Red    ,     red      is     the     color     of     my     hunger   ,
like     the     blood      that      flows      endlessly      from
the    cut    on    my   left   ring   finger  .   Like   the   rose
that    withered    on    my   front   door   step .  Like   the
color    of    my    cheeks   or   the   echoing  of  a  bruise.
Deny    myself    simple   pleasures   like   the   breath   of
another  or  the  feel  of  water.  Giving  more,  more  than
I have to satisfy another. My hunger is red like a lung, but
I’m exhaling more than in -- my hunger is your happiness.


Your hunger is a darkness that is simply nothing like a black hole
of  constantly  collapsing  stars  that  shine  like  an  an­gler  fish’s
allure.   Like   a   deep ,   deep   green   that   feeds   upon   the  
beautiful .   Like   a   hypnotic   blue   that   envelopes   you   in
a    trance    of    one    thousand    pounds .   Destroy  me   like
a    lion    upon    a    dying    prey .   Take    and    take    more
than        what       is      offered   .     Your     hunger     is     an
endless         cavern  ,      inhaling      more      than      out     --
your               hunger              is                 your                  gain.

…
You can cut me up,
carve me into any shape you desire.
Cut me down, even,
Wrap lights and tinsel around my dying limbs
until I cease to amuse.
Then throw me out,
to the street with the rest of them:
the girls you grew bored of.
As we sit on the curb,
fishnet tights and short skirts,
we're no taller than a Bonsai.
We could be beautiful and strong
with love and care,
But instead we've grown harsh and gnarled
trying to sell it instead.
…

I am not lips needing paint,
I am powerful words
       screams into a void
       whispers in the crowds
       echoes that find your ear.

I am not bones in a skin sack,
I am a temple
       created from love
       shaped by something greater
       meant for more than ***.

I am not just pretty eyelashes,
I am speaking in silence
       staring down evil
       unflinching towards darkness
       learning from mistakes.

I am not waiting for someone,
I am rescuing myself
       stitching my wounds
       smiling when it hurts
       leading a fallen army.

I am a warrior
       not a damsel

I am strong
       not weak

I am fighting
        not crying

I am changing
        not complaining

I am running
        not waiting

I am not an object
             a gender
             a ***
             a stereotype

I am human
        me

I am no toymaker, I know this,
yet one day I found a small toy car
left on my doorstep with a simple note:
"Try and fix me."
I'm no toymaker, but I tried anyway.
I saw there was a wheel broken,
a door off its hinges, and an engine
that needed replacing. I am no toymaker,
but I tried my best to find these parts,
but I stopped before I switched them out
because I realized I was changing it.
I am no toymaker, but I know you shouldn't
change people; that only they can change themsleves,
and that's what I feared.
How am I to fix something, if it won't change?
I am no toymaker, so maybe I'm missing something,
but if I can not change out this broken wheel,
place new hinges on that door, or a new
engine to make it pur, how can I fix it?
I am no toymaker, I know this,
but I still battled rivers and mountains alone,
talked with Atlas to give up the Earth,
but Atlas wouldn't listen and I told myself
it was because I was trying to change him
like a little toy car I once tried to fix.
I am no toymaker, but don't say I didn't try.

i am the girl
with questions in
her eyes

i am the girl
that question
lives

i am the girl
with untouched love on
her lips

i am the girl
that covers
her hips

i am the girl
with whispers in
her ears

i am the girl
that shouts but
no one hears

i am the girl
with a song in
her heart

i am the girl
in a play
with no part

i am the girl
with lyrics on
her breath

i am the girl
who is not afraid
of death

I can't trust anyone.
I can't hold someone close and
I can't love another.
But I want to.
Oh, how I want to trust you!
But I can't.
I can't explain,
Because I myself do not understand.

It was a fire that froze me,
flames grazed a heart barely beating,
freezing me firm
from a core of embers, heat of great therm,

the standstill of a solid soul,
a final surge of a song shook
from a burning center
riddled with freezing scars; make my words slur

with drunken lips and a harsh breath.
Frozen by passion so intense
I sit by the ice,
Hoping the chill will be my body's vise.

So cold, so cold, the fire swept me
From the arms that held me so dear,
Maybe this iced glow
Melds a chilled, burnt heart, only God will know.

A fire. A fire, I say!
It iced my very bones solid,
His heat left me cold--
He was my sun, the only thing to hold.

Start with me back at the beginning. Watch the Earth come to be,
see the stars dance in the music that has become the twilight.
Watch mountains rise high and valleys sink low.
See the Earth's blue river veins fill and flow,
and its vast sea soul... listen to it move.

