scared is not
a good enough
word for how
i'm feeling

peeking through
a crack in the
curtain of who
i am as a person

(like a dumb
teenage boy
hoping to see
some girl's skin)

and being
surprised to find
the lights on and
no one home

(not that i should
find that surprising
when i haven't seen
myself around town)

like i moved onto
the back porch of
a stranger and never
went back home

(sleeping in the weather
and knowing that i've
chosen to be homeless
in pursuit of a feeling)

trapped in a
small town
by small mentalities
of who i should be

getting drunk and
laid while wishing
i was burning trash
alone in the woods

(the long
and short
of it is
i lost myself
or that i never really
had myself at all)

we hold onto
things and places
people and faces
that feel like home
even if we don't love them
even if they don't love us
because we want security
while growing up

(can't shake the memories
from dresses hanging
in the backs of closets
clinging like that knockoff
pink perfume that took
last shreds of innocence)

and i'm scared
i'm ******* scared
of being
okay

because i've  hung
onto my sadness
like i hung onto
an old hoodie

(walked hand in
hand with darkness
the only thing i've
always had to fall on)

and now i'm standing
tapping on the window
trying to figure out if
the person i'm looking
for is hiding behind the
stacked moving boxes
if they were ever here
in the first place

i don't see her
but i have to find her
and i can't escape
i can only drag
myself up with a
questionable safety harness
determination and
broken fingernails

**this is ativan up
not ativan out

i've got a soft
spot in my heart
for a good
harmonica solo

but also strings
banjos
synths
ukuleles
and tack piano makes
my heart skip a beat

don't even
get me started
on brass sections
they turn
me into a pile
of mush

so we can
conclude that
really just music
in general
makes me
disintegrate.

i'm eighteen and
my mind is running away

you're screaming
ranting and raving
but don't know you're
doing it and don't know
that i'm crawling
inside a cave where
nothing can touch me
except wanting to die

you were grumbling after
dinner that i don't talk
to anybody anymore
but you don't know that i'm
not lacking words i'm just
lacking the energy
that it would take to
use any of them

(flashbacks to all the times recently
you've complained i don't love you
anymore. to my whole lifetime of
wondering if you loved me at all)

i'm thirteen and
unaware of my anxiety
associated with existence
usually put in in writing as
"pressure". but you don't think
there's anyone pressuring me

i talk too much to too
many people and have
been hurt before. but
never in that abject
way of it being because
i set myself up for it

(emotions so haywire that i end
up hospitalized over a box of
broken cd cases. now that i
remember it i was rage cleaning
and would unquestionably have
an even worse reaction today)

i'm seven and
having another ocular
migraine even though
i don't know it

(the past as as brittle as the
uncooked spaghetti filched
from the box and wedging
between my crooked teeth)

my memory fails me
whether you steamed
your way through preparing
dinner in the kitchen of faded
herbal wallpaper with words
and woodgrain. if i've been
tuning it out all this time
only to notice recently

("you're just like me" you said today
my seven-year old self thinks that's cool
while my current self is wishing to
deck someone while saying nothing)

today and tonight when intrusive
memories keep coming back is when i
remember that if i don't automatically
see things from your side there will
be a row. despite the fact you have
never investigated my perspective

(you're complaining about how
badly you sleep and how it's my
fault for waking you up at
four a.m. but did you ever stop
to ask why the ******* your
daughter is awake at four a.m.)

"my whole body hurts" you said
having taken some chronic
illnesses for some light grocery
shopping and attend a reception
"so does mine" i said
having taken a dark cloud
with me to work and
a panic attack to the library
"mine hurts worse" you replied
"and how do you know that" i demanded
sweeping my sadness off the kitchen table
"because i just do"

i guess your problem is that you
don't know how to be in pain without
minimizing mine but how hypocritical
when i'm over here minimizing
your pain to justify the fact that
my brain is trying to **** my body

(one of these days i fear what
i don't say will get the best
of me and i will crack clean
in two. start screaming
through doors death threats
ending in quadruple homicide
accompanied by my own
swinging body. it's not that
i hate everyone i just hate
feeling like i hate everyone)

but for now i'm investigating the perspective
so startlingly clear that you never loved me
just did what was required of you and so by that
standard i never would have loved you either

found myself washing dishes
in a bra and pajama pants
watching the rain like
i would watch a movie
with half my attention
and my hands full

anxiety and rage
had hit me again
but halfway through
what i had set out to do
i found myself so tired
i had to sit down and
watch through the oven
door as my life burned away

and i knew that my
five a.m. had
come this time at
five p.m. and
things had finally
gotten bad

but i have to pretend
i'm okay as long as
it's still daylight out
thank goodness
the days keep getting
shorter and shorter
because i do so get
tired of lying to myself.

i love new cds
the crinkle of sliding
plastic wrap off
how it feels to remove
the security label
in two tries or less

to see my eyes on
the backs of songs
crystal clear and
iridescent

(too new to be vintage
too old to be cool)

how smooth a brand
new jewel case feels
and a booklet before
fingerprints

but then again i love
finding them secondhand
a little smeared and
pages crinkled

how a brand new
album is a blank
slate for me to write
my memories on
and when the plastic
cracks and the music
plays on it all just proves
that together we lived

(hoping and praying we didn't get
scratched to the point of no return)

i was born in
the fall of a fleeting
shimmering silver age
the hybrid time
between analogue
for the common man
and digitization
of the masses

my childhood
when these things
were still fragile
expensive
slipping into
adulthood and
falling into
feeling obsolete

*(i am the last remaining
child of the compact disc)

i never wanted to
be the reason you
found yourself wrapped
in a blanket on the patio
at sunrise one cool
september morning

i never wanted
to be the reason
you cried the
ugly kind of tears

(i never wanted to be this
selfish because come to
think of it i'm about
the worst for selfish)

i want to be the
reason you laugh
the reason you look at
the world a little differently

the reason you drop
everything in the dead of
night to go have an adventure
of hilarious proportions

the reason you go shopping
for an ugly wedding gift
and give some boy out there
half the hell i gave yours

the reason you go to
concerts and take road trips
or feel loved when you
crawl under an afghan

the reason you dry
your tears and decide
to commit an act you might
regret someday like
vandalism or climbing on
someone else's roof.

