the best gift
i got this year for christmas
was beginning to
understand who
you are as a person

what happens when the
emotions i know you keep
deep down inside somewhere
bubble up and you
explode a little

and how you see
the world
and people
and life
and me

the dimple in your right
cheek when you laugh
a genuine laugh
the tiny wart on
the back of your hand
the patch of fuzz
at the bottom of your back
the way your lips remind me
of peaches in the summer

how looking at you is
gazing into the sunset
how leaning on you is
everything i ever needed
how kissing you is
soft and precious
some days and
fire and chills the next

and i say i love you
an awful lot

but i mean it
an awful lot

and i’m used to making
your coffee every day
but every day i think about
how much i want to make
your coffee every day
for the rest of our lives

a naked lady on a bicycle
graces the wine bottle
i swirl the blueberry bitterness
in one of the corralware mugs
with holly berries on the rim
choke it down and wish i’d eaten
some kind of dinner besides
stray fruit and dark chocolate

is this what christmas
really means?

cold and tired
unable to feel my fingers
or my toes
or anything inside my heart
that might resemble any
kind of positive emotion

sleep
alcohol
***
food

the four basic needs
associated with being
human and getting through
a time like this

at least two of them
should help me get through
this week but this hippie
wine is all i’ve got

it’s late
it’s really
****** late
at least for me

but you stay up
to all hours

i can’t get the
wine down
but it’s okay because
i’m tired enough
that i’m already
acting drunk

and when you walk
through the back door
i’ll tackle you
stick my cold hands
under your clothes
where it’s warm
and inviting and i’ll hope
for the best

i know better than to rely
on people for getting
me through the hard times
but it’s so tempting
when you’re so soft
and warm
and you always
take care of me

and i’m so tired
so tired
so...
tired

and i want to fall asleep
in your bed
on your chest
where time doesn’t
exist and stress
is just a memory

and the only thought in
my mind is that you’re
the best thing to
ever happen to me

mind games
with myself

a quivering equilibrium
of keeping myself too
busy to sink into depression
but not so overwhelmed
that the anxiety
swallows me whole

and the scales
are swinging

i am not
in control
of my own
life right now

cuticles stained green
hair grown scraggly
wrists that go
numb and tingle

i am only
twenty

too old to be carefree
and yet too young
to be callused and weathered
made miserable by time

the mind games get
violent
no referee
to call time out

my bath is still
hot but i suppose that as
with dishes it should be
emptied when no longer clear

and i am clouding
my own judgement

so the rusty red water
drains away
leaving bubbles
on my shoulders

mind games must halt
impulse control

because still the
blood remains
i can’t wash
it off me

it’s too
late

what’s wrong
with me

i am scared of
many things
the most frightening being
spiders
and admitting what i’m
really feeling

make that a fear
of myself

of the
mind games

and now what’s
done is done and
i will sleep or
lie awake in tears

when people ask what
happened to me
i tell them i was sad
and anxious and
got over it two
years ago

because not even i know
what’s wrong with me

how i’m supposed
to win the mind games

somebody help me
i need a referee

people build
their homes

out of the age of
their tea kettle and
which plants they keep
on the windowsill

by whether or not
the cups and plates match
if the cupboards are
minimalist or overstuffed

from the color of the walls
and state of the floor

right down to what they
hang on the fridge
the scent they choose
for their dish soap

and the way the words
come out of their mouths

i am tired of tending
to other people’s homes
using their sponges
watering their dead plants
sweeping their floors
and smelling their dish soap

tired of listening to
my words crumbling
as fast as i can
get them out

and i want a home
with fresh flowers on
the counter at all times
something delicious
simmering on the stove
with hot tea every night
and cream line cappuccinos
every morning for breakfast

the plates don’t need to match
although i’d like them to
i know i’m not that type of person
and the mugs and washcloths don’t
need to be handmade but i’m sure
most of them will be anyway

with a goldfish
and succulents
both of which will live
long healthy lives

yellow walls and maybe a
sunny breakfast nook
with a crochet lace valence
over top the window

your hand
to hold
your chest to rest
my head on at night

and when the dishes rattle
it won’t be in frustration or
anger but in peels
of citrus and laughter

*i’m ready to build
a home of my own
and i want to build it
with you by my side

greeted by the musty smell
of yesterday’s bacon grease
the familiar scrape
of sliding glass and brass
and the blast of hot air
from an open oven

turn on the lights
unlock the doors
whining and whirring as coffee
falls from the grinder chute
the steam wands hiss
water spits through
the filter basket and i
find myself awake

and standing with my
elbows in a bin of hot
water and soapy dishes
the crust over my eyes
loosening with the
warmth and wet

flip the sign
wave the flag
the plates clank
as i walk by

smile
chat
say the same lines
i say every day
toaster to register
sink to grill

an autopilot person
as the world spins

ivy on the brick walls turns red
snow blankets the stone steps
the streetlights stay on through
the fog all morning

the picture windows
rattle when the semis
roar around the corner
at night i lie awake
and imagine them
cutting the turn too close
and crashing through plate glass

i can’t sleep
not when morning
looms so soon
when the sky out the
window will be black
when i wake up

black when i
eat dinner
and gray whenever
else i look

and it’s true
i don’t have it
as rough as
some people

but that doesn’t mean
it’s all so easy for me

i’ve found by living in
the early morning
i can achieve the same
effect as staying up
too late but with less
negative consequences

but the things that are whispered
when the world is still dark
aren’t things to be whispered
to the faint of heart

oh the joys of idyllic
small town life in this
whitewashed village where
everyone knows everyone
and everyone knows
everyone’s business

where the groceries are
overpriced and the taxes
are high and everyone but
the wife knows he’s cheating

where everything is a scandal
and nobody will admit to knowing
anything but they’ll still talk
about it behind closed doors

there are supposedly prostitutes
on main street but i only ever see
the drunk and drugged out there
and if someone is single there is
someone determined
to find them a match

all and all a very pleasant
charming life we lead here
what with all the arrests
and the highway department
yammering away on things
and the way the tops of the semis
scrape the bottom of the
traffic lights on their way though

something charming about
the way the sides of the buildings
all need a good power washing
and there’s probably lots of
good clean arsenic in
the water supply

scenic
a most sleepy
little burg
they say

spend some time
with us and
you’ll find a community
you’ll find a home

you’ll also
find a thing or two
you’ll wish
you didn’t know