Start with me back at the beginning. Watch a life come to pass,
see a child's first laugh, forget the tears that started it all.
Feel them hold their mother's finger like hell.
Listen to their heartbreak, their wedding bells,
and the soft hymn of their eternal sleep.

Start with me back at the beginning. Watch for that one moment,
see the first two creatures fall fast and effortlessly in love.
Watch where it starts, and pin it like a map.
I know how love ends: a chest with a gap,
but the first step's a cruel teaser to me.

If we are but grains of sand,
he is a warm embrace and soft kisses as
she is the single pearl ring given to a blushing date.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the oyster that works like a factory and
she is now part of the bracelet given to the new bride.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the hands that pries her free but
she is already in the long necklace hanging from the neck of a grieving widow.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the greatest lie and
she is the most lovely tragedy.

I'm a broken doll
that sits on the top shelf
and stares down,
with glassy eyes,
onto the other dolls.
Plastic Barbies, American Girls,
Baby Dolls, and Raggedy Ann's,
They are coddled, held,
in a way that is foreign to me.
When I look at myself, I can see
the scratches in the porcelain,
the tears in the dress,
the heart that barely beats.
I'm the only one that can see,
these reminders of him.
I was misused, tossed about,
victim to his emotions.
He's all I've known,
and the definition of all
that will take me from
my top shelf.
I've been taken off the self before.
But the things he said, actions he did,
they weren't like what the other dolls got.
So I put myself back on
my top shelf.
I can feel their eyes,
their wink, whispers, and smiles
of approval.
I've been reached for,
but I turn them away.
I don't want to be misused, tossed about,
victim to his emotions again.
I know that their not all like him,
but I can't find myself trusting again.
So, I will sit on my top shelf,
and smile with red painted lips,
and maybe they won't see the pain inside.

I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do
Love's so strong, I didn't know what to do
My shallow heart was no match for you
I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do

And I find I'm not so strong
Your love crushed me so small
Not sure where I belong

And I am saying goodbye
I was stupid and lied
Just sat and watched you die

I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do
I'm sorry that I couldn't love you
My shallow heart was no match for you
I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do

And I am coming untied
I can't handle your tears
Or to know that you've cried

I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do
I'm sorry that I couldn't love you
My shallow heart was no match for you
I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do

I'm not the one, there's nothing you could do

Poetry is the art,
Of word selection.
It is the beautiful combination
Of syllables, rhymes, colors, and images.
A place where a description
Consists of few words.

In that sense,
I hope that one day,
The art of poetry that will depict me will be
Indescribable.
I wish for one day, to not be called
Beautiful
Pretty
Adorable or
Kind.
But, instead, I want to be
Indescribable.
"No one adjective can describe you, so you're
Indescribable.
You're everything: from beauty to fierce, and yet,
That doesn't seem enough. You are, love,
Indescribable."

I fell in love with a piece of paper
and a picture of you. Now here you stand,
and I don't quite know what I am to do…

We were lonely souls, you and I; felt like
only each other heard our laughs and cry.

Yet here we are, miles apart yet inches
so close. All I can hear are the words on
the paper; acting like an overdose.

You're not a picture, and neither am I,
falling in love was short; destined to die.

Love we did, even though our time quickly
ticked away. But my love was true; it could
not be born, ravish, and cease in a day.

A question in my head, it must be said:
Will I be back, as our history read?

True, I can not stop the dreams, but these bad
habits are hard to break. I'd rather miss
you than have more of your love bruises ache.

You're a part of me, like a glove, I can't
rid this picture and paper of you, love.

I will keep you near, of course, so you can
perhaps watch me grow, in awe or hatred,
to one day let go of your heavy woe.

Scars left from the battle of heart and mind --
My choice is clear, though it left my mouth ****.

My heart breaks, the body recuperates,
this time I’ve had enough of these rust gates.

Goodbye to the man in front of me, and
everyday Good Morning to the picture
staring, eyes bright, with pain and painted glee.

If only pictures showed what was below
the skin, then maybe we wouldn’t have sinned?

Time is such a heavy concept, it falls like a rock but flies like a feather. The more you try to ignore it, the more it burns you; if you were to stare it in the eyes, you would likely go blind. What I'm trying to say is, I hate thinking that in less than 3 months, I won't have an excuse to see you everyday. That, in less than 90 days, they'll give me a piece a paper that is the key to the cage forbidding our distance. In less than 4,400 hours, I'll be packed and a couple hundred miles away. Of course, it'd only be 2,102,400 minutes until I dawn the cap and gown and am released into the world, but God only knows where you'll be and who you'll be with. So, in these last 7,776,000 seconds we have until they call our names and we walk the stage, I'm asking if it's worth it.