(and you can't change
my mind
only i can change
my mind
but you can say things
so profound i reconsider)

i never want to be the
reason you put on a black dress
get in the car and drive to a
funeral where you feel
compelled to stand up in front of
everyone we know and
make a speech even though your
tongue is frozen to your teeth

and i never want to be the
reason you lie awake
at night wondering what
you could have changed
haunted all your life
by the person you lost

i never want to be the
reason you leave a cursive
memento with my name
at the bottom of an ivory
program and a bouquet of
black roses next to the pulpit

and i never want to be the
reason you cry

(i never want to be
the reason you cry
but the trouble is that
i can't find reasons to stay)

and i'm sorry
i'm sorry
a hundred
and one times

i'm sorry for
everything

(i'm sorry
you love me
but i'm not sorry
for loving you)

and i'm
sorry
for making
you cry.

plan a.
1. take each day one step at a time.
2. find a college and go there.
3. take each day one step at a time.
4. get a job and pay off your student debt.
5. live a life that you're afraid of.

plan b.
1. take up bicycling.
2. get a job and bicycle to it.
3. make money at the job.
4. save the money.
5. don't buy a car with the money.

plan c.
1. offer your services doing lawn care.
2. suffer all winter when you can't do lawn care.
3. take care of a lot of lawns in the spring.
4. make friends with lots of lawn owners.
5. use your connections to full advantage.

plan d.
1. sell your cd collection on ebay.
2. get a tattoo of a cassette tape.
3. invest in a pile of used vinyl.
4. work as a waitress.
5. save tips for concerts.

plan e.
1. hop on a greyhound bus.
2. go to whichever city the wind takes you.
3. take polaroid pictures of the city.
4. sell them to tourists.
5. starve to death.

plan f.
1. give up.
2. scrap that and try again.
3. because you're not a quitter.
4. and quitting at life.
5. was never an option.

plan g.
1. go to beauty school.
2. make people feel pretty.
3. go home and feel less ugly yourself.
4. donate money to charity.
5. hope that karma pays you back.

plan h.
1. pack up with your friends.
2. move to alaska.
3. work over the internet.
4. grow vegetables to offset the cost of hot tea and alcohol.
5. find something to love.

*(and just think how all of
these plans could be done in
one lifetime and how it takes
that many misses to find the hit
i'll give you a hint the thing you
have to learn to love is the one
thing that stayed with you
every step of the way.)

tomorrow is
sure to come

tomorrow is
sure to come

and if i were dead
instead of watching
this cold sun rise
it would still be rising

because time
marches on
with or
without me

and i'm holding on to
one last shred of hope
that i can hang onto
time by the skin of my teeth

because tomorrow
is sure to come
and i can come with it
or let it go on without me

*but tomorrow
is sure to come
with or
without me.

somehow i've always
thought that albuteral
was kind of orange
or citrus flavored

i did not see
this one coming

and i had the
shakes before
the inhaler now
i have them worse

i happened to look at
the calendar on the
bottom right hand corner
of my desktop

(the same one i clicked my
way through on that
day last february when
i decided i needed an out)

9/25/16

and it hit me
in a wash of
bright lights
and nausea

what today is
now that it's one a.m.

and how i gave myself
until september

september

september

september 25th

i may look
dependably unstable
and i may look
explicitly unpredictable

but if there is one
thing you can be
assured of is that i
do not act without a plan

and i had a
plan for today

(i had a complete
plan
the kind of
plan
one does not
talk about)

i can see it in the
white foldout cd set
in my first ever
parental advisory sticker

the reason i
called off my
carefully constructed
plan

was it
worth it?

AND WAS IT
WORTH IT?

i've listened to it
three times and
i still don't know if
it was worth staying for

today's the day
and i had a plan

and now i'm
scared to death

(and i do mean
scared to death)

because a person can't just
forget so thorough a plan.

remember last
year when i
sprained my ankle
in the parking lot?

(you came along
for the limping ride
swore you were
my ride or die)

and i had forgotten
how autumnal and
the slight haze of
anxiety over the
top of my head
until i bent my leg
wrong again today
felt that old twinge

(i mean it's completely
healed it just hurts a
tiny bit if i bend it wrong
or someone sits on it)

of doubt and
apprehension
stalking me through
winter and into summer

of the future
and if i will
have to face
it alone

(a cloying
crippling
catastrophic
fear of that
someday nobody
will love me)

but it's all in my
head i know

(that someday when
i push the people i
need away they just
won't ever come back)

but then again
you said you
were my ride or die
and that means
that i can't lose
you unless i
sabotage my
own game
twist my
own sprain.

lonely autumn nights
blisters and calluses
forming on my stiff
cold hands

(pure cotton
is forgiving of
hasty tendencies
or picky forms)

wrapped and wound
tightly around my fingers
every loop an attempt
at controlling chaos

(thinking about
how i'm not
an outcast and
i never was)

i'm the shoe in the pair
that is slightly too tight
on the one foot that's a
bit larger than the other

or the shirt that you
keep wearing for years
because it fits but you
don't really like it

i am the paint on your
windowframe that's just
fine except for the white
flecks it left on the glass

