I remember
it felt so nice
the sun's rays
beating upon my brow.
I didn't notice the blisters
forming
breaking
leaking
the heat leeching out of my life.
The color remained but
the moisture was gone:
all an illusion to help
them assume the blood
was still pumping
through my veins.
Soon enough the
veils blew away leaving
me naked, brittle,
barren; halted
as if I had come
across my own name
in the obituaries.
So I stood, seeing no where
that I wanted to be
instead, & slowly was buried
alive -- (?)
-- I was on the seeing side
of a one way mirror:
me, motionless
observant of their movement;
they, completely unaware
of my displacement.
I was coated so well in my
isolation that when
they looked deeply
into my eyes
they thought they saw themselves.
I started to believe
it would always be this way.
Hadn't it always been this way?
Though when I felt stirrings
I noted them with indifference.
Rock by rock the
mountain that sat on me
was removed
& yet I remained in place
waiting for them to be replaced.
I don't know when it happened
but one day
I noticed the flush return
to my cheeks
& the floods that were
collecting.
I am finding
my voice again.
It sounds so fragile & sweet.
I hate it when it rings in rejoice:

For the saddest thing
to me is that the flower
struggles all spring to
bud & blossom,
ignorant to her fate
of finally blooming
finally becoming ripe
only for Lucifer to pick
to braid her into his hair
before he falls.

http://ameliorate--resurge.tumblr.com

If you EVER need someone open-minded, non-judgemental, and caring to talk to, the above link takes you to my blog. I give honest, loving advice and support, and I'd feel honored if someone trusted me enough to reach out to me in a moment of need.

each random letter was picked with care
the sullen voice, the offset stare
yet she felt so out of control.
she had wild locks & violet eyes
she didn't know but was not surprised
you never knew what, or if, she was thinking.

she had this look about her, like she would rather be anywhere else, but you constantly felt under her attention, like you knew she was in this moment with you. she seemed constantly on the verge of letting something go (you didn't know what), but she's lingering in the doorway,  she's pausing to take the scene in, she's observing the dandelion for several minutes before blowing the seeds into the breeze.




if there is anything I've learned from her, it is to live in each moment, even if I'm detached--- though I'm detached.

At some point, we have to let go.

do you remember
when you were beautiful, & I a beast?
now you're dutiful. I'm only a barista.
when a message was all we had
when our words were shattered glass
when you were popping codiene
& I was just ghosting.
if I walked past you, would it matter?
if I stopped asking, would it still hurt?

do you wonder
when I'll smoke less cigarettes
or stop hating my silhouette
on the floorboards?
now I do.
when love was a click away
when a drink could forget yesterday
when I ate only cold meat
& I washed my hair on Jesus' feet.
if I keep moving rocks around, will I go forward?
if I buy less, will I get more?

do you dream about
when you'll wake from nightmares in my arms?
now, you're doing the program, doing time
when I'm looking at the clock spin circles around me
when I am cold & bruised & beat
when we're alone or lonely
& I wonder if it's love or mutual obsession.
if I say 'never', will wrong prove me?
if I get better, won't I still bleed?

look at me
not with your ideals
of who I should be.
look at me
not with bewilderment,
condemnation, inaccuracy.
look at me
without wishing I was
who I used to be.
just accept. just listen, just hold.
just
look at me.

I'm a spill out of cab doors
a spill on your bedsheets
smeared lipstick on shirt collars
the bandaid on bloodied knees
and dried mascara streamed tears.
I'm that sticky shot glass
the bathroom stall stumble
a slutty slipped tongue.
tonight I'm undone.

