there are things
about me
people pretend
to know.
they pretend to know
the things
i love,
the things
that truly matter to me,
the things
i am passionate about.
but they fail
to know that
i am a dairy
with a heart-shaped lock,
impossible
to open
except for
a heart-shaped key
kept around my neck
on a delicate silver chain.
i have many things
kept deep inside me
for fear of
betrayal,
judgement,
exposure.
but maybe one day
i will give
a heart-shaped key
to somebody
who loves me
so that they may know
things about me.
the things
i love,
the things
that truly matter to me,
the things
i am passionate about.
but until then,
i am a diary
with a heart-shaped lock,
impossible
to open
except for
a heart-shaped key
kept around my neck
on a delicate silver chain.

i don't need
a compass
to tell me
which direction
is right.
i know that
on my own.
but you need to be
broken
in order to be
rebuilt.

i remember
when i was younger
i asked my mother
why the ocean was salty.
she told me
it's because
the fish in the sea
shed tears everyday
for the loss
of their fish mothers.
i always felt sorry
for those fish
who cried enough tears
to flood seventy one
percent of the earth.
now i am
a longing fish,
drowning
in my own
saltwater tears
for the loss
of my mother.
she left me
behind,
alone with the
giant school of fish.
there are so
many fish in the sea
and yet
i only need one
but she doesn't
need me.

my body
is my body.
let me do
as i please.
paint a
never-ending galaxy
of stars
and planets
on my back.
write a
story of heartbreak
and sadness
on my stomach.
plant a
garden of roses
between my thighs.
ink your
name
on my *******
so that i may
always have you
near my heart.
swim in
the roaring oceans
of my mind
and pick up
stray seashells.
my body
is my body.
let me do
as i please.

there are things
i keep buried
underneath my skin.
things claw their way
out of my throat,
tearing through my flesh,
sending scarlet drops
of blood
trickling down
my delicate neck,
but i choke it down
no matter
how painful.
the words,
no matter how
badly i wish,
can never escape
from my mouth.
i don't want people
to look at me
and see stains
on my skin
and think
that is who
i truly am.
it is not.
i made a mistake
one that,
if i had the chance,
i would undo it
in a heartbeat,
but i can't undo it,
instead i must
relive it.
everyday when i open
my tired eyes
i see the whole
event replaying before me
and i try squeezing
my eyes shut,
blocking out the
sight of skin,
but i can't.
i try covering
my eyes,
blocking out
the sound of
moans and cries,
but i can't.
that is the part
of the book
where i can't just
tear out the page
and make the event
disappear
no matter
how many
dandelions
and shooting stars
and wishing wells
and 11:11s
i wish on.

what do you do
when your house
is not home?
when you walk
among your family
like a guest
in a hotel,
where the employees
give you
the cold shoulder
when you forget
to tip them
for their service.
their kindness
is simply a ploy,
a masquerade
so you'll come again
soon.
i don't want
to come again
soon.
i don't want
to come again
ever.
i want to fly away
to a house
that is a home,
to a place
where there is a family
who will love me,
and take me in,
and accept me.
i just want
to be home.