These.
Segmented lines and semi-circles.
Hold so much weight.

Fragmented dashes.
Across a blank page.
Make.You.
Feel.

Make my-
Emotions real.

Disconnection.
Should-have-smiles and blank eyes.
Suppression.

Fear.
I know how to express.
Fear.
I rather bury it.
Fear.
I don't want to explain.
Fear.
My finger tips will do the talking.
Fear.
You're reading this.
Fear.
Holds.
Me.
Back.

You'll never know-
How this should sound.
Where I've trained my voice to shake and hurry.
To pause.
To inflict some words more harshly than others.
You'll never know-
Fear.

I will pass you a page of-
Fragmented, segmented lines,
And hope that you feel.
But.
Should I expect my language to resonate with you?

My voice doesn't sing and,
My fingers don't play and,
Maybe this won't be so beautiful to you-
As it is to look at a huge canvas filled with gorgeous lines of paint.
As it is for me to hear a poet strip down on the stage, and let their emotions speak through their words they've memorized for days because the endless string of words ringing through their mind is the only way they can understand and express--
How.
They.
Feel.

You won't understand.
Until I stand before you naked.
Clothed.
Naked-in emotion.
Letting Go..
Showing you.
I'm letting go.

Raw emotion.
Shown.
Not heard.
Not read.
Not explained.
Raw emotion.
Standing before you.
Vulnerable.

To the girl who thinks she is the other girl:
He wears your hickies proudly.
As distasteful as they are he parades them into my room each morning after you've left his bed.
And-as distasteful as it is he tells me about all the *** positions you're great at-and the ones you **** at, too.
Yet when I walk through the door your body language expresses jealousy as he asks how my day was.
As I take a seat far away from him.
As push myself into a conversation with someone else-Push myself into a different room.
Because I want you to feel like I'm not trying to hurt you.
I wear my lungs down in continuous smoke breaks outside to lighten the uncomfortable presence that you have created in a house that him and I used to call ours.
And you don't know that I wonder too-Why his touch is different from when I am peering through the window and when I am sitting on the couch.
But you don't know that when  you are not there he holds me.
But you don't know that no one can be there when he holds me. And the doors better be locked, too. And even though they are-let's do this under the blanket just in case someone has a key-and let's hide this in the dark in case someone can look through the window.
And I see him kissing you in my peripherals-I hear the zipper pulls behind his broken door-I hear you begging him for more.
You leave marks all over his skin like you're trying to claim territory-but you got him. You got him don't you see?
Because our eyes don't meet when we're laying together. And I'd like to believe he holds my hands tighter than yours because when he squeezes my finger tips I feel the pure energy of his love. But no! Our eyes don't meet, because then maybe our lips would.
You're the kind of girl who men high-five each other over. **** you got that girl in bed last night kinda chick.
You're the kinda of girl he ***** sober.
He grips my arms with such conviction that he's going to make love to me when we are drunk and just as quickly falls asleep in my lap.
Last time we drank together he picked me up and twirled me around and whispered in my ear "I can do this because I am a man"
And I'm still trying to figure out if that was a fat joke-or he'd be a man for me.
But right now he's acting like a child for me. And maybe it's because I have too many curves to be considered beautiful, and maybe it's because he doesn't want to ruin it-but he ruins it-when he touches me-when he holds me to sleep and tells me he's glad there's no other me-and he ruins it when he keeps on with you.
Because you know, you ain't the other girl, you might just be another girl... but at least you're not a secret.

Behind each drag-
I'll hide my shakin' anger.
When I wrap my lips around a puff-
You won't see my tremblin' lips.

My fingers fumble, as I flick the ash-
And.
You're so smashed, that you don't notice-
The stench of the smoke in my hair-or the spice on my tongue-
My  yellowing  teeth.

Through every pack my heart feels worse- Worse than you ever made it feel.

And.
It's nice to know something can make me feel like more ****, than you ever could.

Does it scare you?
I'll make a man of you.
Tie.
You.
Down.

But-
Not to me.
But-
To yourself.

Does it frighten you?
To see through you.
Fronting.
Fake.
Smiles.

But-
Not to me.
But-
To them.

Does it scare you?
I will double dare you.
Strip.
It.
Off.

But-
Not to me.
But-
To the mirror.

Does it liven you?
To live inside of you.
Pushing.
Building.
Walls.

But-
Not around me.
But-
Around you.

You.
Lay bricks-And use me as mortar.
You.
Burn bridges-And use me as fire.
You-Have-So-Much-Power-In-Your-Heart.
But-
Where could I find it?