I'm the blank stare smoker
tad-whipped toker
the take her and poke her
slap her or choke her;
you ask my number and forget my name.

the loud laugher, the screamer.
yet I have nothing to say to you.
keep urging me not to be shy;
you'll never understand how my life
is a movie I sit back to watch.
you're only a red-shirt, only disposable,
only the used ******,
but *** is how I know I'm real.
I pretend to be drunker, dumber, easier
than I am
because I want to be allowed
to close my eyes, to scream, to enjoy this
******* moment.

life gets easier when you **** things you don't need
slaughter them mercilessly
you'll discover what really matters to you
when push comes to shove
and God gives you a gun.
you'll appreciate the little things
when the things that me little to you
are flung from a height
to raging waters
where they'll be beaten and battered
against unforgiving stone
cries falling on deaf ears
life becomes more meaningful
when you define your borders
and prune the morals you live by
the standards you accept
the societal rules you adhere to.

all I want is help but I resist those who reach
all I need is love but I run from that beast
all I ask is knowledge but hate when you teach
I pretend I'm the best but think I'm the least

blue & red lights
sterile white
will you make me feel alright?

my love
we were alone.

but I'll admit
I'm trying to
set him on fire.


He
strolled on
but
he was looking at me.

summering in a gentle garden
inspires
burst out quivering
he was helpless to it
kicking with a
swallowed sensitiveness.

the puckered fields i've plowewd
the seeds of discord i've sewn
inside this dirt.

my unhappiness grows,

she just kept waiting for him
to come home
throw his key7s in the dish
hang his coat on the hook
ease his body over hers
lay his love on her
again...

sigh
lock the door
lay out tomorrow's clothes
******* thinking of him
roll over alone
again

you've never seen me tuck my edges in. don't notice the differences between my familiars. you stared in silence seeing my voodoo doll reality; stick pins through a waxen image. you swore revenge long before you got the news i'd been wronged. the time to be proud & protective is when you have an audience. take a step back, take back your brave *******. keep talking: i love hearing you convince yourself you've never failed me.

you overlooked me folding in on myself. i keep lowering my standards, cleaning out more of my closet: clearing out more of myself. halving & halving a torn-page treason (until i am fornever more). the piled suitcase of your empty promises, your sulking tender mercies, your smirking fist grazes; i keep finding i need less & less of my inheritance.

if i keep walking on & keep calling home, will i keep waiting for you to ask what my lenses are like to look through? if i keep growing my hair & composting my body, will i someday bear fruit? if i ease into each fluctuated stride, does it matter how many miles these feet kiss? how does bloodletting me make you feel like a man? if i needed attention, would you watch over me?

but there's no good illusion for these stinging welts.

I hated her then. I hated her for all she proved she was
not. For all we could have been.

But I loved her. For every child's smile & girlish eyelash
flutter. I loved her & she's gone.

I stretched out on pavements at dusk
oblivious to the idea of safety in case of mindless vehicles
mindful only to the collected heat radiating into my stupid skin.

I suckle on the bones of my mother's memory
her nails running up my spine used to soothe me.
Now they leave puncture wounds.
Sweet breastmilk that one day turned irritable and absent-minded;
she slapped me when I refused to drink.

My haughty attitude or pouted lip:
the only way I knew how to ask for help.
Didi you hear me?
Still, I suffer, scream in silence.

Maybe I seek acceptance from men,
but I want a woman to know that it's me who is in control.
I wanted approval daddy,
I'm not an object for your manipulation, mother.

Stupefied, I stoop, slouch through short doorways
that accept men who don't hold their heads high.
I slink into outstretched arms meant for other people.
Tonight, please. Tonight, just. Hold me.

la petite morte. she
cried out. slow, soft and mournful.
sensual sadness.

am I who am I?
bad so that is
sporadically me love to
moments in live I
yet
them to unattached am I
chaos the control
worlds material organize
emotions the clutter
spasm sputter spiral spin they
know ever won't I joy in even
like smells peace what
until not
nostrils living these
into collapse and decay
dirt.

what does it say about me
that i am comforted by
the Burning Man?
his skin chars & peels
tendons beneath earnestly oozing
anxiously trying to soothe the flames
kindled by papery wishes,
wooden expressions, angry inflections.
his ashen tears
stolen away by a wind's tired sigh
flutter down to a ground somewhere.
the fire will purify him of his
infections, the dust will return
to the dust, but the man who
touches my forehead so lightly, steams
the cold sweat from my brow,
calms my terrored shuddering...
i am losing him smoke ring by smoke ring.......