You are such a beautiful thing. Brighter than any star, stronger than any metal, softer than any heart... even though you try to convince me otherwise. Call me jealous and selfish, but the thought of you loving another makes my heart concave in a silent implosion. I think it's so very ironic that my heart decided to stop working not long after we said goodbye. It's like a small child that knows what it wants: your arms around me, your lips on mine, your smell on my clothes, your laughter in my ear, your beautiful brown eyes staring back into mine... and I wonder if it's been too long. And I wonder if 7,776,000 seconds is worth it.

Invincible.
You don't need a big poem to describe that feeling.
That one, simple, four syllable word
Is so powerful
There's no way to describe it properly.
Invincible.

This abuse is without visible scars:

the coppery blood
is that of a broken heart
pooling around me,
craving to drown me
even as we join as one --

the throbbing bruises
are that of spoken words
sprouting like flowers
seeking to consume
even as he spreads me open --

the suffocating broken bones
are that of the fear
filling my lungs,
burning my nose like acid
even as he kisses me --

the deafening tears
are that of threats
ringing and screaming inside,
stealing any other sound but him
even as he makes me laugh --

the blinding black eye
is that of isolation
wrapping tight ‘round me,
sewing my eyelashes together
even as he glances my way --

But you can’t see it, so is it really there?

I wanted to dream.
I wanted to reach an
impregnable state;
a place where the
cold claws cannot clasp
around my humble heart.
And yet, I didn't want to leave.
The jagged jaw that juts itself
deep into my mellow mind
had found a home there.
It's familiar, friendly, and fond of my trains.
Trains that take me no where,
but lead me everywhere.
I have yet to find a train
that will take me away;
take me to a strange world,
and have its
foreign fangs flow flammable fluid
deep into my veins;
It will flood my tracks,
stop my trains,
and I may never be able to
leave.
Trapped.
Unable to escape
this impregnable world,
A world I thought I wanted.

It's about that time again
to lock up all the
Love
Anger
and Greif
and just wait for them to die.
But they never truly die,
do they?
They rally in the
locked box I call a heart
becoming stronger and stronger
until I am overcome with
Love
Anger
and Grief.
They never truly die.
No.
They never cease to come back
just as the winter comes
to destroy summer.
It's about that time again,
hopefully their rally is lifeless
so that I may see another day.

It took a while for it to sink in.
The cold truth, that should have dripped onto my face
like an early spring rain, toppled me,
wave after heavy wave,
with the solid wall of a tsunami
that knows no bounds. And when I wake, on the
beach after the storm, I lay among the
debris of everything I had,
everything I built.
Gone.
Well, not really gone.
Ruins of magnificent structures,
things that were nothing but pieces until construction.
It all began to crumble. Now,
the skeletons sit on their graves, staring
me down with soulless passion
while I begin to shiver.

It's like the saying "You don't know what you have,
until it's gone."
When you have absolutely no idea
how very lucky  you are until the
moment after it's all ripped away from
you. Yes, a moment after, because you
have to process slowly what just happened.
A delayed reaction.
Sometimes, depending on how numb you are
to the world that encases  you, it can
be the moment after. Or, if you are
completely oblivious to how lucky
you had it, you could die without a
complete realization.

I knew what I had.
I knew I was lucky.
I just never thought:
It would be me that made it crumble,
I was a malfunction--
Self-destruct too early.
They say you can rebuilt what you've lost,
That these skeletons that watch me can be revived.
But how can you stop a clock that's still ticking?
How can you make it go backwards,
When the hands swirl around, marching in an
Ever vigilant pattern unable to go anywhere but forward?
But I guess that's the point.
You can't change what's been done,
You can't bring back what's dead.
Because, in truth,
It's Gone.

I've lost myself in the woods ---
Again.
But, don't worry, I have a lantern.
The Light is weak, broken, and shaken
against the four walls of
Darkness that claws at me.

There's a voice on my left,
sweet as syrup and smooth as silk,
it says things I've longed to hear.
But, at the same time,
There's a voice on my right,
painful as a potent poison and raw as rigid razors,
it says things I don't want to hear.
But is it the angel that whispers
sweet nothings
or is it the devil?
Should I layer myself like a grain of sand in an oyster
or should I dive, head first, into the cold water?

