we wandered in the incandescent halls of walgreens,
my fingers stitched in your back pocket, your freckles
painted.
1:13, two teenagers with nothing but anxiety attacks
and drunken *** keeping everything
together.
i hummed to a made-up
tune.

i take showers at 2:30 in the morning,
because i believe it helps me think and
be O.K. with the fact that you can sleep without me,
and i seep into my mattress petting my cat
and watching sunlight tickle through shades.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with how
you have become my everything.
you are the cream stirred in my coffee every morning,
you are my mornings, my nights,
the dreams i have between 1 am and 7 am,
the bruises i receive from tripping over self conscious
decisions.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with
how i must keep myself occupied when you’re not around,
and i can easily run laps
around and over and around and over,
because otherwise i will feel the emptiness.
i believe it helps me be O.K.
with knowing you will eventually
leave.
and i won’t know what to do
but
sit
and take showers at 2:30
in the morning.

do you ever feel like
you hold the most love?
you would take a bullet
while they would take a graze.
you would jump in front of a train
while they would (maybe) amputate a leg.

“I’d take a bullet for you”
but i never figured out if you meant it
literally
or figuratively

disappointment is like that 7th glass of ***** you shot back.
in the beginning, the transparent liquid seems enticing, your heart beats
with new rhythm. (your glands water, your pupils dilate)

1 shot in, it burns…but slowly disappears.
instantly your brain forgets, your vein longs for the torture

2nd shot in, the burn is like fire, your lips smack with disgust
but you can’t stop there

3rd shot in, you taste the gasoline at the pit of your stomach,
fueling the flame that you know will eventually eat you alive

4th shot in, your brain is sending signals, telling you to jump
while you still can, but your arteries silence it, and all you can do
is laugh

5th shot in, people’s faces blur, your tongue is thick with regret.
your stomach is ready to empty the lies you previously swallowed

6th shot in, the floor moves. you have to hold a chair to steady yourself. people’s voices sound like boom boxes at full volume. you cover your ears to stop the pain

7th shot in, you’re on the ground, watching the ceiling float away. you
feel the previous shots try to find a way out.

disappointment hid itself in that 7th shot, entering your bloodstream quick and painless. you are lethargic, your head pounds like construction during a too early of a morning.
you sink into the couch, into the carpet, trying to regain previous emotions, movements.
disappointment travels your veins, gleeful with the free ride, the new
habitat.

(at some point, you’ll have to get rid of him)

before, i was content with (sort of)
escaping into the sigh of the night.
before, i was happy with (a little bit)
drinking until the walls blended together.
before, i was satisfied with (not really)
the love of strangers.

now, i am content with (absolutely)
slumbering through the night enveloped in you.
now, i am happy with (definitely)
drinking you in until my veins sing.
now, i am satisfied with (no question)
the blaze of your skin, the hunger roaring in your eyes.

now. now. now.
i am all yours.

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.

i think i'm your drug, i know you're mine.
with a breath, you drink me in. with a puff, i exhale you out.
it's hard to see past the vapor, the air is pungent with our fever.
i take another hit, so your eyes will shine even brighter.
your tongue waits with impatience, i see my skin ablaze.
seeping into every nook, your substance sinks into mine.
the fog embraces us,
kisses us,
excites us,
your heart drums into me with perfect rhythm.
oh, i may be an addict.
but the high. the high. over and over again, i will
lick your sweat until i throb.
i will move and squirm until you purr.
i will breathe in the fumes, and watch your body glisten.
withdrawal sounds like hell,
so give me another hit

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.

after him, your kisses felt strange,
your lips too chapped and your tongue intruding.
after him, your body felt awkward,
ended too quickly, with no finish line in sight.
after him, your story felt old,
run over too many times.
after him, your love felt alien,
a stranger that could never be friended, a ghost never gone.
after him, you felt like a memory,
a bruise upon the heart,
still there, but fading.

"What are those?" You pointed to the scraggly white lines bruised upon my stomach.

"You know what they are," is what I wanted to say. But I bit the words and swallowed them and felt them pin and ***** my inner linings. I wanted to drive a razor across your skin, make sure you bled the same.

"Nothing."

"I thought you had stopped?"

"I thought so too."