(i've never been
an outcast
i've always been
different?)

i don't like to say
i'm different because
we're all different
i was just different
enough to be a slight
nuisance or distraction

i apologize too much
for what's not my fault
and too little for what i
should take ownership of

*(something about my personality
maybe just misplaced anxiety
dictates that all things must be
stacked and aligned perfectly.)

can't get the onion
out from under
my nails and can't
get it out of my head

(that i should
offer some kind
of ultimatum
for the good
of us all
something along
the lines of
them or me)

i understand that
my maturity is
not something i
can brag about

(but understand that
sometimes what i try
to say gets lost in translation
trying to protect myself
and also that i think we
would all have been better
off if you believed that we
could live without you)

i want to run
but i won't

(i'd be lying if i said i hadn't
thought about showing up
on his doorstep last sunday
night with a backpack my life
savings in cash and begged to
take me along wherever the
hell he was off to didn't care
just wanted to get my *** out of here)

shut my eyes found
another sitcom and
a crochet hook to
dull the nothingness

(i didn't
of course
and now he's down in
chattanooga or something
and i'm up here where
i will continue to rot)

and it's a real relief that
i left my church because
every time someone asks
what i'm doing with my
fall i can hear what they're
asking under the words

(am i going to
be a failure like all
things considered
suggest i will be?)

i have four tickets
in my back pocket
one to my own funeral
one to the end of a bus line
one to debt and anxiety
one to a family who doesn't want me

(i'm not
using any)

and what if this
never gets better
and what if i'm stuck
until i'm thirty-three?

and what if
i put my foot
down and said
that i would leave
in six months if
they didn't first?

but no
you've got me cornered
and i'm too tired for
one last power struggle.

(washed out
and falling
through a pastel
hued autumn
into winter white
and worried)

thick and fuzzy
headed through
multi-toned rings
dimmed down
colorless jewelry
that doesn't fit me

(if i shut my eyes i
can see colors bouncing
through the gray
matter lost to time)

and i'm sorry
for who i've become
sorry for who
i always was

(shouting in colors
outside and
choked in monotones
where it matters)

yellow and navy
to match my
favorite pillowcase
the one place i've
found my head
feeling safe

(i love the darkness until
it swallows me whole
and i can't find my way
back into the light)*

a rose gold
regret
a lifetime of
my own
eyelids to
forget.

i'm scared
to death

(it will be exactly three
months before christmas)

and i don't
want to
find myself
alone that
night and
fighting

(it hurts to even
think about it
because i'm still so
low it sounds okay)

but i don't want
to go anywhere
be with anyone
because there
are demons we
have to deck ourselves
and dates we
have to face alone

(on the other hand
who knows what might
happen if i were alone
i don't even know)

and i just wish that
none of this had
ever happened but
oh well it did

and now i have to
face the terrible
pain of seeing the
rest of the fall

(the chill in my
knuckles on
halloween
the pie dough
under my nails
thanksgiving day)

and into
winter

(tape scrapped
palms before
christmas
hot mugs of tea
for the rest of
eternity)

and on and
on for the
rest of time
and i don't
want the
rest of time

(i'd take the clock
off the wall and
crank the hands
around backwards
to give myself a
second chance but
denial won't help
anything at all.)

i've always hated
feeling trapped.

"how do you
do it?" you
cried suddenly
as we walked.

"do what?"
i asked.

"balance things
on things that
shouldn't stay
but they do."

"i don't?"
i said
and remembered
that i do.

we decided
it must be
some vague
form of magic

that bowls never
fell off of tissue boxes
i never knocked
glasses of water
off of my bed frame
that terracotta pots
stayed put on water jugs
and the way i can
load a dish strainer
shouldn't be possible.

well
scratch that

because today at
eight a.m. i spilled
half a cup of
fresh coffee
all over my blanket
sheets shirt and ipod

nothing was
damaged just
smelling very
columbian

but i guess i'm
not magic after all.

i'm on top of the world
and waiting to crash

i'm glad summer
is over now
always had too many
false expectations
and winter is better
because everyone
sets the season's
standards low

(except for christmas
but **** christmas
except don't actually
**** christmas
because the pine needles
would probably hurt)

i just want the dishes all
washed and my bedroom
floor completely clean and swept
before i jump in front of a car

(go ahead and hang
me from the chandelier
it's not like i need
my neck in one piece)

but there's some kind of concept
stating that anything left to itself
will steadily grow worse so
if i go now it may just all decay

(flowers sprouting out
of the sink drain and the
ivy on the window taking
hold of the kitchen walls
grass meandering up
through my floorboards)

last week you promised
over cups of morning coffee
that you would do
anything to help me

but that was before
last night when i washed
the coffee *** five times
brewing out the limey residue
of all the things you've said
and this morning it tasted
slightly of vinegar and
i remembered that you
got so lost in old grocery receipts
inside plastic bags under the table
of your own colossal problems
that you just forgot.

