We could talk about how much i hate my fickle and confused brain
how it hows
how it speeds up when it should slow down
like A ******* cat
how it cries for itself
like a ******* saint
we all forgot about

my brain feeds on eggs and lust
it's so hungry but when it finally gets fed it doesn't ******* want it anymore
what the ****?

i didn't write since you were here
i wanted to eat a million maggots
and pull my hair out of my scalp
my cup is full and overflows with hate
not a flower in my hair
or a writing on my wall
gave my brain a rest
like an injured moth
i lay here on the floor
and i don't want saved
especially
not by you

big round ***
to fit a hand
or maybe to eat
              breakfast off of
mom would be
so ashamed to see I
ended a sentence
with a preposition

now i spit it all out
real words float off my tongue
drenched and heavy with happiness
they fill the room with comfortable thick air
i know it because i feel it
my words dance around
first circling my body
then clacking along the hard white floor
until they reach the stubble on your chin
and nudge you gently, but persistently
like a kitten might
they beg you to play
to breathe
to love

my words have been dancing for so long
they run in circles
and entertain themselves
for the sake of them
and you
but they tire
and my chest aches from their heavy haul

sometimes it tickles when you say a word like
"cheesed"
or "shmuck"
and i want to pull you right out of your dirt saturated overalls
and plant a fat one on your cheek
as deep as the roots
of all the goods that you have taught me to plant

when life gets mad at me, I kiss him on the cheek
and tell him how beautiful he is when he smiles
I tell him sometimes he needs to count down from 10
because anxiety gets all of us,
he’s nothing special
I read him stories, and recite him Grilfindol and Alphrondage
and  I tell him everything my mom told me
and some of what my dad told me
sometimes he hides
and I have to run after him until my legs are jelly
he never stays mad for long

i

boys seem to be much riper
and ready to eat
after i've buttered them up a little bit
maybe with a cheap beer
a little nudge on the stomach
a lesson on spell-checking

"take off yours first" he yells

(my bottoms are off before he finishes)

i guess i like the boys the will play games with me
and laugh when i tell a joke or don't tell a joke
and don't mind when i shake my *** all up in the air

he will ask me to see who can get undressed the quickest

and i wade in a lake
already naked

crooked teeth but pretty lips biting into a sweet slice of cheesecake
that sounds good
i will do that
when takers become givers
and old men stop snoring and
bus 39 stops being late
old ladies with young problems like to crochet
and sad men do comedy
faces in the sheets and ceilings and clouds and even
in    between
my legs
get lost in the abyss of strange
in my delicate brain
and ashed-on layers

i swear i could take a bite out of you

i know that all your kisses and your kisses and your kisses
in the rain and in my bed and in your car
pile up and wake me in the mornings
and paint me a curious picture
of a salacious dreamland
and a sweet demise

sometimes I'm running around in a field I have never seen before
and my body hurts like mashed potatoes
So I sit down
and the ground underneath me crumbles
and I fall down until the everything is orange and
my brain is on backwards
Then I look down at myself
and I have no belly button and no fingertips
and,
in fact, -
I'm in a thousand tiny little pieces on the ground

and I can't even put myself back together

throw me away like a carton of bad eggs
and rip me off like the hanging thread on your sweater
I've melted too many times under the heat of your being
scrape me off the plate like i'm nothing
(except for maybe the really nice bits)
and toss me like yesterdays paper
eat me in the morning
and spit me back out at night
it doesn't matter
because like the girl at the bus stop on Tuesdays
like the man in search of the answers to todays puzzle
I will always be waiting