I can't write honest poetry
Which is not to say that
the ones I've written are lies
(They might be; I wouldn't know)
But I can't seem to find the truth
My truth
I have buried my heart beneath six feet of fear
and my fingernails are caked with dirt
from trying to dig it back up again

I no longer have all of my
soul.
Shards lost and stolen so long ago,
by monsters and men,
both great and small,
have left me with hardly enough love to spare.

I no longer have all of my
mind.
Thoughts fading and forgotten with time,
as others became,
both great and small,
have left me wishing for the past to return.

I no longer have all of my
heart.
Fragments given and never returned,
for unjust causes,
both great and small,
have left me regretting more than I can bear.

My Heart, Mind, and Soul
are missing many parts, but
you can have what's left.

I don’t mind the distance
until it’s three in the morning
and all I have are empty sheets

I don’t mind the distance
until I’m coming home from work
and you’re going to sleep

(I don’t know how to do this)

I miss you with every passing thought
I miss you with every wonder I’ve ever had
I miss you with every second that’s lost
I miss you with all the dreams in my head

I don’t mind the distance
until you’ve been sick for two weeks
and my comfort is a long empty street

I don’t mind the distance
until you’re baring your traumas
and these shoulders can’t reach

(but I know I wanna try)

I love you more than the space between us
I love you more than the night sky has empty space
I love you more than the sun longs to warm the earth
I love you more than I hate the miles between our hearts

In my midnight daydreams there is no distance,
because my heart is with yours
and it beats to the tune of fate and happy endings
My soul has known yours for an eternity
and what is a couple hundred miles
compared to our truth of infinities

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder
was a **** liar
or, maybe, they had a stronger heart than mine,
which is likely.
I smoke too much.
Either way, it doesn't seem to apply to me.
Distance makes my heart forgetful.
Somehow, I've only just realized
it's been twelve days since we last spoke
through words on a screen.
Fifteen since your voice was last deconstructed
and sent to me through signals in the air that I breathe.
Months have passed from that day you don't remember.
The day I said goodbye;
my heart heavy with finality.
How is that possible?
How can I go days without thinking about you?
You were the fox to my hound,
the Piglet to my Poo,
the Abed to my Troy.
I said once that I felt our connection was severed
and I think I actually understand what that means now.
It means when I saw an old lady
drive her car through someone's lawn,
my first thought wasn't how funny you'd find that.
It means when I listen to our favorite band,
I no longer recognize the lines you love.
It means that when I think of family,
there is no one left.
It means my new neighbor no longer offers me sugar
because I don't look so bitter anymore.
You were the last person I had.
Now, all I have is ghosts and a forgetful heart.

I grew up as a peach
I was full of water
and a pinprick would open a dam
I had soft skin
that bruised easily
I was bright and delicious
and everyone wanted a bite

I have become a cactus
I'm still full of water
though a pinprick ain't worth a ****
I have soft skin
protected by spines
I am rough and unpleasant
and no one dares to take a bite

i wear this weariness like a hand-me-down jacket
(too broad for these shoulders
frayed at the heart stitched on my sleeve
a mess of patchwork band-aids and safety pins) -
not well

still, it's cold and
these loose threads are more comfortable than anything new
through rain and even more rain
i march on, no longer hoping for shine
the water from every glass half spilled beats down on my shoulders,
soaks through all my layers,
drowns me from the inside-out
but we have faced worse than water-logged lungs
and a driftwood heart

darker clouds gather a hundred lives past the horizon

some storms come to pass,
some storms seem to last forever
sometimes the thunder clap is your own heart,
beating, pumping, urging you forward

through the storm
i weather the weight of a thousand whispered disappointments
(dreams
hopes
realities),
shrouded in my family's shadows
disguised as a hand-me-down jacket

The leaves turn green to red
 to brown to dust and my end looms on the horizon
If there is beauty in the changing of the seasons
then there is beauty in death
and I see no beauty in death
Even with the knowledge
that rebirth will come there is no reprieve
The fear settles in like the first snow,
enveloping me in frost and stagnation
My life will turn to pain to numbness
to nothing
as the leaves begin to fall
and my end is in sight

They carve away my saccharine heart,
arteries and all,
leaving behind a peach pit
encased in cyanide walls

The sugar would have killed me -
the sentimentality cementing me in the past
They meant to set me free,
but there is little worse
than choking on my own apathy

you and i have been the moon and sea
clouds and trees
never and infinity

we have been earth and sky
day and night
from the darkness comes your light

it's in your sea salt tears
my stardust air
you and i are everywhere

we shall meet again
death is not the end
in another life
our story begins

I don't want it like this
When I'm going sixty and you're dragging your feet
I'm in for the ride, brake line cut
and there's only shadows and dreams in the passenger seat
Next time let me know before you tuck and roll

I have lived eons in twenty minutes,
felt the creaking
of my bones growing,
growing,
growing weary,
crumbling to gritty dust
only to be born again.
To live, die, serve
behind this counter.