(if i were less anxious i would
definitely be an arsonist by now)

and i don't know as
you know about that
concept the one i was
just referring to

(the one that explains
why procrastination
will **** us both
you in your femoral arteries
me in the vicelike death trap
of my ******* head)

because i don't know as
you know that behind
the mania in my eyes is
three four a.m.'s
two five a.m.'s
one six a.m.
and six months
of three a.m.'s.

every time i fry a fish i'm
mentally putting my face
against into the pan and
the lid over my eyes

(and you just want
salad for some reason)

i'm a paragon of raging
domesticity these days
and you're saying how right
you must have raised me

(really it was all your wrongs
that raised me right that way)

you keep accusing me
of being mad at you
so okay i'll just say i'm
******* mad at you

because you can't
control your house
or who lives in it
you can't even take
care of yourself which
means i could lose
you tomorrow and
you don't care that i'm
suffering and dying
just as slowly as you are

(somebody has to
take responsibility
for your actions and
i've always been handy)

you call me selfish when
i learned that from you

(hell only knows
everyone is at least
a little selfish some
just hide it better)

but the other thing you
taught me by example
is that if you want
something done
right you must
do it yourself

*(**** it all
you'll see one day
what i did for you
and **** it all
because i can't save
either of us but you
had better believe i
can clean a ******* house.)

it's really too bad
that nicotine
leads to addiction

and it's too bad
that street drugs
cost so much

too bad that
alcohol isn't
given to minors

too bad that
i can't afford
to properly
destroy myself

too bad that
i've always
felt the need to.

i've heard the songs
about killing pain

sounding like the only
way is with a vinyl
record and several
shots of something strong

(but pain isn't all
alcohol and turntables)

it's a stack of cds
still shrinkwrapped so
they shine like diamonds
a discard pile scratched and
cracked so i know that
life keeps skipping on

a fourth cup of coffee
to send my heart
rattling and my
hands shaking

(i've wished to be in
love before just so
my heartbreak could
someday be justified
but i can let the music
paint that picture easy)

buffering lyric videos
sprawled out in bed
watching the light grow
brighter behind the curtains

finding myself addicted
to pain and freezing cold
because i need the white
noise of a fan at night

*(but pain isn't all
alcohol and turntables
sometimes it's just old
boomboxes and black tea)

i'm going to be
woken up when
september ends to
i will see october first

(i'm scared to
death of living
but i'll try it for
awhile anyway)

and sure i lay
in bed until noon
most mornings
a hot dim
reconfigured dream
trying to find
reasons any
reason

(i couldn't today
didn't feel like music
didn't want coffee
didn't want to talk to friends
didn't want breakfast
didn't want to create
didn't want
didn't)

replaying your face
bathed in two a.m. blue light
telling me that i had to
keep going and that
maybe it was selfish
but you couldn't handle
the rest of your life
without me in it

(we were both crying
by the time we went to bed
and i'm crying again
when i think about it)

you know those mornings
when you wake up and know
that before the sun goes down
your face will have felt tears?

yeah it was
one of those

(and tears aren't pretty
just kind of watery)

and by the time i had a
cup of tea and was sitting
at the kitchen table i was
sobbing my eyes out

(i am so
tired)

i couldn't help it
can't help any of this

(i am so
*******
tired of being
broken in half)

and i am so
tired of fighting
to find a reason to
get out of bed.

i went outside for a walk
took a shower when i got in

(we're not going to talk
about how i slept until
eleven and went back to
bed from one to four)

calluses coming back
to the bottoms of my feet
and those scabs and sores
on my scalp again

i tried to lower my
own standards
because i wasn't able
to meet them today

(but that leaves me
feeling like i've failed)

and i don't know how
to say what's on my mind

(i think i've hit
rock bottom
but if i made it to here
i could probably go lower)

sleep deprivation is
absolutely natural
because nothing feels real
even when i'm rested

(help)

i'm incredibly sorry
for most things i do

*(never mind.)

i remember being
younger
and the black cloud
over my head
was some kind of
novelty

something weird
that would go away
someday if i
changed my attitude
shaped up and
started trying harder.

well i tried
tried my hardest
to push through
did my best to
smile when things
got too rough

i tried to be
the kind of person
they wanted
me to be

(i tried hard
but black holes
inside souls don't
just get filled)

i _ t _ r _ i _ e _ d

t _ r _ i _ e _ d

*(try switching just
two little letters)*

t _ i _ r _ e _ d

i _ m _ t _ i _ r _ e _ d

(is it worth
being real
if you're
sad?)

and i still
still
after all
these years

i am still being
told that all
i need to do is
look on the
bright side
remember there
are people out
there who have
it much worse than me

that i'm going
to get through it
if i just give it
time and try harder

t _ r _ y _ h _ a _ r _ d _ e _ r
t r y

i _ v _ e _ t _ r _ i _ e _ d
a _ n _ d __ t _ r _ i _ e _ d

b _ u _ t _ i _ m
t _ i _ r _ e __ d

i can't keep
you happy and
me happy at the
same time and
quite frankly
i'm tired of
neither of us
being happy.

*(i'm sure you get
tired of hearing
from me but just
imagine how tired
you would get if
you tried being me.)

i'm not who i
used to be

(and can't remember
who that was exactly)

my hands shake

uncontrollably
and i can't focus

except on mistakes

(there's a monster
sitting in my chest)

i can't sleep
can't think

can't

think

can't

breathe

(there's a monster
living in my chest)

can't

breathe

i'm picturing that
big blue house
off library street
and thinking

(also planning
on telling everyone
i've become catholic
if the need arises)

about the assorted
times i've spent there
assorted times i've
avoided spending there

(but maybe a different
religion would make
a better lie i've got
to keep it believable)

fully planning
on at least one
anxiety attack after
i get home

(maybe something like
buddhism or celtic polytheism
i'd say satinism for the laughs
but that's just too extreme)

maybe more
like a whole
half week of
anxiety

(oh wait no need
to plan for that
i've already built
my life counting on it)

religion
what a messy
situation when
you've got one
but you don't
believe in it

chaos
what a simple
chain of events
that follows an
internal denial of
right and wrong

(when all i wanted
was christianity
internally not
relationally or
socially or
judgmentally)

and what a dark
mentality that a
nice person has
light inside

(a mentality of
honesty is one
of many things
i try to hide)

on the other side
i don't believe or agree
with catholicism
but it sounds like
something i
could get into.

