I remember us in bed
the most.
I think about the heat
the burn
the bites and bruises.
I think about the loss of breath
The heaving chests
The white bright lights
and rest.
But more than the fire
I think about the silence
and the way you would put your ear to my chest
and count my heartbeats.
I remember your breath on my neck
your arm around my waist
and all the nothing that was said
and cut me with its loveliness.
I remember us in bed
and try to forget the fire.

I can’t believe I’m here
You don’t see me
Not like I see you
Warmth and pout lips

You see skinny, cleaver me
You see friendly
Let’s be friends

I see you ******* in my head
Stupid me.
Lets pretend
You see me inside my beauty
And realize I’m here
Climb inside
Were we collide
In crazy Teias head

I just feel
Numbness in the breath
Like it neglects
To bring me to life
Inside of me
Echoing
Times that felt so right
Loneliness anchoring me
To the bottom of
What I was above
Swimming
Flailing
Abandonment
Ties me down
To my bed
Ill stay here.

To you
I want to be an open book
want you to pick me up, dust me off, take another look
But my pages haven't been traced in ages
not by fingertips or by faces

open me up
I don't care if you have to crack my spine
If that's what it takes to see through this cover o mine
then snap me open
and lace your fingers, let traces linger
over the calligraphy carved into my core
match the curve of my vertebrae
with questions that ask me if i am my metaphor

I have a plethora of pages, an abundance of euphemisms
inscribed into my essence, in a sense
I AM words
words that are not satisfied with being scanned
words with a hunger to be studies, syllogized
words that wish to be read over and eaten
by ravenous eyes and enfamished minds

Scour the syllables ensconced in me
etch and re-etch them with your pen
hold the precious print close to your skin
be a hungry page, and let the ink sink deeper in
I'll be a book and you be my scribe
look so close at my words that you lose sight of the divide
seek and discover
my heart inscribed
in every letter
every line

Let me introduce him.
half smile and half manipulation
He will take you out to fancy dinners
and then pinch your inner thigh under the table
He will sweep you off your feet
but forget to grab you shoes
Because you see
he doesn't want you to stand on your own
Like an air traffic controller
He is dictating your landings and departures
But all you want is a departure
Warmer skies
And a healthier landing
But he keeps you
Firmly planted on the ground
And then He bribes you with affection
and later handles you with his tongue
But as his hands cover your mouth
And you feel muffled by his presence
you lose yourself
You used to be a rainbow
You used to be seen only in technicolor
Now you're wearing black
submitting to his obsession
your simple lies turn him into a monster
and you're quivering like a child
Scared to put a toe down
Because his anger lurks beneath the bed
holding the blanket close around your neck
You beg for his forgiveness
He calls you his princess
and builds you a tower
But girl it doesn't matter how long you grow your hair
He will find a way to criticize it anyway
And you're bound to pay
I can't satisfy his anger
He hides behind it
Jabbing your sides with little suggestions
That dress is to short
That's a lot of skin
Excuse me *******?
Who's body am I in?
And I don't need a fairy tale
What's it to ya anyway
I'm just a bird with a broken wing
You see I used to have two
One for luck
And the other for navigation
So why is leaving him resound with hesitation
And somedays I dream of a different life
One that's filled with witty repartee
And symphonies
Cellos play sweet melodies
And I take my two wings and fly between the notes
And I float
Catching air
I'm up there
But he takes his water hose and shoots me down
Because he only likes me wet and vulnerable
I think he is catching on
So I turn into sand
And taking a fistful he squeezes
Jesus
I'm falling through the cracks of his insecurities
And I find myself there
And I dust myself off
And fly

That's goodbye.

They tell me, I don’t know what pain feels like.
Because of the color of my skin
and the numbers that roll in on my daddy’s paycheck—
                                                                                         I must not know what pain feels like.

Any maybe that’s true
but then again,
maybe it’s not.
Cause things—
                                                              they’re rough all over.

I come home and my heart rips apart
when I see my mother’s broken heart
has finally escaped from her eyes in the form of tears.
Because she only has three fifths of her senses
so she’s different,
                       not normal,
damaged.

But enough of the Helen Keller jokes.
To you, she’s just some dead lady with a
problem with her eyes or ears or something
but to me, I see part of Helen Keller in my mother.

She was born with Usher’s Syndrome.
One part hearing loss,
                                 one part vision loss.
She had her first pair of hearing aids by the time she was five
and by the time she was thirty—
she realized there was something wrong with her eyes, too.

There’s nothing more we can do for you,
doctors urged.
Filling her with empty promises and false hope
with every,
“Maybe it won’t get any worse.”

We know now, that’s not the case.
They’ve put an expiration date on her vision
five years,
ten if we’re lucky.
But still my mother remains unbroken.
I mean she has her bad days, but most of them are good.
That’s why my definition of strong,
begins with the word “Mom.”

But no Mom, you’re not alone.
At every 11:11 I wish for it all to go away
or at least slow down so you have a chance to catch up.

I utter midnight prayers,
face decorated in the light cast off from my alarm clock
whispering I plead
“Dear God, what did she do wrong?”
But I’m not angry anymore and I don’t blame Him.
I know she of all people, can handle it.
But if it were me
I would have cracked years ago.

But if the day is to come,
blind due to genetic defect,
I’ll be here.
I’ll proudly grab her hand in public,
just to give her walking stick a rest.
I’ll be the guide dog she hopes she never needs.
I’ll take her hands and help her trace out the
outlines of every sight she never got to see
but really wanted to.
I’ll put her palms over the heartbeat of the grandchild
she may never have the pleasure of seeing.
I’ll spend forever divulging every detail of my loving husbands face
she may never have meet.
I won’t let her miss out.

And on those days where it’s too much to handle,
I’ll be the whisper—
smooth like the wind, delicate like honey.
“Don’t give up, you’ve made it this far.
Plus you look really old, you don’t want to see that anyway.”