The white expanse is
Stifling in its liminality
Limitless in its containment

There is no here or where
Before or after
Just now
Just this endlessly eternal instant

Chester the jester,
My favorite guard!
Stuck in his twenties, but
Twice over the hill,
Recalls peace-time war stories,
While taking his pills.
Tells me all his tall tales  
Up ‘till wife number one
And the other loves that failed.

This is how abuse looks:
Elderly, jovial
Shirt tucked and boots shined,
Rare catches of
Old scratches on new glasses,
Liver spots and laughing lines.

Glassy eyes blinking away  
Dust from antique memories;
Sepia-toned ponderings,
Less like days of summer
More depression-era dust bowl;
The ever-hope for May.

Chester the Jester,
Old of bone
Young of heart,
Keeps the laughter going
To smooth your broken parts.

so i am not a peach
or a peach pit
there's no cyanide laced sweetness in these veins

so this was a choice
or lack thereof?
nothing grows without effort
and i have a belly full of seeds to prove it

swallow your tongue
swallow your guilt
rinse it down with moonlight
and then swallow your hope

blame the lack of blooms on bad genes

so this is the truth
or it almost is
i am the wilted sapling of my own neglect

There is a softness to this stagnation
A familiarity
It's true what they say
about finding comfort in this
It is surprisingly easy to sink in still water
The great lake of potential swallows me up
and some days I can barely keep my nose above water
The rest I spend holding my breath

I once said if I could choose how I would die,
I would choose to drown
Sometimes the threat of the great darkness
looms for so long you forget to fear it
Sometimes you grow accustomed
to the taste of your own waterlogged heart
and the shore lies too far ahead for you to see the lighthouse

And sometimes that bright unknown is what you fear most

My shoes still have dried mud around the soles from that day in the woods
It was one of the happiest days I've had in such a long while
The season is new, I have aged, and life has been reborn
So much has changed in these few, short months
Yet, nothing really has
I'm still sad, they're still gone, and there's still mud on my favorite shoes

There is a world in which my mind
Had never fallen blue
And of that world I often find
myself retreating to

In darkest hours this I know:
My life is what I seek
In pools of hope, my shadows grow
And light is at its peak

Perfectionist I am,
but able am I not
A look inside my mind
and all you'll find is rot

True worry it may bring
to witness all this waste;
to look behind the mess
and see my living space

But worry not, dear sweet
for rain is coming soon
to wash away my past
and all the sadness too

The Spring is rolling in
along with all its age
I'll be okay again
and then I'll clean this place

I am constantly rewriting lines
I am always retracing my steps
I am stuck reworking my code
I am lost in reconfiguration

A skipping records plays
(plays, plays, p-p-plays)
and I am caught in-between
here and there and where I want to be

My love is an abused dog
cowering in my chest.
I guard it like a mother wronged,
pacing with unrest.

The caring hand that feeds
blocks the fist from my sight.
I know the saying I should heed,
but I can’t help this bite.

Some days are bad
Some days I don't believe in me
Some days I can't see a happy ending
not in this life
not in this reality
Some days I have to imagine myself
in an alternate world
just to make it through a day in this one

Some days are better
Some days I have faith in me
Some days I can hear laughter miles ahead
this is my life
this is my reality
Some days I do exactly what I should
to create my ideal world
and those days are easier than this one

Some days are easy,
but other days
I'm chasing memories 
of a different me

i. First comes the calm

Hold it in
Keep it close
Never let them see
the clouds and wind and rain
edging in,
past the coast
or else they'll flee
Take your time
to build up strength 
You'll need it in the coming days

ii. Then comes the storm

Racing heart
Sweaty palms
The rain clouds burst
Let it out
Let them see
what you've become
and what they've done,
though you'll likely regret it
come morning sun

iii. The calm always returns again

Look at this mess
You've done it again
See what happens
when you let emotion win?
Grab a mop, a broom
and, maybe, a friend or two
Clean up the mistakes,
hide them away,
and save them for a rainy day