*(but if admission into
heaven were half priced
wouldn't there be scores
of folks and media masses
on the ground and in the air
reporting new religious traffic?)

i can't even explain
how much i just
love being a
disappointment

(i hate making decisions
because whatever i
choose i will experience
extreme guilt and regret)

how much i love standing
in the kitchen at seven a.m.
being told i'm going back
to therapy until i'm fixed

repairing a car that
keeps on breaking down
is not cost effective
and is very frustrating

(you get mad when i don't
say what i'm really thinking
but when i say what i'm
thinking nobody listens)

i just love staying up
all night and not
breathing for a week
and never going outside

(avoiding churches
certain music
riding in cars
parking garages
elevators
crowded places)

being surrounded
and told that i just
have to face my fear
because i am

i do it every morning
when i wake up and
remember that
i'm still alive.

(i wonder sometimes
if they miss me)

on saturday nights
of poking away on
someone else's laptop

on sunday mornings
of flustered staggered
movements behind backs

(do they miss me
do they even notice that
i'm gone or is somebody
else better than i ever was?)

is anybody else as
frustrated as me?

or was i the exception to
some typographical rule?

and do they wish that
i was still around to fix
all their mistakes

(to get walked on
at short notice)

can they even tell that
i'm not the one behind
the screen anymore?

i don't know
but i wonder

(if anybody
misses me)*

if anybody
remembers me

because i can't
forget them.

c _ l _ e _ a _ n
d _ i _ s _ h _ e _ s

c _ l _ e _ a _ n
f _ l _ o _ o _ r _ s

something about
the lighting?

i haven't felt
right in days
a headache behind
the eyes and a
knot in my
stomach

(i know how
this one ends)

i'm the most
worst version
of me that i've
ever met

e _ v _ e _ r
m _ e _ t

m_ e _ e _ t _ m _ e
s _ o _ m _ e _ w _ h _ e _ r _ e _ e _ l _ s _ e

I WANT TO
GO BACK IN TIME
TELL MYSELF THAT
I WAS WRONG

W _ R _ O _ N _ G
S _ O __ W _ R _ O _ N _ G

(i'm stuck in my
own head again
can't get out can't shake
any of the thoughts loose)

BUT I CAN'T
THIS IS THE FUTURE
AND I'M JUST AN ECONOMY
PRICED PACK OF MISTAKES

m _ i _ s _ t _ a _ k _ e _ s

i want to hit
my head on every
solid surface in
the whole house

(wouldn't matter
it already hurts)

want to be
better
good enough so
people like me
so that i
like me

(but it's too late
and i'm not ready)

I HATE IT
THAT I'VE MADE
UP MY MIND
FOR ONCE

and if i will not
destruct
i may just turn
myself purple

(red and spotted
itchy and allergic)

BECAUSE I CAN'T
STAND BEING
ME FOR ANOTHER
SECOND LONGER

eyeshadow ground into
a finely powdered bath rug
feet stained gold and as
straight as sink ringed coffee

(it's a perfect day
to run away
from all the crew neck
collars choking you)

fall face down into a
cornfield and climb
dead pine trees clear
up to the blackbirds

(i think you were once
upon a time the one who
never spent weekends
home and hurting)

i am not your past
not your mistakes
i am not who you used to be
but won't say it didn't shape me

(clattering red and
white checks skittering
across the floor as
hydrogenated oils)

i know you're
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be

but i am also
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be

(only ever thinking about
ceiling fans and my latest
mistakes or an odd assortment
of unspoken disagreements)

i can't breathe under
highway overpasses
in parking garages or when
my hands are made of leather.

(suburbia is just a
repainted mid-century
modern way of covering
up dysfunctional families)

here and there
then and again
i remember that you
probably don't love me anymore

i understand that
neglect destroyed you
but you don't understand
that involvement destroyed me.

if you've got
four men
you've got
eight legs

(how profound
now shut up
and go to sleep
you're tired)

i am tired
sorry

everything around
me is bothering me
the furniture
what's on the furniture
the mismatch of
colors everywhere

(i hate it when i get
into the car and say
that i'm tired and you
ask me why i'm tired)

like i'm just
tired okay
i'm sorry
i can't help it

that the textures all
make my head hurt
pound and ache
and i'm crying

i'm crying because
i made a choice today
and i'm going
to keep living
even though
it hurts me.

(i don't want to die)

i'm stubborn
and mouthy
you could even
call me a *****

(i _ d _ o _ n _ t _ w _ a _ n _ t _ t _ o _ d _ i _ e)

i'm stubborn
and mouthy
you could even
call me a *****

and you know
what that means?

this **** ain't
ending easy.

because what gets
me in trouble is
what makes me
strong enough to

stay alive

(i __ d _ o _ n _ t __ w _ a _ n _ t __ t _ o __ d _ i _ e)

I DON'T WANT TO
END IT ALL
I WANT TO LIVE
LIFE SO LOUD AND
UNAPOLOGETIC THAT
I HAVE NO REGRETS

*AND I DON'T WANT
TO ******* DIE

i will not
not
go down
without a fight

I WILL NOT

NOT

GO DOWN

WITHOUT A FIGHT

will not

will not

will not

will not

i'm standing up
in front of my
demons to say

**THAT I WILL NOT
GO DOWN WITHOUT
A ******* FIGHT.

a panic attack
in a parking garage
and an elevator
to escape

(a closed box moving
rapidly downwards is
not an especially
relaxing means of escape)

a summer of brief
digital inhalations
watermelon candies
sticking to teeth

(there's nothing like
rainy cities at night
to hurt your eyes and
make you dead inside)

cold feet somebody
has got cold feet by
the air conditioner
phone in hand

come to think of it
i never really asked
for love just expected
somebody would supply

i see everything
reflections and spray
painted numbers and
multiple ellipses too many