.......what should i think of him
that he is addicted to loving
the Dripping Woman?
my breathing is wet and laboured,
there is less, less room for
air when lungs are naive to the
furtive ripples overtaking them:
some people die by the drop.
.
.
.
.
.
.
clove cigarettes smell most
like him. we lie together &
stare at the cherry blossoms
dropping to tuck us into our bed.

if getting better
is what this is called, then i
would rather stay sick

last night i flew over
seven seas that seemed as one
to you
on battered, ****** wings
& you thought i looked ****.
you like women ragged & jagged-edged
with souls as severed as your own,
hoping to find one whose broken
pieces fit snug to yours, but
you're so stupid:
this is the hoarding of shattered glass.
you hold me, don't flinch when i
hold your gaze and cut you deeper than anyone
has ever pressed before. i say 'sorry'
but there's no need to explain;
you already know why
: i'm hard to handle.

last night (your yesterday)
you felt me long before my
feet lifted off and you
waited, long before my
restless wings wandering soul
knew where i was going, exactly.
the door was closed but the
window was open, i slunk through
huddled beneath the frame
sodden and soaking the floor. pitiful
desperate vulnerable thing but i
think that's what you loved me for:
you think you're **** and unworthy
and here is one that crawls to you, begs
for you to touch her and lays her head
on your knees to sleep.

i think that's what you loved me for.

today this lady had dripping teeth and forked tongue, spitting two streams of words at once. today this lady had sorrowed eyes that laughed and looked through you. today this lady had dishevelled locks, not a hair out of place. today this lady had eyebrows that asked what you meant but disapproved entirely. you couldn't quite tell if this lady held you in care or contempt.

tell me everything you
need to know and i'll
tell you everything you
want to hear

why do i feel dead sometimes?

stand run fly falter fall
again

bud blossom bloom wilt
rinse repeat

funny how i believe
in demons but i can't seem
to accept angels

satisfaction won't
come, no matter how much i
eat. always searching..................

It's disappointing
how little my parents care
for my opinion.

I leave a bad taste
in their mouths. I come across
too harsh for their ears.

today i walked and felt tall.
like the world's weight
no longer
threatened to break my spine.

today i sat and felt strong.
for years i lifted children
like barbells
and now i am an athlete.

today i talked and felt wise.
my waters are
deep enough
to reflect.

today i lived and felt beautiful.
a face i once knew said
my babyish looks are gone.
and it's true: i am leaving my troubled youth behind.

my little sister
who
is proud to tie her own ponytail, all by herself
had to keep her room clean for a week to get her ears pierced
makes 2d christmas trees with coloured buttons
s-p-e-l-l-s e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g o-u-t because she just learned how
gets frustrated when someone steals her favourite spot in hide-and-go-seek
is now
the same age
i was
when my grandfather molested me.

my little brother
who
wants to learn how to bat left
struggles adjusting to junior high
is making a robot out of cardboard for french class
stresses over which car to choose in mario cart
laughs until he cries over a good **** joke
is now
the same age
i was
when i was responsible for a household.

if you find your world has stopped revolving,
resist turning about: breathe it in
allow yourself to be held
even if your arms are the only ones
wrapping your torso round
the only lonelier sound than a loon's call is silence
but silence shouts every secret
the only thing more tragic, more beautiful
then felled Rome
is rising tattered & slanted from your knees

Arise
You: sloppy eyed with feathered thighs
regardless of your rocking hips
regardless of your worn brow
regardless of your gnawed lips
regardless of your dripping nows

Arise.