I'm waiting in line and
There's a dark space ahead
In the other queues, people move on
and come out different
I cannot step in

The girl behind me says
"Miss, it's your turn."
As if I'm simply distracted
and not brimming with fear
I cannot step in

People are moving to other lines
I'm an inconvenience
The cashier smiles
and motions me forward
I cannot step in

I shift my head around,
trying to see what lies within
There's nothing there
It's worse than I expected
I cannot step in

I've been here for years
People whisper about me;
About the girl who won't move
and how she likely never will
I cannot step in

My room is clean
but there's still dust
The books are put away
but not in order
The sheets are on my bed
but it's not made
The laundry is done
but not put away

My mom would call this Spring cleaning
I'd say it's just me getting better
and she'd tell me they're one in the same
She knows a thing or two about dusty shelves
and cobweb corners

**** Nest Raided, Queen Bees Are Stinging Mad!
1969
******, dark night.
Fire and brimstone.
We will burn our own houses down
If it will stop you from taking them.
Pride will begin it’s mending next year.

RARE CANCER SEEN IN 41 HOMOSEXUALS
1981
12,000 dead by 1985.
Genocide by indifference.
Reagan and Anita will never face justice.
We will never get our brothers back.
No vaccine or cure for decades to come.

‘EQUAL DIGNITY’
2015
Look how far we’ve come…
“You can marry who you want!”
Uncle *** still can’t give blood
To save his dying husband after Pulse -
But at least they can share the hospital bills.

People seem to believe that I am a terribly angry person
That I'm never quite satisfied with anything
As if I'm a volcano constantly edging on near eruption
I admit, this isn't entirely untrue
I am filled to the brim with red-hot lava
I am burning with the intensity for a better life
But, what many haven't realized is I'm not all that angry
The world sets me off at times, but it's not the real problem
In the same way that global warming can't be blamed on the sun
There is an anger within me
A rage fueled by my own shortcomings
I can't really rant about myself though, can I?
So, everyone and everything else has become my punching bag

So this is how it ends?
All of the fizzle and bang and loose threads?
Saltwater wounds, tightrope casualty, red burning throats
This is not laryngitis 
This is my heart shredding it's home, trying to escape
And maybe it learned it from you
Saw the escapist make her out of a trap called loyalty,
decided it wanted to give it try,
realized too late that you can take yourself out of a home
but the pain always follows

I have a tendency toward impulsive sincerity,
followed by an embarrassment I can't quite shake.
Nakedness does not become me;
Shame follows this vulnerability.
An abused dog
hunching and cowering
to hide my insecurity,
odd curves, and pitted angles.

The sky weeps
and the sun hides away
because they can never compare to you
7 wonders of the world my ***
You are the only wondering thought
I keep wandering back to
How can anything so beautiful exist
without shattering every law
of biology
...
and chemistry
we have ever known
How do you exist
if perfection doesn't?
The ancient builders of history
could learn a thing or two from you
about sloping angles 
and lasting structure
The divine beings that are
reached the pinnacle of their deathless lives
when you were born
Every achievement man has ever known
can never compare to the miracle of you

The clouds are reaching for the earth
Longing for embrace
Making the air sweet and dense;
A blanket as we lay

Tomorrow, we will wake to fog
Walk in love
Till the sun brings the mourning
And burns it all away

They say you can't win if you don't play and,
yeah, maybe quitters never win but they never lose either
They simply exist
I simply exist
No playing into societal rules about what makes me acceptable
Don't you want to be pretty? they ask
Don't you want love?
Don't you want to people to like you?
No.
******* and your approval
I like me and like that I quit

As a child, the adults in my family called me Bubba Gump
because Bubba almost sounded like my first nickname
and I have legs like Forest Gump.
When I ran, they would call out "Run, Bubba, run!"
and I would laugh because I didn't understand their cruelty.

I was put into the Gifted class when I was eight
and my mom was so proud of me.
She once referred to the class as special
and, since I already spoke with a stutter,
my aunts and uncles turned special into an insult.

My canine teeth stick out from the rest
and when I smile, that's all people see.
By fourteen, I had come to understand
that odd physical features and mean names
are a package deal, so
I came up with "vampire teeth", to let people know
I was aware of my abnormality.