(i say nothing
let all the images and
thoughts collide so you
think i see nothing at all)

i'm afraid and my
hands won't stop
shaking so i'm never
going outside again.

begin with a
disinfectant wipe
and wash your eyes
right off your face

(it might sting a little
but that's a small
price we all must pay
before we die)

next grind your
toenails down to a fine
sheen using only the
shower curtain

(it may take hundreds
of years and that's why
i'm telling you to
begin immediately)

let the roots of your
hair dig down into
the ground and slowly
bury your face

(at this point in the
procedure you may
pass out from lack of
air or lack of hope)

finally tattoo morse code
messages behind your ears
with a rusty safety pin and
old charcoal art pencils

(it doesn't matter what it
says because nobody can
read it back there nor
do they actually care to)

and submerge your
nose into isopropyl
rubbing alcohol just
to smell poisoned

but most importantly
of all when you begin
to experience pain so
intense you do not
have words with
which to describe it

always tell yourself
that nothing is real

n o t  y o u
n o t  a g o n y
n o t h i n g
i s  r e a l.

then take down the
noose hanging in
the back of your closet
turn off the light and
fall into the deepest
sleep of your life

*(whether or not you're
real or not doesn't matter
it just matters what you're
telling yourself to stay alive.)

the feeling of
of being a rock
in the middle
of the ocean or
a tree in the middle
of the desert

strangling in
what's coming
from my
own skull

introversion turned
dark becomes

i s o l a t i o n

dip me in
melted hot air
watch it tear up
my knees and
blister my palms
deform my face

then brush your
teeth like it's fine

(why do i feel
this way
why can't i be
completely
reliant on myself
emotionally?)

i don't want to
talk to you and
i don't want to
leave the house

so i don't
but then
it kills me
inside

(i don't know which is
worse feeling like a recluse
or feeling like a failure as
a side effect of going out)

i s o l a t i o n

i don't really mind it
when people have fun
without me because
that's what i want them
to do but i won't say it
doesn't hurt a little bit

(i won't say that
being alone in a
dark room all day
doesn't get to me)

i s o l a t i o n

it's my own
**** fault so
now i'm done and
will stop complaining

j u s t
l e a v e
m e  a l o n e

snorting burned toast
too late in the day to
call it a complete and
nutritious breakfast

(i have my heroes
but i also know that i
will never be a hero
to someone like me)

i'm not going
to make it that far.

(call me defeatist but
i guess you're right)

that's what i haven't
been saying is that
i'm not making plans
for the fall or the spring
or the rest of my life
because i'm afraid or
maybe convinced that i'm
not going to make it that far

because before the snow
covers the lawn in quiet
white layers i will be sprinkled
over top of the grass in the
form of a grayish powder
and misplaced hymns

(i doubt that all of us
were born to live)

nosedive into a
sandwich smothered
in over-sweetened
jelly regrets

and forget about the
haunting sweat that
you can't wash off
of the back of your neck

(the nice thing about
dying young is that
you'll have the rest of
your life to forget me)

headfirst slam into
the midnight sky
i cracked my skull
open on the moon

the milky way poured
out from behind my
eyes and galaxies came
up out of my throat

bits and pieces of me have
died here and there along
the way like ripped out
pieces of that hateful lawn

(the reason i want
to be forgotten is
because i was never
worth remembering)

but really it's just that
death and darkness are such nice
peaceful calm and reasonable
topics to discuss at length.

"i think you're
extremely depressed"
you announced
turning off the fork in the road

(well look who's
finally catching on)

"i think that's
extremely offensive"
i replied
turning up the stereo.

"you never want to
do anything anymore
you just want to stay home
all alone in your hot room"

(maybe because that's the one
place where i'm safe to be myself)

"there's a big
world out there
and how are you
going to see it this way?"

(cue that one song about the world
being better off without me)

"mom
i'm tired."

(why do you always
decide to talk at me
on my way to or from
where i don't want to be?)

"well maybe if you
stopped telling yourself
you were tired all the time
you would be less tired!
or maybe if you
stopped drinking
coffee when you
get home from work."

"it doesn't matter
i won't sleep anyway."

"it might help
if you really tried
aren't you taking your
melatonin supplement?"

(i am not taking my
melatonin supplement
because it stopped having
any effect on me months ago
but i'm not about to
tell you that)

"we want to have
fun with you
even dad's commenting
that you don't want
to do anything
and we want you to
go out to grandma's and
grandma wants to take
you on a trip and i want
to take you on a trip
i've been planning it for
two years and i want
you to be actively involved
and i'm upset that you'll
talk to your friends but
not me and i feel like
you don't love me anymore
and i've failed somehow
as a parent and
and"

(and i've
stopped listening.)

"don't turn up
the music
we're having a
conversation here
why can't you go
back to the good
wholesome stuff
you used to listen to?"

(maybe if you wanted
to have a conversation
here you could stop
talking and start
listening to what
i'm not saying and the
lyrics i always sing
along with over you or
maybe you could stop thinking
i'm still who i used to be)

"i think you're
extremely depressed."