To my parents, a child was not a clay piece to mould with a master's hand, or a house that needed to be built up. A child is already a skyscraper that blocks the view of the landscape, or a tree that needs to be felled to make way for a parking lot. & oh, the cars they parked over me. Cars whose drivers were molesters. Trucks whose beds were piled high with excuses, empty promises, disappointments, backhanded compliments, interruptions & interjections. Cars whose trunks hid hateful words, accusations, pointed fingers, upturned noses, condescending looks, faces red from screaming, exasperated sighs & enough rolled eyeballs to make your head spin. They parked traffic-jam's worth of vehicles, stuffed & threatening to burst, of spankings for all the wrongs they thought they could slap right. To my parents, a child should not be guided, but told the way; a child should not wander & find his own path, but be dragged by the hair down the one they once marched obediently. To my parents, a child's spirit is to be methodically torn down; the gaping hole it leaves is to be packed tightly with worries of what others would think & beliefs that the world is untrustworthy, angry, spiteful, & always alert to where you are vulnerable. They never realized that when they thought they were gazing through windows, they were, in fact, with wild, bloodshot eyes, staring down mirrors.

if insanity
is doing the same
thing over & over
& expecting new
results is
sanity
doing different
things every day &
knowing you'll
see the same
conclusion?

waiting for the apology that never comes
waiting for the sun to rise in the east
pregnant & surprised each time periods are missed
assume trees hold the sky up
tell the ground to man up when the sky leaves it sodden
yell at the world to "SHUT THE HELL UP" when it thunders, howling in pain
criticize the horse from running from his problems
**** & moan when frogs croak: 'get a job. all you do is laze about the pond'
waves pummel & pound the beach, ask 'what the hell ails you?'
tell the tree to pick itself up when the wind knocks it over
& to put itself back together when the lightning tears it apart
just because he loves you doesn't mean he gives a ****

i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ******. i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a ****). each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?

there is something in me
that feels immortal when I think on you
my heart leaps in longing
of what might be

you want to heal with me
to be my warrior in times of need
I am your princess
"baby, everything you do is adorable"
you said

mommy kicked you out when you needed her
daddy ****** your step-sister
siblings who were scared by you
clouds of dust billowed up as we hit rock bottom together

my crazy arouses you
you're the one who understands

it scares me I only want you

I have this infatuation
for guys who can't touch me
like I believe they can't touch me
yet they ****** my heart up
as money found on the road

there is something in me
that feels deceased when I think on you
my head sinks in sadness
of what might have been

you wanted to fix me
to be my knight in armor
I was your naughty little girl
"baby, you're the sexiest I've had"
you said

mommy took care of your every need
daddy would dance to rock & roll
siblings who laughed with you
you've never been lower than the clouds

my crazy frustrates you
you'll never understand

you found out the hard way I wasn't lying when I said I don't do monogamy

I have this infatuation
for guys who can't touch me
like I believe they can't hurt me
yet they ****** my heart up
as money found on the road

My eyes are so bleary
I guess I'm young but I feel so weary

[All these bones are so old
My mind is crumbling in my weathered mold]

{Decaying, scattered, feathered thoughts
My eyes eclipsed & overwhelmed with black spots}

[I know it's hard, like days and nights collide
It's in my heart I trust, and in yours I confide]

{One coming from the other; Passing calender notes as the cesarean bruise
The numbers fall & smother; These fleeting emotions are for us to peruse}

[And no one else can break or lose my trembling mind as good as: I can find a way to breathe this liquid molten lava cyanide.]

{No one else brakes so loose my trembling my
No semblance I can find of you trembling you
I as good as mind? Can a way find I to breathe?
molten cyanide liquid lava
I'm all mixed up in you}

If there is anything I need from you, it is waking me up with a kiss & a cup of black coffee, offering your arms so I can hide my face when I blush, to think my eccentricities are endearing, to simply hold me when I shudder often, to know I don't always need you to have the right thing to say: I just need you. My kiss is wild abandonment; my mind turns off & all I know is what your lips want from mine & how your body demands & will receive my own. I hope  you won't turn away when you see I'll easily become any color you hint I should be. I'm at a loss that something so moldable could have any handholds to grasp.

