In my head, I wished to have killed you countless times
Or choked you with a rope made of your lustful desires
You are lucky I chose to be a good woman.

I have spoke to you in righteous ways and told you "back off!"
But you don't seem to understand the word, you really wanna **** me off
You are still lucky I chose to be a good woman.

Yes, I could have dealt with the devil and trade your soul
Good thing this so called "conscience" carves deep to my core
You are so lucky I chose to be a good woman.

I attended a funeral today
alarmed by how much I could relate
to the body in a casket
however,
envious of the way death chose her
over me
but what’s new?
standing in the middle of the street
headlights approaching
my body is numb from the cold
a familiar feeling of nothing
that still hurts
the headlights slow their haste
I stay for a moment
disappointed in their choice
perhaps another time
we’ll meet again

I need to dance with you and listen to you sing. I need to look at you, and  catch your eye at the exact moment you turn your head and smile at me. You have shown me that magic exists; kindness is not a myth. You, I need to do so many things with you. I need to follow your fingers as they move rhythmically to the tune of the universe. I need to breathe in your effulgent happiness. I need to touch and feel your scalding soul. The sadness that grips you and the darkness that stains your eyes, I need to partake in its lilting stillness. And as you float and stumble, crash and burn through life, I need to be there, pulsing, writhing, drowning in the abyss of wanting you.

I can't deny that I miss you.
Or that I wake up every day at four In the morning, hoping to see you next to me.
But, I know that's not how it is anymore.
It hurts.
I keep telling myself " oh she doesn't care."
But, I know that's not the truth.
You were just doing what's best for you, I can't get mad at that.
I have to do the same.

i wanted to be more than life stuck in these bones,
but they're intent on running.
i thought i'd be content with settling down
but i think they are hunting for something.
i can see myself moving from city or town
though its hard to feel more than motionless
when about a month maybe more
is all you'll make an appearance for.
i'd like to feel more than simply life in these bones
but right now they're only good for aching.

matching socks hide away my weak feet for a while
but it doesn't take long for the absence of skin--
reminding me my brittle feet are breaking,
creaking, wary under the weight of heavy bones.

my hands feel empty.
but doctor's say nothing's missing...
i know i'm losing something to distance
you can hear it if you listen.

i keep replaying the sound of your whole life splitting
its way from mine
a misgiving sound for a while i'd been wishing
not to listen to, but i
decided to make it into an alarm clock instead
to keep me from dreaming too big, because
nothing scares me quicker from sleep.
i'm relearning how ferocious
your memory could be.

and only when you look you will see
inside your reflection--half of what you should be
not a would-be, but a could've-been
stuck with ******' half-life personalities
singing for their expiration dates,
cracking under your empty gravity.
breaking, fading, floating away from reality.
it took too many broken bones
to realize how unbroken we weren't supposed to be.

myself personally, i think there's no sense in
looking in the mirror
when i see no more beauty there.
i could let loose these slippery bones
and collapse on the floor.
and i figure to stay here a while, because
i can't sleep inside silence anymore.
city sounds don't cut it, so
i let your memory whisper faintly to me
but not so gently, more in line with a taunt
composed of words like,
"you are the thing that carved the me
out of me
so of course i had to set myself free."

but you can keep talking to me
and choke out all the mystery
this is near to death--
it's half misery, half meant to be.
it's all left me.
you haven't been living the right way
and it's left my body empty,
boneless.
it's let my body empty-out;
crooked tendons pining towards you.
a sorry skeleton, crawling,
unable to keep it in the ground.

I love you, he said
As the hanging wall pictures tumbled down
Knocking me in the head
Piece by piece

I devoured each lie
And asked for more
Craving the attention
That was his love

I'd walk home in the dark
As delicately as a bruise
Blooming from the imprints of
His cool hands

He'd hit me up for a plan
The next day
Throwing a private party
Where no one could hear

My silent screams
Sometimes I couldn't even hear
Them over the slamming
Of doors

He'd play and twist me
Like his little doll
But it was our
Special game

His scent
Like pepper spray
Burned my nose
So I inhaled deeper

He'd set fire to the house
Or maybe just to my heart
Clawed at my thighs
Got drunk off my blood

And that's how our love worked
He'd break my bones
And I'd insist it was
My fault

But then I met you
And found that love isn't measured
By the number of bruises
Down my spine
Or even by the scars
He'd give me on my wrists

With you
I'd never even think
To apologize for being me
When that's all he'd ever hear

So no he didn't really love me
And that realization
Hit me harder
Than he ever could

We all need something.
Grace.
Love.
Compassion.
Trust.
But my days have been spent judging,
myself mostly, but others if I find I must.
It's a disposition
An antithesis of helpfulness.
I desire to speak life, to give life, to live life
freely...
But I have been stuck in a pit.
And I cannot dig myself out.
And I cannot sit myself down
And say, "what you are feeling is ok.
You are not ruined,
And you're just learning to stay."

what swallowing silence
a warm cup holds

in a space, a time and place
beyond reaching, beyond
satisfaction

handle your place gently

invite your containment

to sit