One of the voices whispers of a path:
A nice one full of warmth and love.
I turn to look, but before I can see,
I'm pulled down this path, struggling to breath
and trying to break away from needy hands.
In the struggle, I've dropped the lantern.
But, that's okay.
It's warm here, I guess.
But, it's becoming too much.
Wait, what's that? My lantern.
Small rays of light fight against claws to find me.
It's harder than I thought, picking the lantern up again ---
and finally seeing again.
This isn't what I was told.
This isn't what I wanted.
There isn't love here, only lies.

And now, another voice whispers to me,
sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
My right shoulder is in pain, a horde of
screaming people, calling me to reality.
But, I've wanted this path for so long,
dreamed of this way before I even knew it.
How can I turn that away when it is teasing at my
fingertips?
Tell me.
Please, I want to know.
Are you the devil in disguise
Or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?

The lantern is gone now, dropped during the struggle.
I think I know where I'm going, but without light,
I'm ignorant.
I will trip in these woods, this I'm sure of.
I've been caught on branches, and cut by thorns.
I've run from wolves, and have been bitted by bears.
I want to find my way.
I want to find the light, in the ever changing world of dark.

I walked a long mile
with a Girl long forgotten,
she was loud and personable,
bright red ringlets sitting on the shoulders
of white and pink ruffles
with dark eyes that never cried
yet she tells me
"I'm scared of the dark,"
I could not embrace her,
could not discourage her fears.
instead I looked into those dark eyes --
full of innocence,
brimming with ignorance,
and told her
"I dreamed for your eyes,
and I wished that you might never have mine."

I wanted to tell you that
this cut on my leg
wasn't a shaving accident.
That the beads of rubies
weren't from clumsy fingers,
but from strong trembling hands.
I thought I'd tell you that
I enjoyed the way it felt,
the idea that I was alive --
that string of scarlet pearls
was proof that I had a heart,
that it still beat --
no matter how faint.
I wanted to wear the red jewels
around my neck
as some sort of prize.
No,
as some kind of evidence
that I
          was
                 not
                       hollow --
                 I'm
         still
here.
Try to wipe them away,
but they only become
one of Van Gogh's strokes --
beautiful.
meaningful.
I am alive.

As a poet I will always wonder
If my body ran under your fingertips like the Great Plains rolling under a tempest...
If the hollow echo of my breaking heart beating against your skin made you recoil in disgust?
Did the breath we share grow stale as it sat in my aching lungs?
Does the pale ghost of my lips make your neck shiver and tremble?
Where did your heart move when you held me; did it fill your stomach like it did mine?
Could the space where my hand used to lay thaw if you recollect?
Would your skin itch for the soft tracing of my fingertips again?
Do your ears strain for the sound of your name falling from my lips like leaves lifted by an autumn breeze?

As a person I will always wonder
If you even loved me.

This is a world of masks.
This is a world of fake and
this is a world of backstabs.
I watched as people walk around
with faces of plastic and paint.
I watched as people glared at me
with eyes like daggers and poison.
They watched as I put on a mask
with white teeth and rosy cheeks.
Sometimes I think it's safe
Sometimes I peek outside the mask and
sometimes I speak my mind.
They listen with painted faces
They listen with stilled expressions
They listen to each other gossip after I depart.
I can feel their eyes
I can feel the words
I can feel the pain that stabs me like a voodoo doll.
It's hard to tell if the face they wear is genuine
or just a mask.

Ears are like keyholes
Words are like keys
If what is said doesn't fit,
it won't go in.
If what is said is denied,
the words will be changed
to fit the ears.
But every notch you fill,
every carve you make,
is only hurting you.
It's a pain that is subtle at first,
but the reality of it sets in;
you crumble to pieces.
I've changed so many keys
to fit so many ears,
but I can't stop,
even when every tear is like acid.
Ears only want specific keys,
and will turn away anything else.
It's about time someone listened
to the raw words that mumble in my mind.
It's about time that I force the key in,
instead of shaping it to their liking,
instead of leaving scars on my cheeks.
It's about time,
for them to
face reality.

The surface ripples like the whisper of
A knife through the space between her
Ribs, and although it may be Great, it
Is but a spec on the sapphire that is our
Earth. Thousand stepped lavender
Converse soles suspended, kissing the
Lips of the restless waves like a
Gentleman upon her pearl clasped
Glove, oh how I wish she could see the
Way her eyes pulled at me like a
Riptide. And oh how I'd give to kiss
The water in her place, but she made
Love to the very lake she bore from
The depths of sleepless nights. She was
Waterborne with every crumbling step
Over cracked city sidewalks,
Wandering like a bottled message at
The whim of currents. I think she
Would have liked to sink to the
Bottom, but they've raised her like a
Bullet shredded battle flag. I think she
Would have floated in the silence of
Eternity instead of speaking through
Rotting lips. Perhaps would have
Rather whispered the petals of a
Midnight rose to his boat than kissed
The tips of his time tattered converse
Sneakers. Perhaps she would have
Wanted to catch him as he mirrored
Her dive into
                        oblivion?

