She would not show that she was afraid,
But being and feeling alone was to much to face,
Though everyone said she was so strong,
What they didn't know was that she could barely carry on.
But she knew she would be okay, so she didn't let it get in her way,
Sometimes it all gets a little too much,
But you have to realize that soon the fog will clear up,
And you don't have to be afraid,
Because we're all the same,
And we know that sometimes,
It gets a little too much.

A poem is a wound, turned to words.

I thought about writing down all the ways you destroyed me but every time I tried I ended up writing my own name.
it's harder to leave the place that's killing you when all of the people you love are there and you think of ways to hold them but they just keep telling you to let go.
let go
let go
you keep forcing yourself to believe you'll be happier that way but really when will you be happy? when will the dark circles under your eyes go away?
when will you forgive yourself for not being there when your brother blew out his birthday candles? when you weren't there to pick up the pieces of your little sister's heart when it was destroyed for the first time, and all the times after that.
he'll say you were different but he drinks whiskey with her too and now your voice always cracks when you call someone else baby. you'll whisper into her hair "honey i'm never going anywhere" but rocks turn into sand and leaves turn into dust and you turn into a memory she won't have the pleasure of forgetting.
I'll count the bruises that cover my stomach and pick out the ones that look most like something you'd apologize for.
I'll convince myself that I only ran back to you because I was homesick. I don't think we fit each other no matter how much I want us to, you were the closest and I'm terrified of what's going to happen after I'm gone.  
write down the names of all the lovers that left your hands cold and your eyes red and ask yourself why they're starting to look more like a picture frame and less like the person that never really said goodbye.
start drinking your coffee black because there's always a bitterness on your tongue anyways and scream their name at the walls because they will always listen to you.
we were alcoholics by 16 because the way they looked at you was too suicidal for a child to survive.
the school is so close to the hospital we're starting to feel comfortable with emergencies now.
this is an abandoned tape that keeps repeating itself and I am tired of waiting for someone to find it.

Sometimes I think
We were meant be
Perhaps in another dimension
You and me
Met in a coffee shop
At some small university
Or maybe our parents were friends
And we met as babies
Grew up as best friends
Became lovers at eighteen
Perhaps you were the king
And I was your queen
In some faraway Kingdom
Barely out of our Tweens
Or maybe we met
One night in a dream
Wanting to be real
Like ghosts want to be seen
I still think about you
Though I only see you in dreams
I wish it weren't true
But we're stuck in this dimension

Light's patterns freeze:
Frost on our faces.
Light's pollen sifts
Through the lids of our eyes ...

Light sinks and rusts
In water; is broken
By glass ... rests
On deserted dust.

Light lies like torn
Paper in corners:
A rock-pool's pledge
Of the sea's return.

Light, wrenched at the edges
By wind, looks down
At itself in wrinkled
Mirrors from bridges.

Light thinly unweaves
Itself through darkness
Like foam's unknotting
Strings in waves ...

Now light is again
Accumulated
Swords against us ...
Now it is gone.

I have two bruises on my shoulders
blue as the oceans and marbled white,
storm-foam spilling from my head
and eyes.
That’s not your responsibility--
but what else could it have been
when I knelt silent, scrubbing, palms
red as my sister’s sticky wrists, clorox
wipes balled and piled in the corner?
I am not
steel-skinned, some mechanical being
mistaken for a human with her eyelids
torn from her face, blindless to trauma
and the callouses it leaves behind.
And yet
the oceans on my shoulders blow salt
healing the wounds to smooth, pink scars,
reminders in every mirrored surface:
I am still standing.