the fear
is suffocating
the anger
is motivating
the sadness
is paralyzing

what do you do
when you’ve been doing
your best
and it’s still
not enough?

what do you say
when you know you’re
beaten down
and nothing will
change their minds?

my eyes are tired
of being dry and puffy
my brain is tired of
feeling like cotton
nose is tired of stuffy
throat is tired of lumpy
but mostly i am
just tired

please
all i want
is silence
so complete
and still that
even the ringing
in my ears
quiets

just a little
bit of peace

to reestablish
a connection
from the crossed wires
between my ears

a warm
hazy feeling
beginning to
grow up through
my stomach and
sprout blooms
into my
chest cavity

i don’t want to
live on the run
anymore

on the run?
but all you do
is work and sleep

exactly
i’m on the run
from the rest
of my life

the only place i
feel at home anymore
is a little blue car with
his hand in mine

i’m safe there
we go places
that take me
away from it all

but i always have
to go and ruin it
don’t i?
muddy footprints
on the door
streaks on the window
balled up napkins
propelled by tears
and emotions
onto the floor

i don’t want to be
taken care of
i want to grow
unhindered
up the wall like
the ivy that climbs
fill the lawn of my life
with endless may violets

not the mat
in the floorboards
with trampled debris
of leaves and winter wet
under someone’s
cold feet

i am my own
worst critic
though not my
only critic

but i am the one
i must listen to
in the still after
i’ve locked the doors
i’m the one that
keeps myself from
complete
peace and quiet

i can understand
people and why
they might not
like me
but it’s harder
to understand
why i can’t
like myself

but please
oh please don’t
put me under
a public microscope
please don’t turn
the far side of this
counter into some
kind of fishbowl

because i swear
i am doing my best
but it’s hard and
i can’t handle the
feeling of being
watched

all i want is
peace and quiet
a house
that feels like home
to come back to
at the end of the day

and the only
vicious voice
i must fight
to be my own

it’s not that i was
made this way
it’s that i was forged
in the fires this way

born
blank
formless
ready to become
something
someone

raised behind
fragile glass walls
they tapped on
and i could not
defend myself without
cracking the seal
and being blamed
for destruction

until one day
the fire came
burning around my feet
and i had
to get
out

i smashed the glass
shards in my fists
blood on my knuckles
and i’ve been fighting
ever since
that day

i was not
supposed to be this way
i was supposed to be
a fragile china doll
but this is who
i ended up

a fighter
a warrior
an impudent
little girl who
doesn’t know
when to quit

supposed to faint
at the sight of blood
not be someone who
seeks it out

supposed to be
meek
and mild
mousy

not loud
and bouncy
chatty
impulsive
or daresay
even funny

but i am
a fighter
and i will not
be stopped
i refuse to be
walked over
for any longer
than i already have

and taking my
power back means
sometimes i must
punch
sometimes i must
snarl
bare my teeth and
sharpen my nails

but it also means
sometimes i must
stand
with all the power
i know i possess
underneath the
surface
hold it back

allow my spine
to straighten
and my shoulders
to stretch

remember words like
imposing
badass
competent
and for all i have felt
that i take up too
much space in this
body of mine
i am this size because
nothing smaller
could contain
what i have inside

let my full
height rise
and my full
weight surmise
to anyone and
everyone that i

might not always spit
fire and flames
but there is a furnace
roaring at my feet

have you ever looked
at a house and felt
a crippling pain that
you couldn’t go in it?

i have
every day i see my own
front porch
and every day i see the house
still in someone else’s name
but not for much longer

the first hurt is raw
ripping and searing
through my heart
and running into hot
cinnamon fire tears
burning my cheeks

the second hurt is dull
stinging like a
badly sharpened knife
over skin or knowing
what your birthday
present is but having
to wait while not
letting on you know

i grew accustomed to
the custom of becoming
myself in this house
but the walls i grew up in
grew inward too tightly
around me to choke me

and still i have
a pillow to bury my
face in at night
a shower to wash off
the day dust
a kitchen to stand in
when i’m feeling
a bit lost

but lost is the only
feeling i have
when i’m here
in this house

i don’t live here
anymore

i live on my feet
behind counters
through the parking lot
and up the sidewalk

slipping in before
the sun is up
and dragging out
when others are in bed

feeling small
on a dull afternoon
when i can only curl
up on the couch
to think
and wait

time in between
that’s now

time between shifts
and time between living
in my house
and finding my home

it’s not so much
the waiting game
it’s the feeling
that i’m alone

that nobody
wants me

so close and
yet so far
almost there
but stuck here

just keep
the worn floors clean
music playing
and make sure
the janky old doors
are locked at night

this is my town
this is my home now

this town will take
care of me

as i’m wandering through it
halfway homeless

champagne tickles
the roof of my mouth
like the fear bubbling
up in my chest

and sweet yellow
orange juice is what
i imagine hope for
living life tases like

is peering down
the aisles of this
narrow small town
liquor store
just peering
into my future?