I was hoping words of courage, endearment. A pat on the shoulder, arms around my tired back. I wanted to escape into the place that held your tin heart. I wanted to watch Good Eats and laugh about things that didn’t matter. I didn’t want ***.

But you did. You pushed my head down, ignoring the scars, ignoring the tears.

You could have taken a knife to my throat. It would have felt all the same.

being alone, it isn't so bad.
at first, it is well...lonely.

that hole in your chest widens
and the pain is painted fresh
on your skin,
just like your tears.
you wrap your arms around yourself
since no one else is there to do it for you.
you question. you become angry.

but being alone, it isn't so bad.

you died to be in that party
squeezed, with no room to breathe.
you longed to have the alcohol
dance in your veins
with the eyes of a stranger burning
your skull.
but when you are really there,
the loneliness is overwhelming.
you are alone there, more alone
than one will ever be.
the bass is pounding inside you
but you can't hear a thing.
there are people all around
but the conversations are miles away.

being alone, it isn't so bad.

you have you, which is all you need.
with your thoughts,
your imagination,
your feelings.
you don't always need someone.
your soul is bright enough.
your heart is big enough.
when you are alone, smile
instead of scowl.

for it's not so bad.

i cannot find myself anymore.
i look through the veins, peaking through
pink flesh and peeling thoughts.

i do not know who i am anymore.
i grasp shot glasses.
i haven’t been able to eat without wanting to
puke.

i wish i could rewind.
my scraps are quickly being eaten,
by wolves who have devoured too many
sheep.

i will start anew.
first let me breathe in the rising dawn,
swimming through the aching humidity,
forgetting the color of your tongue.

i will start anew.

My darling. My sunshine. My love.
Right now you are across from me,
Eyebrows furrowed, nose deep in a book
With words and lines I will never truly comprehend,
I’ve tried, but they merely appear as squiggles.
And I keep falling in love with you,
With each blink of those gorgeous eyelashes.
With each breath I hear faintly but presently.
With each twitch your mouth dives in concentration.
With each flip of the page,
I keep falling in love with you.
I love you for the little things. The eskimo kisses, the inside jokes, the phone calls everyday, the brief but electric touches, the conversations, the way you remember things I’ve said years ago, how you wrap my hair around your fingers, how “I love you” sounds from your lips.
And as I watch you,
Concentrating. Focusing. Being that brilliant man I fell in love with years ago,
You have no idea I’m writing this.
I smile,
For maybe you’ll know. Or maybe you won’t.
But it won’t matter. Because I love you.

purple, hazy hues.
yellow nuance, murky blossoms.
where are they?
azure tinge mixed in the honey.
canvas is blank,
with only galling white scribbles,
grey and ebony ink written.
enter, my darling
let me **** your fangs.
press. press. press.
my locks swathed in your fingers.
hard, my love, hard.
into my bones. film. upon layer.
upon membrane.
the blemishes,
your art.
tonight, we are animals,
so no time for serene.
passion.
howl with me,
consume me.

my soma has been your manifestation.
you vanquished unconditionally,
these love (bites)
have been daily aide-mémoires, that this
fever will not break.

flames are within your veins, darling.

i have seen your inner
demons, and what they hunger
for.
your fingers to my wrists, your
teeth sinking. sinking. sinking
(it has sunk, anchors to wrists)

my demons kissed yours in the hours
of lust and the inexplicable.
my demons ****** yours in the woods
withering.
my demons held yours with homely
silence.

it is when i counted your eyelashes
at daybreak
that my demons finally paced alongside
me.

you are welcome to leave marks,
splashes, ink stains, scratches.
make some rough drafts,
until you reach your masterpiece.
my body is your canvas, my dear.
be creative. use blue,
use grey, use purple, use some
yellow for effect.
if you dare, use red.
i won’t complain,
i await your paint brushes,
your pencils,
your chalk.