hair like singed chestnuts, embers still alight. eyes full of moss & earth. skin as speckled sand. your nose is crooked & you remind me of a bird, flighty yet focused. I have never seen a bird out of touch with the moment; whatever is in front of him is his attention's duty, & you are no exception. if you only knew how I felt to be the duty of your attention.

the way you dug through your handbag, set on your lap... I smiled because it looked like you were peering into wonderland's entrance, contained inside your purse. your navy stilettos made you an auburn giant, tall & wafer thin. I want to take a bite. xo. Sophia.

to never know when I'm going to stop. each new girl topples out over the last, already midway into her own *******, her own catastrophe. to be out of control. to be constantly out of context. to live once or twice removed. to see kaleidoscopes in every drawn eyelid. to deal with the repercussions of the Other's actions. to only feel Whole with eyes closed & voice in hallelujahs. to hate being used, yet need it, crave it for the feeling of being wanted. to have sound hallucinations. to feel empty chronically. to feel emotions suddenly turn off. to rattle & shake under the lightest of pressures & thrive in chaos. to be distracted into dysfunction. to love. to love everyone except me(s). to mark my body with insults. to rack my mind with misgivings. to never be understood & to always be overestimated.

--

but to love. to always be humble. to always see others before self. to understand other's pain. to have so many bad memories, thus revel in every good one. to live in the emotional gutter then feel euphoric when crawling on level ground. to know that normal can never become extraordinary. to blow minds often, feel **** in my own skin. to be open to unexplored territory. to love often, powerfully, uncontrolled, chronic overflowed rivers, oceans of oscillating passions. to see kaleidoscopes in every drawn lid & know that others will never be mesmerized by the odd beauty i find ordinary. to close my eyes & raise my voice. hallelujah. hallelujah.

it's this alternating reality between the
dull, throbbing ache of desolation,
the sharp jolts of pain & the
euphoria, the drive to make, build
Rome in one day.

it's the alternation realities between
the inflation where I laugh until I scream,
kick chairs, throw pets down stairs,
rip every hair from my head,
punch myself to see stars,
scream until I laugh
&
the deflation where I sit
back down, stare into mirrors
to tell myself what
I really think of me,
carve insults into my woodworkings,
pull my knees to my chest,
rock myself into hallucinations
or imaginary safe zones.

chronic insomnia keeps the shakes coming steady
blunts steady the coming shakes

this world can't handle the whole
portion myself into fractions

i need you because you give me someone to be
your hands around my neck give me room to breathe

this comfortable pain
this questionably sane
these schizophrenic musings
my amusing bipolar bruisings
these anxiety retches
my borderline sketches

you are the words that breathe through me. lift, move me. the item for a shopper's perusing; for use and abuse-ing. i'm your bend over barbie doll, your late night *******, the push over & the fall. i scrape myself off your boot; keep waiting for trees to bear fruit. it's funny how you can **** me til i'm lame & i still believe i deserve more pain.

how can i believe i'm worth your while when i know you don't care about proving it to me? it's so much sexier for you to see me beg, watch me grovel & worship your **** as if you are my only hope (for all intensive purposes, i mostly believe you are; you save me from facing myself at night. seminated distraction as masochistic salvation).

leave me mangled gasping hair tangled in your fingers grasping & you're lingering by the door, contemplating whether to leave me or take me on the floor. this is all i am to you: tested tried wrong used. bleed me until you stop seeing red, drag me willing or indifferent back to your bed.

swirling clouds of exhaustion wrapping themselves around my brain, colored ever so closely to those of funeral shrouds. i inhale fumes & hold them in my ribcage, hoping for cancers to form, praying for a physicality to the sickness in me, for a tumor i can point to: "there!" i would say, "this is where i hurt." but my cells only hold my bad memories as fibrous proteins. they clutch condescending looks & carry them in the illusioned hope they will motivate me forward: to prove them wrong, to rise above the insults, to use the weight they hold to propel myself further. instead, I sink beyond previously charted depths. my toes know the silt of a sandy bottom (rocks so broken apart they aren't even considered pebbles anymore; insignificant alone & incomparable heartaches uncounted or uncountable together). i anchor myself in this remorse, this hurt i can't point to. i yearn for selfish suicides & scoff at salvation.

