in the ripped  up
r  u  n     o  v  e  r
shards of   who i
had    wanted  to
be  i  found  only
someone   i  d i d
not      recognize.
h o w   do  i    go
back    to feeling
h   u  m   a   n   ?

I wish you'd make me do everything you didn't want to do
I wish you'd boo at everything I tried to do
You can be the audience, I'll be the fool
Because I want to fall in love with you

I want you to hurt me
I want you to stain my sheets and I want you to sue me
I want a divorce, I want to feel blues
Cancel your plans, we've got some misery to do

We can do it like my parents did
We can stay together for the kids, but I know we'll lose
I don't care what you choose, I don't care what you do
Because I want to fall in love with you

How many more clues do I have to give you
Destroy me, destroy you
Let's fall into love like skydivers with no parachutes

Thick as thieves and red handed I'm one of them.
I'll hang for this surely.
For what I stole, so monumentally precious.
I couldn't stop myself like temptation was all I am.

The river runs with tender elegance.
But not like yours.
The candle flames burn with scorching warmth.
But not like yours.
A thousand roses flower in an endless beauty.
But not like yours.
The lilies with their careful scent consumes me with hope.
But not like yours.

They call me a thief.
How can that be, when you stole my heart.
Pulling all the right strings from the very very start.
I'll hang for this I know it.
I'll take my punishment with pride.
For what I stole...
A precious fleeting moment.
One I do not wish to hide.

Today I did not miss the ghost parade
Which always comes without warning
And leaves the way your glasses do
Dusting its tracks before placing itself
On the counter in the bathroom


I think of the pain that comes with growing wings
And understanding the difference between
Beauty and utility

I am too big to fly

We need to grow simpler things from our backs
Starting with patience
But I am just being silly
Patience should grow from your lungs

The ghost parade is a quiet thing
Always manages to pass through you
With the slowness of a carriage ride
Through some well lit park in the evening

And just like all ghosts
They remind you of something you've lost
Or will never have
And takes it with them when they leave

The parade marched off with my wings
Silver feathers erupting like confetti

I heard the hunters load their rifles
And assumed this was a good thing

I wouldn't call them scars. Our bodies are ancient calendars marked with times and places. Tonight, you are not real. You are the desperate ocean lapping at the shoreline trying to take back the secrets in the bottles cast off by lovers, and children, letters to the dead sometimes. They are not your secrets, but they came to you first. They are full of feelings you have once felt or will feel. The bottles glisten in the sand mockingly, beautifully, painfully, like window shopping for jewelry you'll never be able to afford. You never expect to want the glass back after it has been pulled out of you. But the stories inside are your stories now too. You cast them off in the same manner hoping somone better than the sea will find them. The story about your cancer, your mother, the love you feel right now, the love returned, the time you thought of the beauty of a flower, the flower you killed to show someone how beautiful it was, the realization of the importance of stillness. All those stories like broken bottles in your skin. Like jewels encrusted on a big brass door leading to a room you live in. But tonight, you are the ocean at high tide, finally getting your bottles back.