**** it
and sink it
hope for
the best

happy birthday to me
now it’s time to tell
my mother that her vivacious
little girl has grown up
into a young woman who only
wants flowers in her hair
a pillow fort of quiet solitude
and a little peace of mind
maybe with a stiff drink
in her hand
or maybe just with
an iced coffee

swish the drink around
in the crystalline glasses
used to being filled with
water or cola
swirl it into the
confusion dripping down
the frosted walls and puddling
in the dip of the floor of my brain

alcohol
***
solitude
all tempting
and timely vices
now that i’m grown

everyone
leave me
alone
don’t leave me
alone
i’m scared

i’m scared
of who i’ve become
of who i will find
myself to be
when i reach the
bottom of this cup
full of old
memories

and when you asked me
what I wanted for
my birthday all
i could think of was
to be seventeen again
and not afraid of
what tomorrow
might bring

or to have a day
or two completely
to myself
nobody to ask me
silly questions and
nobody to answer
my doubts being voiced
just me
learning the art
of trusting myself

to lean into my
emotions without
spiraling down
into them

i’m growing up
growing older
learning change is the
only constant in life

empty the glass
brush my teeth
shake out my hair
crawl under the blankets
go to sleep and
wake up tomorrow
one day older
one day wiser

the future
is trash bags full of
old clothing
boxes full of
old books
a reinvention
of myself and
maybe finding a life
that brings me peace

this moment is coffee grounds
***** pennies and soft dollar bills
wind cutting through
the corners of the windows
always a couple degrees
warmer inside my bake case
jabbing keys on a grimy calculator
and a persistent ache in my heels

so i’ll sit down for
a snatched second here
or there and lose myself
in the quiet for just
a moment until the
bell rings and i
shake myself out
of the revery
shut the notebook
blue lined with
thoughts that won’t
stay in neat rows

back to work
an endless stack of
the dishes of
strangers

scrape
wash
rinse
soak
dry
repeat

washing dishes
a chore that never ends
perpetual transience of
soap through my hands

i tell myself that this
is just a season
that it won’t always
be like this

change is now
i am changing

i must learn to live
my life now and not
as a vague concept
misty in my future
clinging to me like
floral perfume that
isn’t mine but covers the smell
of bleach and bacon grease

water is a force of nature
that people have learned
to route through pipes into
small town water lines
contain in faucets and run
through sinks into bathtubs
pitchers and dishpans

oceans distilled into
jugs and splashed into
my cut glass cacophony
ice cube trays
frozen with complacency
something like me

and now it’s time to tell
my mother that her vivacious
little girl has grown up
into a young woman
who is growing her hair on an impulse
and who has found a family
beyond flesh and blood
who soon will lie on the floor
of her own home and solve
her own sadness in her own heart
surrounded by people who love her
because they chose to
not because they only wanted
love in return

that she is going to age
without resentment
and has made the choice
to lean into the wind
taste the change
entering her bloodstream

the future
is now
and change
is coming

***
a word so bad
it didn’t even need
four letters

they told us
to wait for
our future husbands
to treat the boys we
dated as if they
belonged to someone else

that if we wouldn’t do it
with our parents in the room
it wasn’t okay
to do at all

that there was
some kind of higher
spirituality achieved
by celibates and singles
but of course that
couldn’t be for everyone
(as if needing human
companionship made you weak)

******* would send
you to hell and
of course the gays were
already there

that our virginity was the most
important part of ourselves
and losing it before due time
was the worst thing we could do
but all would be better
if we said we were sorry
swore never
to do it again

there were contracts
pledges, oaths
and jewelry
if you didn’t have
a ring you weren’t
doing it right

purity
virginity
words thrown around like
hand grenades into foxholes
as insurance policy against
pregnancy and stds

a barrage against the
onslaught of our culture
morality reduced to making
guys and girls sit on
different sides of the room
and debates in the mirror
over the length of skirts
and scoop of necklines

for something we weren’t
supposed to do
they sure made us think
about it an awful lot

meanwhile
back home in our own
bedrooms all the songs
on our radios and
the movies on our tvs
told us a very different story

somewhere along the line
i got so confused i
convinced myself i never
wanted *** at all
when i finally felt
desire stirring
in the pit of my stomach
it was terrifying

i thought since i
had never felt it
that made me immune
but it really just made me
in deep
deep denial

a denial that persisted
through late evenings
of exploring another
person’s body
learning to trust someone
with my own

they told us until we said
i do
there was no reason
to believe anything would last

and some nights i can’t sleep
with worrying about
some inevitable burning and
collapse of the building called us

i feel my parents’ gazes boring
right through my chest and
hope they never find out
what i’ve been doing

turtlenecks to cover the stain
of love notes on my neck
having something on
my body to hide
takes me back to being fifteen
and the judgement of strangers
a dead weight in my stomach
and sweaters past my palms

but the feeling of your lips
and hands and breath
in my ear and for a few minutes
i don’t care that tomorrow
i’ll be trying to forget
that i’m not as pure
as they once told me
i would stay

but i am no longer
in denial
only suffocating
in guilt