braid honeysuckle and daisies in my hair,
unravel the seams of my skin and let the
birds fly in. open the rafters to the sky,
and if it rains, dance it in, sing in it,
revel in the feel of the water beading on
your lips and rolling off your shoulders;
be happy in the knowledge that soon,
you will see the sun again.

tell my father that he was my hero, tell
my brother to raise his son with passion
and joy. tell my new sister i would have
liked to gotten to know her better, tell
my best friend that i never deserved her.

tell him that he is beautiful, and he always
has been; tell him that i loved him for a
reason--not because i was a silly,
besotted teenage girl but because he is a
person worthy of love. i don't think he
understands that.

[i don't think anyone really understand that.]

see the world; go to all the places i would
have liked to go and take pictures, write
everything down. put them all in one giant
book, put that book on the top shelf of
your closet or in your attic and take it down
when you miss me the most.

remember that you are more precious even
than life: for life will come again, the spring
storms will bring forth the most glorious
flowers, their seeds will fall and they will die,
only to come up again next year, but through
all the cycles of earth and sky, fire and
regrowth, still there will be no one else who is
comparable to you.

i like to imagine you can't feel the way i
can; you are sculpted from ashes and
ice, you smile and you laugh and you
melt when someone touches you in the
right way, but still, you can't fall in love,
not really. you have kept your heart
clutched tight in your own fist, vena
amoris unlaced and fluttering in the wind
like a kite string.

[anybody could make you fly in the right
wind, but the trick is to keep you high
without letting the tether slip through his
fingers.]

it would be easier for me if you really were
so cold, if you were a simply a monster
masquerading as a man. but i know
that the only person here who isn't quite
what they seem to be is me; i'm the one
who pretends that if you came back to me,
i would twist up my lips and pull back my
hands and leave you crawling in the street.

[but i know, and you know, that if you even
turn your head to look at me, i am yours all
over again.]

there is this creature inside of me, malignant
and scavenging for any memory, for the
sound of your name. i think of you and it lifts
its head, salivating, i wish you were here and
it gnaws on my bones until i am weak and
stumbling. i am not sure if it is punishing me
or living off of me, if it is an avenging angel
or a parasite, but i think you both have
something in common.

[i am heartsick and trembling, swaying when i
try to stand, and neither one of you would
bat an eye if i didn't make it. for you, it would
be the same as any other day; for it, well,
there are plenty of others with whom it could
roost.]

i wake up in the middle of the night with
the ghost of god pressing his hand
against my face, buttoning my collar too
tight and telling me to smile even though
i cannot breathe. there are those who
look to him for mercy, but i know the
truth--he is a trickster, a jester, and he
makes me the fool. he supplants self-
worth with loneliness; he holds up your
desires up to let the light shine through
them, so that you see all you ever wanted
become translucent and frail, bloodless
veins in full view, twitching in an effort to
live again.

sometimes, i still beg him, i still fall to my
knees and clasp my hands together, a
tableau of faith. i ask him to spare me,
the words thin and metallic on my tongue,
needles swimming with the diseases of all
those who used them before me. i put all
my chips on the table, bartering this and
that for the simple feeling of being whole.
but in the end, i am left with nothing but
a shadow and a doubt, wondering why i
let myself have any hope when i know
how easily it can turn from lifeline to
anchor.

i have held my heart out and watched as
the devil feasted on it, spitting it out again
and showing me love-stained teeth. my
dreams are choked with desire and fear,
the sunlight is bleached black by my dread
of yet another day.

there is passion trapped in the heat of my
skin, bravery caught on the tips of my
teeth, but i cannot possibly pretend that
i have any strength left. god knows i am
finished; i have lost my words in floods
and torrents, i am scraping along the
furrows of my mind just for one more
verse. if i have lost you, tell me, what
sort of loving god would take this from
me, too?