings and black-and-blues
brushing my collarbone.
weekends, two and a half days, winding among unbolted
doors that lead to what you want but can’t admit
sober.
yes, i still feel every inch when i saunter through flaxen
leaves. how did i never notice such colors
before?
let the world be your oyster, except i’m vegetarian. so let it be my
sea. ocean. every drop that i never tasted.
fingers taste much better when they’re being
shoved beneath your front teeth.
five in the morning is the perfect time for screaming at lies
you cannot see through. for falling onto beds that cannot hold
more than one person but you trytrytry anyway.
yes, i do not know where i am going anymore,
but this tingling in my toes must mean
something.

i am your cleopatra. i am your queen.
there are no orders i will give,
except you must love me with every inch of your cells.
there are no jewels i will want,
except for the ones in your eyes.
there are no lands i will conquer,
except for the land that starts at the tip of your hairs,
to the tip of your toes.

in the morning i put on my war paint,
conceal the blemishes so i won’t be blown away,
bronze and silhouette, so i will ignite like Athena.
the eyes, the eyes, the eyes
are my favorite.
eyeliner to smolder, to create fear, to cause your mouth to overflow.
mascara to pop, to outline, to appear innocent (which we both know i’m
not)
lipstick.
orange, if i’m feeing flirtatious,
pink if i’m feeling like *** packed in a case of cigarettes,
red. red if i’m feeling like dancing against walls that are
graffiti stained.
red if i want to kiss you senseless.
but, darling, do not be confused.
i do not dress for you. you may gape, you may whistle,
but this war paint is for me.
because everyday is a battle, and i must be ready,
with weapons blazing

it is not butterflies you placed in my tummy,
but large ferocious birds,
with wingspans fluttering against the inners of my
lungs,
beaks prodding my intestine,  
their necks snarling with my esophagus.
their caws pulsate in and out my pores,
and these birds want to fly, fly, fly
towards you.
but i bite with anxious molars, and their blood tastes like
cranberries.
choking up red soaked feathers,
i wonder if you have birds
too.

i. i have convinced myself i look the most beautiful with bruises and
hair that has not been brushed.
ii. sensitivity is my virtue. i wear it on my eyelashes and cry it all
off so i look like a raccoon waiting to be abandoned.
iii. i think if you opened me up inside you would find
books with dog-eared pages and
dandelions.
iv. if i fall in love with you, hold me down with cords
and fabrications.
v. i’m wearing lipstick too much, because all i can think of
lately is your fingers in my mouth and the
cliffs i need to jump off
of.

i can taste you,
on my tongue, in between the cracks
of my canines, saturated on my
peeling lips.
and i haven’t been able to keep food down.
you are in the pockets of cheeks,
and you taste like guilt, shame,
and so much greed. greed.
i have brushed my teeth over five times today,
used mouthwash until my eyes watered.
but you are thick,
and i’m swallowing, hoping it will dissolve.

speaking of drugs and soul mates,
somehow his dangly fingers found the inner stitches
of my pinkplated skinny jeans.
we fell into backseats and booths at bars that held
sushi and white powder lining caked sinks.
we giggled at how he said tomato, and i dissolved into
the sixth beer, the seventh, the eighth,
the lines between her lipstick.
we danced and screamed among stained floors, holding each other,
waiting until the moon lifted us.
he and i held hands as i ran between poles, pretending
i was the goddess of love, of lust, of night.
we made out and my head cracked upon glass,
his glasses slid upon pavement. he was nervous, i was laughing.
an american girl, his first time.
his fingers traced, cream upon coffee.
in the morning i found bruises upon my lips,
marks of eagerness, of mistakes.
we walked again, not hand in hand,
dreary and rainy, perfect London weather.
and i wondered if having tea
and crumpets would have
helped.

i have mentioned i like morning ***.

but i have forgotten to talk about *** late at night. after one am. when you’re drunk. when you’re sober. when all you can hear is the sighs of the mattress and the far distant squalls in the streets, the sirens mewling past as your cries muffle into blackness.

the later the better, for you tend to hold on tighter, curl your legs behind his knees until he buckles. your name from his lips sounds like rainstorms. it is when your inner demons are released.
when his fingers dig deeper, his teeth scrape harder. he pulls until your scalp is burning, throttles until nothing but spit emanates.  
it is dangerous, it is lovely, it is living. you bite each other’s lips until you taste nothing but him, guzzling him until your internals are churning and gushing with him. you remember thinking how one drunken night at three am was enough.
but then he came again at four. then he came again at five.
and it was at seven in the morning when you were covered in his crux you couldn’t turn away. you wanted the morning ***, you wanted the late night ***. you wanted to be flooded and whisked until your
body was nothing but his
testimony.

pop me in your mouth, and tie me
like a cherry stem.
i am your ******, the thoughts in your mind
that are on your tongue, but you have to bite downhard,
because. (because)
smear my eyeliner so i am soiled, outside.
rip my clothes (these ones, not those), so i am pillaged, forever.
toss me, grip me, you can unleash those naughty fantasies,
i am the therapist that will lick your
wounds (with salt & lime, and coconut pie)
find my breaking point, if you can.
lay me to waste when you’re through,
and i’ll be your ***** cat, purring machine.
until your ready to
pounce
again.

i don't want to admit this
i'm too scared to say it out loud
so instead, words on paper
is all i can do

i want you. i need you. i love you.
these, you know.
but i feel you don't understand

too long has it been
since i felt a touch
that burned my skin
when you kiss me, i die.
and then i'm reborn
i am so terrified
that you will wander.
you will forget the marks you left
on my skin
my body will no longer pleasure you
that when you speak to me,
you hear nothing buy buzzing

losing you.
i'm terrified.

you hold me, and i wonder
if there's only a matter of time
before your butterfly touch leaves

you grasp my hand
tell me.
over and over
that you'll always be here
your love will never go

i don't mean to laugh. i don't mean to cry.
but these promises have been made
far too many times

i say nothing
but touch you. for all i know,
it's our last night

so foolish, i know.
i thought this would never happen
i had my strongest guard up
no one could break it down

i was ready for nothing
idiot, is what i am
resisting you is like
resisting a natural disaster

i won't ever show this to you.
it wouldn't make sense
so, instead
i will love you like i've never
loved anyone before
i will not think about the pain

i will dig my nails into you
until you beg for mercy
and when i see the blood dripping
from my fingernails

i will lie to you.

and say i have no fears.

dear mom & dad,
i’m sorry i only write about *** and
alcohol.
the two skip hand in hand, with bedroom eyes
and laced up limbs.
but at least i only **** intelligent
men.
i made the mistake of moaning names
that held no publication,
cleaning someone’s blood lingering
inside vacant minds.

dear mom & dad,
i’m sorry i blame everything on you.
but let us be honest, your genetics have baked
a pie that tastes like
chaos and ethanol.

mother, esoteric, scripts i cut
my fingers on,
your bloodline is in every poem i write
about love.
i think we’ve both been falling for the
wrong ones.

mama, do you remember the dream catcher you broke?
feathers and glass.
my nightmares consist of knowing i will never amount to
anything.

father, knowledge like yours never ceases,
spilling and surging.
but you are sad. sad. sad.
i smell your smoke through cloths tattered.

beer was a better lover to you, than
anyone could ever be.
i have been in competition with inked, broken souls.
tell me i’ll win every gold medal.
i take everything from you,
but one day i’ll make you so ******* proud.

dear mom & dad,
the scars are slipping but the sound of broken
plates shake(quake) my nightmares.

dear mom & dad,
maybe we can sit and talk about our lives.
maybe i’d rather chug rat poison.