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.

do you want me to tell you?
how i thought i was going to puke on the drive over?
how the sunshine temporarily blinded me,
and i couldn't see you?
how your arms felt like a weird version of home?

somewhere, in the back of my mind,
i knew you were going to kiss me that night.
somewhere, in the back of my mind.

i felt an ease. a maturity.
a big sigh of relief left my body.
...i cannot believe we spent the day together. the evening.
so many times i knew i should go.
each and every time i looked at you
and thought of reasons to stay.
but now you've left again.
disappeared.
but it's so familiar to me.
i'm used to this by now.
but i wish i could see you.
i felt comfortable with you. i felt safe.
but you are nothing more than a dream
so i'll see you with the stars.
...and i have someone, anyway
who is real.
and who i will see in the moonlight, in the daylight,
and in the sunset.

maybe, someday,
maybe.

you were prodding my back earlier,
pressing fingers into knots,
snaking though worries and muscles
smacking palms against coils,
rattling old ghosts and sore tendons
I gritted my teeth.“poor darling, poor darling”
push more, I whimpered
“poor darling
will these ever leave?”
a doctor could possibly,
but I know what she’ll say,
stop lifting, stop worrying so.

I think my demons find my way into my spine,
and they entwine through osseous
but, I want your fingers on my back,
your knuckles thrashing me until I scream,
because our love is like you trying to destroy these
knots;
you attempt to destroy what cannot be destroyed,

and I love you more every time.

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.

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."

no, no, love,
tonight, we are going to become the monsters
we hid from when we were
small.
do not be polite, do not kiss softly,
make me bleed, make me vacant,

let’s release our demons.

beautiful women are not women
with flat stomachs
beautiful women are not women
with perfectly perfect white teeth
beautiful women are not women
with airbrush skin
beautiful women are not women
who's hair is not even their own

beautiful women are beautiful
because of their pudgy tummies
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their crooked teeth
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their moles, scars, and freckles
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their hair that explodes in rain
and cannot be tamed with a hair brush



beautiful women.


there are so many in the world.

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.

the blank page holds nothing,
but water stains and empty words.
so why does everyone compare life to this?
(so why can i make no sense of it?)
fill it with dreams and aspirations, advice
and lessons learned, admirers and lovers,
enemies and relatives.
still, the page is ashy, and the ink stains, soaks.
i try to write on my blank page,
(but i draw a blank)
all i have is unreachable heights,
a demon encircling my throat,
men with too many teeth.
each day i throw away the blank pages away,
and each day i try to scribble something new.
the words are *****. vile and grotesque.
(i must throw it all away)
i'm trying again, tonight.
(maybe it's all about timing)
but so far, the words are useless.
tightening me, closing
until all
that's
left
is
ink.

he wants to taste me.
i wonder what i am on his tongue,
like candy floss, fluffy and dissolving, or
steak, rough yet succulent.
his tongue pin ******, the lips
like leaves, shifting through open
streets.
to be this alive and breathing,
with alcohol in my liver and his strands
of hair underneath my fingernails.

a secret.

i feel alive, though.
so alive.
the cigarettes and cologne are stuck
in my ribs, latching themselves between
bits of flesh.

i have been told my eyes are embers.

i wanna burn him to the ground.

mornings of my junior year were nightmares,
because when i woke up all i wanted to do was
die.
school sounded far away, a made-up paradise where
good grades and white teeth would take you to the toptoptop.
my love had left, my friends did not understand.
(oh, you’re depressed? everyone’s depressed)
pop another pretty white halo,
stay up until you think you see the sun scorching your
already fried brain.
mother cried, father yelled
(why can’t you just snap out of it? look at us for christs sake)
trips to unknown people, with thick reading glasses
and rooms that smelled like incense and money.  

i am here. but i am there. i am nowhere.

i was submerged under murky water,
greeted by sirens and drowning fish.
my blood doesn’t look like mine.
i want my blood to run like syrup.

i was here, but i am not there.
drown me through the lines,
until it all sounds the same.

you have broken lamps, chairs,
doors.
hades and hell dancing in your eyes,
the crescendos loud enough to
quake the entire state.
my chest is locked up tight with
locks and grenades.
but all it takes is your fingers
upon my
cheek.
the locks break, the grenades
disintegrate.
you are my kryptonite, you are my fire.

i've known the boys like him, the boys
with the gentle eyelashes and the
lip petals and spikes.
he touches my hair, twirls it in his fingers.
i am always nothing more to them.

i want to be earthquakes and avalanches,
yet i fold, becoming the beers in their guts, the ash
on their tongues.
but the way his tongue finds my pelvic bones,
how his calluses kiss my bruises.
his scent echoes inside my pillows,
denial like ***** bordering my throat thick.