I was drawn with an unsteady, jerking hand
and I'm okay with that.
It's become second nature to point out my own flaws
with a laugh in my throat.
I can see how uncomfortable people get when I do this
because it's okay for them to notice,
but not for me to notice them noticing.
Well, that's fine.
I'm just not going to apologize for my jagged lines.

i swear my lips taste like yours and they've never even met
how strange it is to miss something you've never had

i've imagined your touch so many times
i swear
i can feel the feather soft tingle of your hand in mine
and maybe it's not all fabrication and make-believe

i swear we've met before

in a parallel universe, the timing was right from the start
and i'm remembering dew drops in your hair
four months from now
and your smile
three years and a thousand "i love you's" ago

i swear some version of me knows some version of you
and
if distance kills us here
at least i'll know it was never a factor there

i swear i remember you

I am pockmarked with battle scars
invisible to everyone but me
The world has waged a war on me
that I still don't want to fight
Armed with nothing,
prepared by no one,
I have only survived through trickery,
slight of hand,
and stubbornness
Childishly, I consistently cover my eyes,
ignoring the monsters looming in the shadows
"If I can't see Them, They can't see me"
Still, these monsters come
Resisting Them has made me weak
and They only grow stronger,
feeding off me,
leeching out all the color,
and turning my world gray
Soon, we will come to a ******
where I must fight Them head-on
I know I will lose
There is no denying that
My doom crawls ever-near
Now it's just a matter of time

And on the days like this 
I think about the moon 
and if she's ever felt amiss
Maybe she's been here, too
Has she ever been oblivious
to her bright nights of full
until the waning turns her listless
and destroys her uncommon mood

I'm feeling a little broken recently
My mind is a little too foggy
Like my heart is a little too gray
Like, maybe, this isn't quite right

I'm feeling like I already knew this
That denial is a hell of a thing
It's easy to pretend in the summer
It's easy to forget how bad it can be

There is something to be said about
the false comfort found in warm weather

The sun knows the perfect way to
make the storm clouds seem a little softer
How to make moonlit nights a little less lonely
How to make the future shine a little brighter

But the comfort of summer is fading now
and everything is a daunting shade of grey

I have never been fond of winter
and she has never been kind to me

Self care is showering 
for the first time in a week
It's remembering to eat
And pushing through my anxiety 
when the phone rings

Self care is gritty
It's ***** and rough and almost living

Learning to love myself is a dark, twisted path
full of thickets and chiggers 
and shadows trying to lure me astray

It's trying to understand
that I am worth more than my broken parts
That I can be more than a peach pit heart
with arsenic pumping through my veins

Self care is knowing no one can save me from me
I will rescue myself
I can be my own hero

Self care is broken knuckles and ****** knees
from fighting my own castle walls
It is meeting myself in a battle of will
and being aware I might not succeed

Self care is pushing on,
when all the signs scream run away,
because I've been running for too long

So, at least for now,
I'll face the danger of self care

Let this be it
Let this be my time of success
I have spent too many winters
wrapping myself in regret
and disappointment
Let this be the turning point

If you could,
be gentle with my heart
Lumpy scar tissue and
shot gun shells mar the surface
but I promise it has potential
Let this be a time of healing

I beg of you - 
knees buried in a sinkhole
and head bowed 
to gods I don't even believe in -
grant me rebirth
Let this be the beginning

Riding on the back of mass despair,
you have the chance for greatness
and I see you in technicolor

It was me, not you.
It wasn't the right time.
I was still getting over my last poem.

We can still be friends,
but when I say friends,
know what I mean is friendly.
Know that I won't save your seat at my table.
They are all taken by my books
my clothes
my love for another.

But when I say friends,
also know that, years later,
when the pain that first brought you to me
is as distant and hazy
as the smoke from my first bridge burned,
I'll smile when I see you;
Note how the core of you is unchanged.
Even with your new look,
your melody rings the same.

Find me praying to the trees
Find me talking with the leaves
Find me with my head in the ground
and my feet stuck in the clouds

I'll tell you its easier this way -
to walk along the air's byways
if I keep my eyes shut tight
and shy away from the light

I feel as though I am stuck in the purgatory of my life
It's my own fault, I know
The rain pours and I just wait for someone to show me the light

My bones ache
I'm soaked to my core
The emptiness in my soul is drowning and, still, I wait

Doing anything is becoming more and more difficult by the day
My existence is getting heavier, but lighter
I fear that I will soon spill everything and float away

I used to think it was strange
that we became estranged
It burned me up internally 
that we weren't friends eternally
I somehow didn't understand
that we held destruction in our hands

Leaky roofs and faulty wires
tend to cause house fires
and, sister, we burned them all
so, it's no surprise we had to fall

