the kinds of things i think about after taking seven shots of tequila:

he looks really great his eyes aren't dead anymore and we even hugged for the first time in years

she doesn't deserve him or the way he carries her around when she is too drunk to stand up on her own

my hair has gotten so long remember when I cut it all off in the bathroom at Erin's house because I was too weak to cut my wrists open and bleed to death

did I take my medication today? why do I keep forgetting to take my medication? Why am I so scared of my medication?

I really wish he was here right now so I could kiss him and sit on top of him and pull his hair. I hope he doesn't **** himself. I am starting to like him too much.

-

I've been sleeping in my parents' bed while they're away
the same bed I could crawl into as a child when I would have the night terrors
Dad is different now, different than he was back then
now he always has a drink in his hand, accompanied by a forced smile
He used to have a sparkle in his eyes, now I realize that was just his contact lens.
Sometimes I think it's my fault,
that I'm the one who broke him.
-

sometimes I think I am loveless and cold, and that's why I hate the heat and get sick all the time
but she reminded me of all the love I do have
love that fills the room and echoes like a choir's song on a Sunday
love that burns through me like a match in a grassy field
I have love for the trees and for the river and for the smooth rocks and even for the jagged ones that cut my knees
there is love every time she forgets to put on sunscreen and there is love when I take care of her so she can be high on acid
I give love to my father and mother, who watched me destroy myself for years and held my hand as I walked out of the darkness
but I think most important of all
is that I have love for myself
for my scars and my freckles and my stretch marks and my illness and my flat feet and my small hands and my messy hair and my sweaty palms and for everything that makes me who I am
I have love
-

I saw a monkey masturbatin' in a tree
He looked at me so curiously
One stroke, Two strokes, and then three

Hey jerky monkey
Don't go shootin' your load on me!

I want you to put me on your tongue and let me dissolve into you like the tiny white squares that turn those glossy hazel marbles into black holes and intense stares. I want you to kiss me and see negative colored rulers in the corner of your vision and I want you to have trouble making a decision between kissing me and observing me while I'm sitting on your chest and I want you to laugh like you did with your cherry colored lip curled over your childish grin over and over and over again and I want you to forget the conversation topic every time you close your eyes because the world inside of your mind is filled with blinking images that you can't quite explain aloud so you settle for little talks about Rosa Parks and Indian style kisses and how the ocean is the Earth's thing or the complexity of butterfly brains and whether or not they remember their caterpillar memories (they do). Describe to me the first time you saw your favorite color and what developed the affinity for it: yours, a glacier blue toy that resembled the ocean and mine, a lavender Easter dress that twirled when I spun. Tell me about your school crushes when you were four and what you got your clothespin moved to the sad face for and I'll write it all in ink on my knee caps because "God, we're such writers" and you'll check the clock in the gaps and search for tunes or lighters and I'll want time to slow down because the nights spent with you usually seem as though minutes are just a few seconds shy of sixty, which turns the little hand pretty quickly.
I want hours, weeks, decades, to analyze the freckles on your face or the pace at which you move your tongue and precisely how it tastes.
I want you to tell me that your brother would like me and about the mountains in Tennessee and maybe next time I'll try to stay awake, unless you want to listen to the way I breathe so fully when I dream.

When I close my eyes, I want to be able to see what you see.
I want you to keep burying the numb parts of you into the warm parts of me.

I am not like the ocean in that I've got waves flowing down my back or the warmth of the sand in my hands or the voice of a hundred seagulls harmonizing in sync when they land.
I am not like the ocean in that I can wrap myself around you, engulf you, show you a world you've never dreamed of, full of life and mystery and depth.

I am the lost limbs and home-wrecking tsunamis.
I am the high tide that tickles toddler's toes and pulls them in with each giggle when their moms glance away for a tiny second.
I am unknown and anonymous and dangerous to explore,
not miraculous.
I sting, strangle, bite, drown, and rip with no remorse.
I am like the darkest parts of the ocean, full of creatures with teeth you've never seen and an intense lust, hunger, and greed.
Full of lost skeletons and deflated floaties and engines from submarines.
I am like the ocean in that once you're in too deep,
once you're too far out at sea,
if you don't have the breath or the energy
to somehow find your way back to the beach,
I am ruthless and I will pull you under and then it will be too late,
you know?
And you'll be just another abandoned snorkel on the jagged rocks below.

And as much as I want to be the exhilarating parts of the sea for you,
all I can offer is the salt in me.

do you know that it is june,

and that it seemed to have come quickly,

while we weren’t looking.

they say it will be a very wet and windy

day for north wales.          i live there.

yet i have floral  cotton dresses ready

for the sun.         which will come.

we had a lovely roast dinner sunday,

the last day of may.

sbm