the boys want my skin, to flay and wear it.
i am a prize, shiny and golden,
and he is licking my insides, my blood and guts.
like wine,
on his mouth, dripping down his chest.

i see how he stares at others,
calculating and timing,
but in the end i am the one, bent over, the one he says he loves.
(to ****).
and i wonder if this will always be this.
nights tasting like cider and ***,
knees scabbed and bleeding and scabbed and
bleeding.

he never touches me outside the bedroom, his
fingers glued to the bike handles.
i want to cut him open and see what's really inside.

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.

you expect me to be here.
with no questions.
no complaints.
you assume
my lips will be waiting for you.
and you take me for granted.

darling,
i love you so much.

but i'm suffocating.

i am not always so sweet.
my eyes do not sparkle every time
for you
more times they have watered
unexpectedly

my hands will not always reach for you
they will clench with frustration,
cracking until they are numb

my legs do not want to run to you
every single time
they will go in the opposite direction
until they burn with exhaustion

i want to slap you until
the realization is branded
but then.
i want to kiss your wounds
lick away the pain

i want to scream until my voice
crawls into your veins.
but then.
i want to hold you
so tight. so tight.

darling, my beautiful darling.

you are breaking me.

soon, there will be
no pieces left

i fall asleep at six in the morning on weekends,
but through the weeks i collapse as as soon as
ten.

i think ***** has become my new lover,
he leaves hickeys, caked like dried
paint.
he doesn’t disappoint, slurring in words
heavy and foamy.

you are mad.
(because i no longer need you)
but i will crave you until my insides
**** the earth.

maybe that is why being sober for too long
scares me.
we always preach about never becoming our
parents, yet before we realize it we are talking, eating like them.
my mothers boots are too tight.
i think your fathers fight just right.

you miss me now, because all you have is my ghost.
and i hope she haunts you every step of the way,
because for three years you
haunted
me.
and i still can’t fall asleep without
drowning within
you.
i hate sleeping alone.
i hope you do too.

The stillness of the morning.
Half of the world slumbers on, half of the world trudges into their lives
I sit, mug in hand, sweet aroma tickling my senses
And breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
We are always rushing. Never stopping.
No time to waste time.
Only for fifteen minutes,
Maybe half an hour.
But I breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

they were real.
salty, soaked, strange.
upon your canvas, mixed into the rocky sea,
a hurricane was feasting.
shaking, shaking, shaking.
with my fingers, i tired to anchor.
with my lips, i tried to calm.
i couldn't dig my fingernails,
you refused to look at me.

my beautiful, wonderful baby,
all the galaxies combined could never
match your wonder.
let me kiss your tears, lick the salt away.
i must see your eyes,

we all need to be broken sometimes.

a bruised sternum is a perfect injury
for me
(lame, out of place, piercing only if i
breathe hard enough)
smack, crack, dunk,
i sunk into weeds, muck,
and the utter and entire absence
(of you)
i crawled, wheezing, a thunder
cloud roared.
(Zeus was laughing, i’m sure)
how...coincidental.
how…ironic.
how…idiotic.
that i should have a chest
pain
near my heart.
a cracked rib would taste
sweeter.
people ask if i was crying
because of the pain.
i nodded, wanting to crack my head
upon cedar.

they never asked where the pain was from,
or from whom.

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.

if i am a cloud, than you are
the bolts between the vapors.
with wool spinning between my canines,
i’m eating the white fluff like cotton candy.
your flares ***** holes through my dripping
crystals.
cumulus merging with stratocumulus,
cherry hues making love with
sunset oranges.
if i am a cloud, than you are the rain
droplets resting within me,
the sun rays shaking and quacking in
me

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

you slide in. you glide out.
you breathe me in. you breathe me out.
alcohol. merciless tango.
cotton candy haze
with a slight touch of skittles.
as this cloud enters me,
the fog playing a heart wrenching lullaby.
touch me. touch me.
bite my lips,
my eyes roll back.
hold me tighter,
watch me sail away.
run them fingers through my hair,
pull out daisies and butterflies.
touch me. touch me.
i'll explode.
another hit
i'm in the atmosphere
your skin tastes like salvation
and i want more. more.
your eyes. my sea.
my thundering sea.
i want to swim.
far.
far.
every color. like a painting.
fresh ink.
and i'm laughing.
i cannot breathe.
i cannot feel.
except for you and your body.
except for your love
spilled upon my canvas
seeping into my follicles
i am your work.
your piece of art.
and god, i'm ******* beautiful.

