Jasper in the ground
Jasper in the water
Jasper in the air
Jasper everywhere

A farmer jumped with joy at the sight of jasper
A child stopped playing on the computer at the sight of jasper
A mother set a home on fire at the sight of jasper
A family gave all the jasper to a homeless child to sell and as a gift

Jasper in the crust
Jasper in the ocean floor
Jasper in the heart

She pushes for me to live,
and she always has.
But it's hard to try and live
for someone who can't do it themselves,
and she doesn't want to.
Wrapping her lips around the filter end;
inhale,
exhale
cough cough
Oh how wonderful it is
to die.

And it's all I've ever known!
all I've ever seen,
but somehow, it is better
to end your life slowly
instead of all in one go.

I guess it's because
no one notices
when you slowly fade out,
but a whole bottle of Nyquil gone,
two lines on your wrists gashed--
it's too sudden.
Too much for your loved ones to handle.

But what about me?!
Watching the one who gave me life
take away her own without a second thought.
It makes you wonder about life's worth.
It made me wonder about mine
when the woman who made me
just threw hers away.
I really thought that suicide was the answer after a while,
because my mother could do it.

"But she's here, still alive."
But is she?
Am I?
She decided to **** herself when she was a teen,
and so did I,
but I backed out.
And she's been killing herself
for decades.

I wanted to write a poem
And name it
"Baby Carrots"

I was going to write about
how your favorite band
was Pink Floyd,
and how I see your face
in the surface of the swimming pool
behind your house.

I was going to write about
the bus seats
with burn marks
and scratches in the vinyl
that you left in the backs.

I was going to write about
your faded red hair and
how everyone laughed,
including you.

I was going to write about
your funeral.

I was going to write about
your bedroom door
and how when I look at it
I think,
that for maybe a second,
you're sitting in there,
fixing a computer.

I was going to write about
the empty space
in the room
when everyone's together
aside from you.

I decided to let you rest.
You need your sleep.
I hope some day,
if there is some world after all of this,
I see you again.

Just in case I don't,

I wanted to write a poem.

My heart
Is a happy drunk
A little too open
A little too optimistic
It's over in the corner of the bar
Playing poker
Screaming at the top of it's lungs
I'M ALL IN
When it's never
To this day
Had a winning hand

My heart
Is a sad drunk
A little too lonely
A little too caught up in tears
It's over at the counter
Forcing the bartender to take its keys
Because it would rather not go home
Than go home alone again

My heart
Is a reckless drunk
A little too unbalanced
A little too impaired
It's over by the door
Making everyone nervous
A little too good at scaring people away
A little too far gone

Like you
A little too far gone
Turn your head
Shuffle away and pretend you don't notice
The breakdown of a heart
Too drunk on feelings
To know when to stop

When she was born
Her relatives spat on the ground,
Called her mother a witch
And said "The only thing she's good for is dowry".

By 6 years old
She understood what being a girl meant;
Be still and quiet
Your opinion is irrelevant .

At 11 she watched her brothers go to school
As she sat in the kitchen,
Doing 'the work of a woman',
With tears of longing streaming down her face.

At 17, she slept with a man who was 67
Living with the cruel hand she'd been dealt;
How did she raise 2 children
When she was still a child herself?

At 35, no longer a child bride
She was replaced,
With a girl that had not
Even come of age.

She held the young woman
And dried her tears.
She understood her sorrow
She had felt it for years.

But this was her destiny,
Her role from birth.
To be the silent weeper,
The cleaner, the mother,
The lover; who would never know Love.

At 65 she's died,
Buried next to a man she never even knew.
Not a single male cries,
Her funeral attended by few.

So why the abuse?
Why so much pain?
Why raise such a brave soul in vain?

One rebellious voice cries,
With tears streaming down her face
"If only she were male!"
She looks to me and says

"You wish to know,
why she could have had no joy?
The answer is simple
They wanted a boy"

At nine, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At ten, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At eleven, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no

At twelve, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said maybe later.

At thirteen, I had not shaved my legs
and my mother asked why, everyone wondered why –
that is like asking where I got my molars from
or why my tastebuds sizzle when I drink orange juice.  

Suddenly suddenly I was grown
but I had to hide every ****** tissue in the garbage.

I tripped on a forest of roots & lost my clothes.
When this happened, I felt less a lady
in shame of uncovering from pink, frilly things

the shelter like feathers on a peacock or
ribbons track-marking a braid –

I was enclosed in such a house that I must have
become it myself. ****, I saw tiger-stripes
eating their way from my hips to bottom
and made a big taproot, a radix to the physical

me, as rosy as a flower in the dead of spring
even billowing as petals will for wedding vows –
the single, womanly cavity I concealed

how together we became such a dollhouse
for nature and its ***** hair:
I, taught to play with my own frilly, pink thing.

hand around my neck
you bruise my skin so that it looks like damp
cotton,

stained white *******,

and I bleed from your touch so often
it feels like I
am losing
my virginity every day

it feels like I
am a little girl again
and they’re still teaching us that our insides are
made of bubblegum.

Gang ****. wars. famines.
iPad screen a shield between
news of death
and your life.

around, around, around we
go, tripping over molehills,
ignoring mountains where
diamonds and silver

lay as common as dirt
at the top.
this train is heading in painful
directions, but it would

tickle too much if we stop.
so we don't.
I won't give up my wi-fi
to save every child in a village

I've never even heard of.  
we all say it. inaudibly.
too many of us aboard,
but the water is lovely.

would someone -anyone- please,
please rock
this
boat.