I hate his sister for
not being a better
sister, for not                                   protecting
him when it mattered
but instead enforcing
the drug induced stupor
he wallowed in for two
months.

I sometimes feel as if
this constant state of
unrest, of I do n-not
understand is here
to stay, because I
do n-not under-
stand, but do I
need to?

Why would you want to
know them, you
ask of the same people
who also eat the best
parts of you.

I realize here and there
that he is trying to fit me
through a hole with gold
flower curtains and rafters
that brush my face nightly
and I scratch the windows
that don't open in white
dresses, wear this, he
says, wear this and
dance.

I like (and do not)  listening to music that reminds me of you
for
one
two reasons

because it often leaves me ***-stranded on the blacktop in
the kamiak parking lot or dropping from heaven, hitting
the ground running without sneakers in a cold sweat on
top of Lake 22, trying to get you to sing and carving
my name into ashy wood while pine needles rain
down on top of my head. But also because of
cold apples--McIntosh candles that were
always lit in your room with windows
that were never closed, never closed on Weekends
on weekdays, in seasons. I've rolled in fake grass and
timed your 100 meter dash, of all the simple things I might
wish that the naivety could have been expanded upon so that
we might have enjoyed the trivial things for a while longer but
I can't beat the clock anymore, sneakers or not. There's no more
hartford in this soul, just chubby cheeked memories and the scent
of ramen and your mom's borderline vegan cooking.

How many times
do you think God
will grant me mercy
on the mistakes that
I have made (and
continue to make)
before he
before he
before
he

I tell her:
you will not
be ugly if you
cut your hair

because when
she was small the
kids called her
fat and the

boys called her a
boy which was
okay but not

so this long hair
was a rebellion
as she proclaimed
i really am a girl

i really am a girl

i really am a girl


won't you believe me?

I used to be
scared of my
stretch marks

I stepped on a plug
it left a **** in the
middle of my foot
and I saw your tattoo
for the first time but
kissed it, because I
thought that maybe
forgiveness should come
from the heart, where you
kiss scratches to make them
better then you shakily told
me you had another, on your
leg. I cannot kiss there, I thought
to myself but i started to cry
anyway because it feels as if
everyone has lied to me, as if
no one has ever told the truth
so I lament the things I have
believed

How many people have you let read
the words printed on your heart the
chapter monologues tattooed on your
lungs, to dog-ear the pages of yourself
where they stopped but promised to
begin again, spilled hot coffee in the
middle and stained the title. I'm not
entirely sure if anyone has read the
prologue, did you know who it was
dedicated to? Oh, but you lost me
behind your bed, a good read,
no doubt, but I am long with
many pages. Maybe someday
you say, maybe

someday.

There are certain things
I should not feel betrayed
over because the hurt that
I feel originated here as well.
I found out yesterday that I
am the crux of my all my
problems, I am at fault
for the squashed trust
the expectations that
no one could ever
meet, the anger
the went out
inside, it's
just


me.

God spoke
to me today,
barely a thought
hardly a whisper

did you know there
is something worse
than heartbreak?

Today I wore a dress. It was cold and my skin
pinched up in the wind. I hurt a strange and
angry sort of hurt today. Where my bones
shook and my stomach hurt but with my
sunglasses nobody on I-5 knew the difference
between singing and screaming and I ended up in Seattle
where the roads are confusing and the sky is stretched through
shuttle bus wires and the blinkers never stop, I may have blown a red
light but nobody noticed--especially when I ended up in Ballard. who knew
you could get back to Everett by skipping half the free way and by the time I
ended up back where I started I saw myself leaving hours earlier down the ramp,
decided I couldn't go home because I wasn't ready. I asked the boy at the ticket
counter which movie was the least less full? Sorry, least most full? Which theater
had the least amount of people (to see me cry) and he smiled strangely, but asked
for my ID. For a moment I remembered I wasn't 17, 17 was just that age where
you're allowed, I was so past allowed but here's my ID anyway, it was sticky.
I didn't watch that movie, what even happened? A man sat behind me,
grunting. I tried to cover my phone but my mind was elsewhere in
an anger that did not let me be mad. Instead I could only consider
the situation a hundred times over, consider the words
I could say, should say, would not say,
should not say, the things I should do,
the right
things (whatever they were)
the wrong things. At this point I noticed
the movie was crude, disgusting even. I hadn't even
laughed once. What kind of humor was
this? But again, my mind
was
elsewhere
and Stephanie wanted
to know where I was, where
are you? Where was I? I was at Costco
with mom earlier, how did I get here? I was laying on
my bed when I got that text but here I am now, soaked
in salt, although my bones no longer shake and my stomach
no longer hurts but these blankets know the difference between
screaming and singing, I know the difference. But I'm. Still. Here.
God, God, I don't know what to do or say or be. I don't
know what to do or say or be or say or do.

sometimes I realize
I cannot save every
one, every thing, I
can't save the brok
                                         en

I have lost
you to the
world.

i am rolled between
rocks, my everything
hurts

as far as sheep go--
will you find me
soon because I
don't know where
i am and countless
people have discovered
me and they ask their
many questions but
but
but

I
know what to do but I
keep looking back at God with his
umbrella saying, you aren't going anywhere
are you? you won't leave me, right? Because I need you
to be there when I say these things and I don't even know
if
i
will
say
them.

someday what you
say will reach that
place you spoke it
to

I imagine if I tasted like anything
it might be okay at first and then
without warning you would start
coughing, you didn't realize this
orange juice had pulp, you didn't
think this was soy milk, was there
supposed to be peanuts in this? it
wasn't dark chocolate, I promise

I promise

I will learn to find
happiness in quarks
in grains of sand, in
mustard seeds and
strands of hair.

I don't mind the cold
mornings or the piano
music that plays in the
shower, it's okay here
with the sweaters on
the floor and the
candles that do
not burn
anymore
because at
night my feet
are warm as I learn how
to be on my own and the
piano music plays, drops
the piano music plays
when I cover my face
with wet hair and
ask questions
in front of
the tile
like

hello
hello
are you
there?

I am just as bad
as you keeping
the wounded as
they are, Chaz.
Does this mean
I am the villain
as well?

A dozen eggs
seven prayers
my lips aren't
soft, what am
I doing, God?

All my seams are
popping, all of my
thoughts are poking
out, all the stories I
want to tell are only
pebbles in a jar.

I remember a
hundred nights
in your apple room
beneath ramen kisses

I remember I didn't make
the team in 7th grade so
you gave me a hug, and
it was then that I realized
not everything everyone
says is
true

I often look at the hands
of others and wonder how
they look so soft, when did
mine become so rough, why
aren't I pretty like them? Why
aren't I pretty like them? Why
can't I be pretty
like them?

I will not

condemn

you for the
problems
that you
have.

Today was the first
time in a long while
that I have laughed
so hard I have cried
where I cannot stop
would not stop, and
though it might not
last I was happy, a
true kind of

happy

I am afraid
that certain
people are

you

I peeled a cucumber
today, I thought that
you might be proud
I am not so scared of
knives even when you
are not around

I wish i had
the capacity
for affection.

I am a bit too loud
without trying, and
I promise myself I'll
stay quiet although
I never have. I keep
in mind the things
my father says to
me, that the wise
never seek chances.
If wisdom is sought
I have never had any. I am
too loud without trying, witty
around the edges, with a cornerstone
made of sand.