"you are my princess,
but i’ll ******* like a *****”
you never did either. i was granted no jewels,
no sapphires, no rubies, not even zirconia
to match this forgery of skin.
my neck felt too small in your tired fingers,
and too many times i waited.
(snap, break, snap)
too tired to throw me down,
awake enough to bruise my blood
vessels.

"you are my princess"
i felt more like the penniless ******,
breathing in vapors while my smudged eyes
twitched and itched.
i would arrive at your doorstep, salivating,
and you never even had a bone to
throw.

"i’ll ******* like a *****"
i wanted your chunks like maggots crave
the panting dead,
i wanted your intestines wrapped with my
intestines, your lungs breathing in my
lungs, every centimeter of your veins
grinding and sweating against my veins.

"you suffocated me"

you had the world at your feet,
and you couldn’t even take one
step.

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.

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.

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.

my fingerprints are aching already,
with the unrecoverable concepts.
i want to kiss this moment,
taste the salts of passion pits upon
my swelling tongue.
it is all gone, and my eyelashes stick together
far too long.
arteries are filled with sugar and sad songs,
and i know i will never feel like this again.
hands to the clouds,
i’m alive for right now.

the red says, “do no touch”
the purple whispers, “she is not yours”
the blue proclaims, “you want to know, don’t you?”
the yellow laughs, “you cannot begin to imagine”
together, they sing,
“she is mine,
she is mine,
she is mine”

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 sometimes have a big feeling
that i think too much.

thoughts swirl like cotton candy in my
brain. there's no end to it.
at night i lie, eyes wide open
i watch the thoughts as they
fly across the darkness of my lids
sleep finds another door, shaking an
angry fist toward my direction
my lips lift in a surprised smile
and i collect my thoughts in my hands
i caress them. i compliment them.
i kiss them.
"thank you", i say.
for, without these thoughts
i would be empty.
empty.
empty.

you were on the numbing screen
or more like your mammoth shape.
he purred like you used to purr
when your dandelion lips
swallowed me.
he spoke with broken glass and
limp wings.
my chest went humpty dumpty.
his eyes. not even close.
or his hands.
your hands. oh,
how they roamed my hills and valleys.
his words were yours.
a man in lion's fur
cowardly lion, more like.
but you were there. but you are gone.
gone with the firsts.
gone with the lasts.
gone.
with the pieces made of sunshine
and lemon pie.
i look through the holes, where the pieces are missing.
the fingers stick through.
i feel nothing.
and i know it's all your fault.

“you must know you’re beautiful”
somedays, yes. somedays, no.
the twelve year old me will haunt me most mornings,
placing nonsense like a flower wreath through my hair.
she’ll pick my stomach, stretching the skin like putty.
she’ll still her tongue out, gnawing at my bones.
i will hear the dark words, and they will stain upon my skin,
coal and smeared.
the fifteen year old me will creep in the afternoon,
smudging ink eyeliner, telling me there’s never a thing as toomuch.
she will sing into my pores, telling me i need to return to pale tiles
and empty hallways.
she will hide under my skin, waiting until the men and scary ideas return
to the base of my mouth.

my insides are pretty, beautiful (most of the time)
so give me more time, to work on the outside.
it has been long, i know.
but i need more.
more.

the gaping hole creeps. like shadows
lurking in daylight.
it comes suddenly, and i know
there is no way to stop it.
it will be there.
forever.
anything can invoke it,
a song, a smile, a thought.
the pain comes, then. searing.
as i stare at the two, the pain increases.
when i was younger, i had no
one to turn to. i was by myself.
i wrote stories and my imagination
soared.
i will never be able to
experience such closeness, because
it terrifies me.
even when i got close, they fled.
what if it happens again?
too big of a risk.
so i keep quiet while my eyes
gaze over and thoughts
overflow my brain.

i'll be okay.

just not now.