*(no **** sherlock
i'm not o-*******-kay
but i wonder why you
didn't notice a year ago.)

i've been told i need
to feel like myself
be comfortable in
my own skin

but it's not so
much the skin

(i'm used to the scars
and jagged red slits
pink and white
stretch marks
corners and curves
i've had to accept)

it's the hair
the way it grows
on my arms and
legs and face and
neck and back
and eyes

whether what's coming
out of my scalp is
brown or pink or some
unhappy color in between

being okay
if it's short or
long or up or
down or dry or
soft or clean or
a day or two *****

(growing into the
length and volume
the sore weakness
of my own neck
was the hardest
part of getting older)

not being
defined by who
the follicles make
me out to be

(the patience
to wait or
the daring to
change)

is when i'll know
that i feel
comfortable under
my own scalp.

the past
how frightening

(i got to thinking
too hard today
this morning driving
by my past)

the thought that what
we call tomorrow will
soon be what we call
an elusive yesterday

(choke your way through
asthmatic games of dodgeball
and forward rolls on blue gym mats
friday midnights of twirling and
swirling through some
bb-gun pockmarked
plate glass reflection of the
lonelier girl you used to be)

that the moment we
put a thought down on
a page is the moment it
no longer holds control

(drown in the square idea
of blue glasses of water under
your chair and a thousand
and one calibrated mistakes
a one-millionth of a light-year
distilled to a drop of sweat)

because it's just
plain gone and
nobody can get it
back except in retrospect

(i think i spent a lifetime
of ten and twelve a.m's
sliding over the
worst of your tiles
but ten and twelve
a.m. are very different
times and that was a very
different lifetime ago)

growing up is
the worst when
it's done in the
worst ways

a childhood to
exist and a
lifetime to
forget.

i remember weeks
of nights i couldn't sleep
on air mattresses and
pull out couches

clutching a brand new
little black mp3 player
earbuds wrapped
around my neck

years and
years later

i'm still lying in bed
but it's broken now
and the music doesn't
play right anymore

(the tracks all
split and break
apart between the
cords and my ears)

and i remember the
night before my
graduation it just
wouldn't play in one ear

and the sounds weren't
coming through right and
i heard a brand new side of a
song i'd known my whole life

(a more raw and real
background track of
harmonization and
something sadder)

and it made me feel
better to know that
there are still unheard
layers to the familiar

that can only be
accessed through
time and the
broken parts.

when i came into
work this morning

you were upset
on the edge
just waiting for a call
from your brother

last night your niece
tried to commit suicide

(she wouldn't have
made it if her twin hadn't
had an odd feeling and
called her)

my stomach dropped
i don't know this girl

(they found her passed
out with empty bottles
of xanax and
cough syrup)

you told the story
over the course of
the day unfolding family
details like clean laundry

(critical condition
and now her dad has to
go to the police because
she doesn't take xanex)

"why would
she do that?
she only totaled
her car it wasn't
that bad why
would she do this?"

i didn't say
anything
thinking maybe
it was just the
thing that pushed
her over the edge

and the day wore on
you weren't quite
there mentally
i could tell

but on the other
hand i wasn't really
either too busy wishing
i was your niece.

lipstick stains on
paper coffee cup lids
my brother always
told me i would have
to sit back and watch people
younger and more
inexperienced than i
succeed while i suffered.

oh but i
think he
was wrong
three conversations
and one free cup
of coffee later
things are starting
to look up for me

and i'm thinking that
i am the younger
one succeeding while
elders suffer.

(on the flipside i
don't want to be
making sandwiches
for the rest of my life)

and i wonder sometimes
if i'm just naturally
gifted or if i just naturally
try too hard to be liked

(or there's an offchance
a slim blueish sliver of
possibility that the stars
have all been lined up for me)

anyway that assumption
however incorrect it may
be is better than
last week when i
was thinking that no longer
was i good enough

*(but scratch that
nothing i ever accomplish
or that the skies
have pre-established
will make me believe
i'm good enough.)

steeped my
skin in ginger
a bathtub brew and
sweaty forehead

but i was
the teabag.

when i shut
my eyes
all i could see
was red lines

rubbing where
they should be
remembering
squinting my eyes
in main street sun
thighs burning

(dear goodness
i don't know how
i ended up here
again after so long)

opened my eyes
saw my wrists

white and
whiter scarred
but i always
picture them as
red and
redder slit.

gasping for hot
and humid air
motivation is
strangely illusive
but visualization
forever inclusive.

i'm boiling alive
or bathing to die
in scalding bathrooms
of appalling apathy.

stop it

i know you're
lying in bed
and i know that
before you fell asleep

you went through a
mental list of all
the people you love
and prayed for each one

and i know
that i was
somewhere there
in your liturgy

stop it

i mean
it's great that
you know what
you believe like that

but please
don't get me
mixed up
in it

i don't know
why but
the thought is
bothering me tonight.

a guillotine
vs. a guilt

i don't believe that
i have anything
to truly regret

but guilt
is so appealing

i don't believe that
execution is still
widely used

but death by society
is still oh so feasible.

have you ever
felt homeless?

i have
living like a
stranger in
a glass guesthouse.

but then i took
a baseball bat to the
transparent walls

and now
i just feel
homeless.

what shows the true
color of a house as a home
is the number eyes watching
through the windows

is a home someplace
out of the cold and rain
or is a home someplace
outside of icy critical pain?

a house
vs. a home.

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

cornstarch feet
toothpaste running
through my hair
listen to the vinegar hiss

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

petroleum based
insecurity wrapped in
a greasy old bandanna
the stuff of family feuds

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

i know that i often
feel about the size
of the proverbial
postage stamp

but every steamed up
monday night i try
to convince myself that
i'm safe in my own skin

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and sound now)*

go ahead
choke me
in your eyes
strangle me
tangled up in
unjust judgement

i'm always told
that i'm too
critical
but spend any time
under my nails
and you'll start
to realize why
i'm cynical.

it's not that
i'm not sincere
it's that i don't
know how to
convey that i
actually care

(what a complex
color scheme
so bright and
busy on the mind
i can feel your eyes
picking it apart)

because i've
worked hard
to look like
i don't
worked hard to pretend
i don't need you to care

(and how my words
start looking
unconventional
formulated to seem
like something i
never was)

i wasn't
not really
it was just the
here's the thing
how do i say
tired?