Our laughter was a siren's song
Banshees wailed all night long
With my lightning and your rain 
we became a sunny day's bane

I was naive to think before
the world could stand our perfect storm

I don't know what I'm doing anymore
I don't know where I'm going
or how to get there
Most days, I feel like a parked car at a green light
Other days, I don't feel like anything at all
Is this what life is?
How do people stand it?
Why didn't anyone warn me?
Where is the revolution for living?
Maybe nobody cares
More likely, they're just too tired to live
Everything is so hard
I'm tired too

I have found myself on the island
of misfit toys, broken dreams, and lost things.
Not so much as found myself,
but more like I jumped overboard
a sinking ship and reluctantly drifted
to the only place I seemed to fit.
Things are pretty grim here.
The wind whistles with despair and
missed opportunities.
The sun shines very rarely and, when it does,
it's too bright for our fragile eyes
because we're just too used to the darkness.
The shores are quiet lovely though.
They're the divider between our world and the real one.
We can sit and warily observe others living
without having to actually partake.
These times are tinged bittersweet however,
because as much as we would like to deny,
we are envious of how those people move about the world
as if it isn't a place to be feared.
It's not all bad here,
no matter how we might complain.
We make the island what it is.
In return, it lets us simply be.

This eternal longing for the soft embrace of Rest grows ever-stronger while my will shrinks by every passing infinite moment
I am suspended in place, held aloft by pure stubbornness and not-entirely-honest hope for a better life come next Spring
And to think of what I might miss if I let myself sleep...
Well, that pain nearly overbears the dull ache of existing at all

So here I will remain forever, one foot caught in a trap I set for myself out of fear on my darkest hour and the other foot just barely toeing the border of a daunting place I hope to never set my eyes upon

I come from the land of grime
Of slaps and snack cakes and stray cats
And many petty crimes

I caught lice eight times before I  started school
My world was loud and I thought those anger fits were the norm
But that's how it is when you're raised by fools

I come from that side of town
With drugs and ****** and broken swing sets
And everything tinged brown

Here is where we wallow in mold and **** -
All the things you'd scrap off the bottom of your shoe
And somehow the streetlights were never lit...

But this was my world
This is my world

I was quite literally dragged through the mud
And every time I staggered back to my feet
I was swept away again by a sudden flood
Or shoved back down beneath the elite

Now when I tell you this is where my soul was forged
With red hot fury of the beaten and the ******
Do not mistake me for a simple woman scorned
For that is only a title for what makes me who I am

When I say my heart was shaped by the hands of vile men
And the hesitant, shaking fingers of those as fragile as me
You need to know that this is the reason for my estrangement
Though am I not defined by those who touched me with greed

Where I come from shaped me
But there is much more lying beneath

I am grime and mold and crime
I am daisies and fire and bumblebees
I am salt and Twizzlers and a loosened vault

And this I can proudly claim:
I am no longer ashamed

i dont live anymore
i mean, god, i don't know
i'm alive as far as science is concerned
and don't even get me started on what the gods think
what's living to an immortal anyway?
so, i'm technically alive,
but on anxious 3 ams my symptoms point to husk
and i spend a lot of time on webMD when i can't sleep
rest is for the righteous and living
and there is a sickness in me i fear to name

My heart is full of ghosts of people not yet dead,
loves I never had,
and places I'll never stop calling home.
My heart is the ghost,
walking the same path, day in and day out,
passing through the walls I have long since put up around myself.
My heart calls to me, late at night,
like an abandoned dog tied to a tree,
and begging for home.
It says to me, "I am not a peach pit!
I could still love if you'd let me!"
My heart is naive, so I force-feed it sour memories,
water it in an ocean of tears I've saved
from letting people in and watching them walk away.
I watch, with bittersweet satisfaction, 
as my hound dog heart remembers the pain we've endured;
the way it crumples in on itself in agony.
I say to it, "No, you are not a peach pit, but
neither of us are strong enough to let you be anything less."

You're in kindergarten
and all the girls have a crush on Charlie
You pretend to like him too,
but can't help staring at Katie
You're eight years old
when your aunt takes your barbies away
after she sees you make the two girls kiss
You're in middle school
and you see your two best friends kiss
It makes uncomfortable
and you don't know why
You're sixteen,
reading seventeen magazine
There's an article about kissing girls
and you read it too many times
You're a Senior
and you're so confused
because you daydream
about kissing the girl with soft hair
You're twenty-one now
and things are much more clear
It's hard to imagine
how it took you so long to figure out