I've lost myself in the woods ---
Again.
But, don't worry, I have a lantern.
The Light is weak, and scattered
against the four walls of
Darkness that claw at me.
Voices whisper of a path:
A nice one full of warmth and love.
I turn to look, but before I can see,
I'm pulled down this path, struggling to breathe
and trying to break away from needy hands.
In the struggle, I've dropped the lantern.
It's warm here,
But, it's becoming too much.
Wait, what's that? My lantern.
Small rays of Light fight against claws to find me.
It's harder than I thought, picking the lantern up again ---
and finally seeing again.
This isn't what I was told.
This isn't what I wanted.
There isn't love here, only lies.
A voice whispers to me, sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
Another voice calls, a horde of
screaming people, calling me to reality.
But, I've wanted this path for so long,
dreamed of this way before I even knew it.
How can I turn that away when it’s teasing at my fingertips?
Are you the devil in disguise
Or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?
The lantern is gone now, dropped during the struggle.
I think I know where I'm going, but without Light, I'm ignorant.
I will trip in these woods, this I'm sure of.
I've been caught on branches, and cut by thorns.
I've run from wolves, and have been bitted by bears.
I want to find my way.
I want to find the light, in the ever changing world of dark.

You are that fire in the midst of a raging winter,
the first and single daffodil at the brink of spring,
a summer storm that breaks the hovering heat,
the last green leaf to fall with the slumbering oak.

Hope and clarity, like the single candle that starts a vigil
Light and sensitive, as if heaven’s rays concocted your body
Strong and beautiful, a comet that inspires and ignites
Lovely and fearless, the red sunrise after the darkest night.

My dearest friend, you are louder than any hurricane,
Mightier than any wind yet soft as a young rose petal.
Your back against my own, together facing the tides
Of tsunamis that should’ve destroyed us, but here we are.

Time is a fickle thing, it falls like a rock and flies like a feather.
Distance is a cruel creature, pulling and bridging the strains.
But you are so valued, so precious in my memory --
Like a swollen chapter with pages lined in platinum,

It would be a sin to forsake such a person as yourself.
If ever a moment of dysphoria befalls you, take comfort
In the memory and ever beating heart of our friendship:
Call me up, *****, ain’t no way you’re escaping me.

No matter tree strong
Or branch withered and shakey
Leaves must fall alone

Elongated fingers claw at my scarf
As I walk down this narrow and lonely road
Between the bakery and the local consignment shop.
Only the brave venture the snow storm,
Only the strong return home safely,
Only the wise find a way forward.
The lost ones, the ones who wonder narrow roads,
Call back to les femmes de la neige,
The tarnished creatures lingering on the road side,
Hidden in the far corners of alley ways;
Endless piles that soar heights, yet invisible to the eye.
They whisper of loneliness, of endless woe, a soft place to rest,
A bed to sleep away the sorrow.
They breathe your name, a puff of heat in a white tundra,
Because, you see, I could walk anywhere I like,
But I walk the lonely narrow road
To remember spring has come before;
One day it will come again.

Let.
Him.
Go.
I know you can!
Forget the tainted heart
Block the screaming head
Follow your gut.
You don't need him this time --
Or any time! --
To feel the warmth of happiness.
Let him go, you can do it.

Actions speak louder than words,
tell me; should I believe you?
Mouth running, but arms are still...
Disregard the tears,
The actionless claims,
Unless you plan to show me.

Lullaby of the city, bright and strong,
Serenade the masses of the sleepless,
The tossing and turning, troubled tense throng
Of our kin bubbling over with stress.
Ink covered fingers flowing like water --
Pouring o'er paper in sharp curvatures.
Lips like verbs, eyes like green glass he'll shatter;
Like an open book with a hardcover.
Ballad of beautifully broken notes
Ringing through the chilling autumn air
Gathering the hearts and the tears of most
To bring the sorrowful much needed cheer.
     Like the steam from her black cup of coffee
     Not quite here; she's warm, hearty and happy.

When you sleep tonight
listen for music.
If you're in a dream,
listen for his voice.
He is always there,
crafting beautiful
jewels of great wisdom.
Close your eyes and look
for him, my dear child.
He has not left you.
This I promise you.
You'll be safe with him,
This I swear to you.
Now close your eyes, dear
Listen for music
Feel him hold you close.