i'm broken spaces,
unnamed multitude faces:
see wholes as fractals.

i'm rubbed raw and sore,
i'm ***** waves on the shore:
rampant and rascal.

lost in the spotlight,
yet so defensive for fights:
though impractical.

i'm wanted by you,
yet i question what is true:
you falter and stall.

need you like the summer rain
the blood in my veins
I'll sift my tears from the soil
reap bounty from toil
you & me in every dream
audible anguish in our every scream
press my fingers to the glass
I'll clutch yours when we get the cash
there are reasons we don't sleep
like men who push too deep
& drugs to numb
& obsessions with ***
or needing the drink
just needing anything to stop the think
really, we're not crazy
our realities a little lazy
at keeping us up to date
clarity always comes too late

you are a fool, Sophia. As I look up at these city lights, every neon sign seems to advertise you; they all remind me of what I'm missing out on. I pass strangers and hear them whispering your tender mercies: "so?" "fee" "ahhh..." I may be being quite forward so early on in our correspondences, but the theory that you are a scrap of paper that someone would allow to slip through their fingers is ridiculous to me. I say that because even after only meeting you once, by such a fortunate and faithful chance, I wanted to write screenplays, novellas, and entire manuscripts only based on how beautiful your name sounds when I say it. I will be absorbed in everything you admit me to learn about you. I only hope for your amusement when you discover my own scorched trails. I'm stupefied by your compliments, and I will catch every drop of your defrosting heart on my tongue. I felt so stupid but I beamed in pride seeing I could make you blush as pink as the roses on the bush behind you... such a delicate, feminine, sensitive color; white blossoming into red, purity blooming into passion. How I wish I could be the one to awaken a passion in you. I'm terribly sorry if I'm smothering, but you've an expert pen dipped in ink of naivety... in meeting you I crossed the border between respectable me and questionable sanity: the Sophia Line (your kiss would be turpentine, **** anything I used to be to become anything, everything you need from me). Ah... fee so... you've given me a lot to live up to. xo. Josephine.

someday, you'll understand. the way you don't know how to brush your teeth anymore, or when it's time to bathe. they way you look at others and they seem too fast, their clocks running on fresh batteries. the way you have to psych yourself up for days to mop the floor, or how you need a day or two of rest after 'changes in plans'. the way normal noise seems hap-hazardous and it panics you, heart hammers, teeth grit, and you rocking, murmur ssssssshhh... as if this house was a baby too big to soothe; you standing on the edge of that wavering lip, saying ssssh into that dark expanse of empty, needing mouth: it's hollering and doesn't hear you, doesn't hear you but hears the torment of a needing stomach. You: you stand there with your ******* not big enough to nurse, too empty to satisfy....

....someday you'll understand.

I wish you believed these cracked bones, these arching tones, my so alones. I wish you saw my broken jaw, my tooth & claw, my obvious flaws. If you would listen to why I stay in bed, & to my cringe when the voices in my head sound, then I would tell you I am nothing, why I'm lost & not found. I would tell you that me, you'll never see, & I only live hypothetically. I am a ghost spirit, chained to this body, this ***** house all the girls frequent; they each claim the same identity & 'I' is a term they each invent. They speak in careful whispers & undo zippers & wonder why no one gives a ****. They thrive in sequinned moonlights, unfought bar fights, & ponder where the day went. When things get rough I float outside my head, sit in the air, see the scene unfold; you think you speak to me, but you can't hurt me when I'm above you, friend to ceiling mould. The girls are masters of identity theft, & 'me'? Ha! There's nothing left. They love to push me into a dream; from there they rampage merrily. I thought I'd **** them, but it seems I'm live ill-vibe & bare-ily.