(i don't think i'll
ever see you again
and i don't feel as old
as the others seemed)

i'm grateful
for your gifts
and kind words
i really am

(i cashed your checks
months before
hitting the post office
go ahead and
call me a
heartless *****)

just know that
i haven't
spent a single
cent of it

it's sitting in
my checking
account just
waiting and
wondering how
much of
my hospital bill
it will cover

(but if there's anything i can't
do that's blame you for wanting to
contribute to the side of my
personality that you never knew)

please put your money
where your intentions are
and you know what they say
about good intentions

(that the road to hades
is paved with them)

but they never did
mention which one
of us was heading
towards hell.

i bought ten scratched
albums at the thrift shop
and covered my white
pants in paint.

i  w a n t
t o  l e a v e

i'll be home
tomorrow night
and who knows
what i'll be missing

maybe him
probably not.

i've been writing letters
folding socks
drinking spicy
ginger tea but
what's really
wrong with me?

oil slick aesthetic
acne under the eyes
i wish this poetry
meant something more
than sadness
and a pretty word
but it's actually just
me thinking out loud.

showering twice a day
in this kind of drought
is not good
but neither am i

i  t    h  u  r  t  s

watch the words
fragment and break
apart so you can't
read them together

i  m    b  l  e  e  d  i  n  g

i've weighed and
weighted out my
options and all
the things that mattered
to me once just
don't anymore

s  u  i  c  i  d  e

i don't know
what i'm doing
or why or even
if anything is real

h  e  l  p
m  e

h   e   l   p

h    e    l    p

h     e     l     p

h
  e
   l
    l

     p

if panic! at the disco
is just the store brand
version of fall out boy

(an open mic frank sinatra
impersonation with a forehead
and the emos are a classical
knife wound in pop culture)

then i am just the
store brand version
of who i used to be

looks about the same
tastes about the same
easier on your wallet
but something's a little off
and you can't
figure out what

but it doesn't actually
matter that much
it's just oatmeal

(i don't know why i
decided on oatmeal for this
it was just the metaphor
that came to mind)

and it will all be
gone by next week
anyway so

who actually
cares as long as
we've got some
kind of breakfast?

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist.)

intensely greased
plastic hair
secondhand green day
coldplay in the rain

i love the sound
that waxed paper
deli sheets make
and i could choke
on a glassed reflection
of celery salts and windex.

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist
because when i look into
my eyes i see someone else)

i'm not catholic
and do not
understand who
st. peter is

but i wonder if he won't let
us into heaven because we're
failures or if we're failures
because he won't let us into heaven

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist
and questioning how
bad hell can really be.)

too quiet for a saturday
i wrote the word
decaf so many times i
forgot how to spell it

decaf
decaf
decaf
decaf

(does decaf
have two f's?
because i don't have
two f's to give anymore
i mean i would but
i can't even find
vowels much less
extra consonants)

when i was a child
i always counted in
mississippis
now that i'm older i
find myself counting in
cappuccinos

i dreamed my
legs were bleeding
and i remembered
that they're not

i want so badly
just to sleep in
a bag of crystallized
ginger and swim
in a mixing bowl of
tasteless tea.

(i can't tell what's
real anymore
but i'm 42%
sure that i am not.)

i keep a red
second place
ribbon on my
bulletin board
to remind me that
i wasn't good enough

i keep defeat in
my back pocket
and failure
on my skin.

(i didn't realize
how nice it was
to actually be
good at something
and i didn't realize
how easy it was
to stop being
good at something)

took the things
i was good at and
cashed them in
for a quieter night

i can't eat
can't sleep
can't write
can't design

bake a pie
write a poem
cross stitch
crochet
i'm not
bad at it.

i still have
hobbies but
it's not like
it used to be
i'd rather
be cleaning
at least i can
do that well

(isn't that
a little odd
considering that's
exactly what somebody
a little bit too close
to me was feeling
when his world got
turned upside down?)

i'm just not
good at anything
not anymore
but it's my own fault i'm sure.

i've had a
good day

remembered
to water my
plants
drank two cups
of coffee
didn't feel the
irrepressible need to
scream at my family
drowned in a
stranger's spaghetti

(okay so maybe
i could have lived
without the whole
swimming through pasta
it starts to wrap around
and choke you after awhile)

found out that
apparently i'm
the nicest person
at work because
i'm the only one who
doesn't want to
throw karen out
the picture window

(i mean i do
i just don't admit it
because that
would be mean.)

i kept looking up
to the bells on the door
remembering yesterday
when i saw the face
of one of the dearest
ladies i've ever known

(i don't know if
she saw me)

and then for some
reason she turned
directly around and
rushed down the
front steps and
didn't come back in

maybe it wasn't her
maybe an emergency
but the question's
eating at me.

slipping back and forth
here and there
into the mindset that maybe
i owe it to them

(i don't want to go
anywhere on monday
nights but i don't
want to tell you that)

then hitting myself
in the head because
what have i been
saying so long?

i don't owe
anybody anything.

i've had a
good day
or a day
that wasn't bad

(just tied my
spine into knots
and i tried the
downward dog
but the dog
knocked me down)

so i'm not sure
why the veins in
my arms are aching
and the muscles
in my elbows
compressing

as if
even

like i'm not
brutally aware
that my wrists are
not currently
available for
extended slitting

so i don't
know why
they're so
upset

then again
i don't
know why
i'm so
upset
either

i mean
i've had
a good day
******.