I want to be beautiful
the way a car wreck keeps your eyes.

I want to be a detonation.
I want to be what's left after a riot with guns.
I want to be gauze on burn victims.
I want to be blood spatter.
I want to be teeth marks.
I want to be the burn in the retina.

I want to be that beautiful
and terrifying.
So that you'll never forget me.
And even if you do, you won't.

You are seven years old,
a machine that makes babies,

bought for 21,000 pounds of tobacco.


You live in the 5th line
of the
 75th page
of my 
civic government textbook.


I will never know what is to have

owning hands in my mouth, 

owning hands around my waist, 

owning hands up and down my legs,

to be sold.


You will never know what it is

to sit in the back of a lecture hall

and take your knowledge for granted.



And this is the only moment I will ever clearly see you.

I see it on your tongue, what you taste to say
and it stays there despite my kisses.

You hide it in the fold of your cheek.

It dare not come out,
as if it were like all other said things,
wrapping softly over my face and neck
making my head hot.

The air has heaviness,
fallen questions that wanted to be god.

You were saying something lost in my hair.
Only your jaw clicks.

Stars blink their tired eyes at me
for the first time in a long time.

A looping chorus ribbons through my ears making music through my hair carried by the wind.

Eyes closed, nose breathing,
my smile laughs for me
while I swallow air.

Dizzy heads come faster two-thousand feet above sea level,
with conversation catching up quickly.

There's a picture of you on the back of my eyelids
so I grin when I blink.

It looked as perfect as a watch,
but twice as lively.
Just as little
with little hands.

The way it smiled was gorgeous
and made me understand why my mother called me that.

Something to fight for
Something to live for
Something to die for.

I was born in soft chaos
with the mystery womanhood clean on my lips.

I am
just like every other girl

and even if you can’t understand it
you can’t take it away from us.

You are right to be afraid.

I think about you like you were a dog.
The kind that droop, just made out of skin
(the sad kind).

I always wondered if the dogs would start crying in a ball on their bed, wrapped in blankets with their makeup running, trying to be quiet
(so their moms couldn't hear)
if I didn't call them.

But I know that dogs
(no matter how ****** you are to them)
always come back.
Like whatever you did wasn't that bad.

Like it was their fault.

When the aliens came to take our humanity
they made us choose which part.

I chose sleep
and felt like I had won
until every night you left me for it.

When you lie there gone to a place I could never go
I guess it felt like I couldn't do anything
but wait for you to come back.

I paused the movie to hear the couple fighting outside.
She said "You haven't talked to me at all tonight!"
and he said "What?"

But I know what they really meant to say was "I get stupid when I see you and I don't know what to do about it."
Then she slapped him and ran back inside crying.
It was an awkward moment for me in someone else's life.

It made me think about the video on how penguins mate forever.
And about how we're not penguins and how monogamy makes promises like traps
And how the only thing we have in common with penguins
is that we give each other rocks
and that means I love you until the sun explodes.

And how?

How come penguins can get it more right than us?
They can't even fly.

And when I watched this kid clutch his face as he wondered what he did wrong,
I can't help but ******* hate
all the happy penguins for him.

You stupid penguins,
you all look like you're going to a fancy party all the time
you stupid penguins
you run like your pants are down
you stupid penguins
you're gonna have someone to sit on the couch with forever
and you can't even fly!

What happens when you realize your penguin lover is immature
and he overeats the fish
and he's always late to things?

What happens when you realize your she-penguin has really bad penguin depression and you don't know how to deal with it?

What happens when you realize you both met too early and now you're different penguins?

I'll tell you what happens.
They stay together.
You know why?
Because he gave her a ROCK.
That's why.
Because, to penguins
rocks mean more than mortgages
and wanting to go to Hawaii
and step children
and sprinklers
and school districts.
They can keep a marriage alive with some instincts
and a ******* egg to sit on.
PENGUINS
Stay together longer than 50% of any couple you've ever met

And they can't even fly!

But maybe a bird
that knows how to fall in love better than us
doesn't need to know how to do that.

Please slow down.
I'm worried about them.

I see your babies
and I know they'd like you to watch
even though they don't say it.

In the end they'll be okay
but I saw that wreck
the truck
the glass.

I heard it.

Mother's never scream so hard as when blue police officers pry open a car and she's the only one in it
who can scream.

Yes,
I'm the one who gave the sign
that went unseen,
my only job.

If I could only be yellow forever.

And all the others, they stare,
wondering if I'll be taken down because of it.

But I'm not broken,
not yet.

For the days when you're moving so slow
and the universe is moving so fast.

I tried to stop you
like a baby deer tries to stop a freight train
so

I am grinning blood and guts at 70 miles per hour.

But it happened so fast

I still think I'm all here.

I imagine if I were a little boy, I'd get a little boy ******* by watching teenage girls buy underwear.

And if I were a little boy, I'd punch my brother so hard he'd start to cry
And I'd die laughing at him,
take back my nerf gun, just for fun in the sun
and I don't get burned
because I haven't had a girlfriend yet.

I think little boys ******* the wrong way for a while
but still smile
because they're *******.

Still keeping it secret from mom,
nothing's really wrong, it's the bomb,
but turn up this song

It'd be weird if mom heard all the pokemon names I keep saying to stay hard.

If I were a little boy, I'd be mean to the little girls I like.
Push them off their bikes and get into fist fights
with other boys over toys that aren't even mine.

And I'd keep all my promises by the pinky,
and if we got married under the oak tree
in my backyard, I'd keep you forever
and we could watch goosebumps every night together.

The little boy version of me doesn't get heartbroken
and isn't smokin' anything.

He doesn't get wasted and tasteless,
grab ***** and faces,
screaming about cheating and beating up some guy just to prove he's alive.

His shoes light up
not the headlights of the car that peels out of the bar
angry
not thinking straight, into the house, irate,
to deliver hate, and take out any sons ready to stand up to him.

He doesn't sell drugs,
he gives hugs at thanksgiving
and isn't too strung out to watch an entire disney movie
and would never be caught dead on the streets
shakin' a can for money because his habit's are debilitating and killing him.

He sleeps with one girl, her name is Daisy.
She's a lazy cocker spaniel
and loves him more than you ever will.

He likes cartoons and afternoons playing tag in all front yards
throwing snowballs at cars, going to mars on a swingset
because he's not grown up yet,
and the world hasn't told him what it really thinks about him.

I don't buy underwear in front of little boys.
And it's nothing against them or their little boy friends,
I just don't want me to be another key in the inevitable end
when they try to get into girls *******
instead of heads.

I was right to run away and lock the door on you after I passed out in the kitchen and I wish I woulda known then.

Broken bird who listens like chimes.
The way you surrendered your neck
twice
first a lover
then a sacrifice.

People will tell you what they are,
you just never said battleground.

Love
*****

Gravity pulls water onto the floor
to trace my skin like a lover.

The steamed mirror can be anyone
if you’re not a biased audience
and I paste faces on bodies for spare minutes.

My hands are loaded guns
you have to get comfortable with
on parade day.

This is not a love story
it is a witch hunt
and Gravity has been the only thing that has ever caught me.

Standing in line waiting to see your aunt
who looks like your grandma
because the last time you saw your grandma she was in a box
like your aunt's.

But the box isn't really your aunt's.

It belongs to everyone in the room.

Yes

Even you.

He asks her in a whisper
“What makes people beautiful?”
and she can’t say.

We see it where his jaw
meets his neck and makes
a long shadow.

Invisible except for the way
her hand drags each finger
through hair, behind an ear.

But that’s not a real answer.

Mirrors look back in lies while
scientists probe our souls
to find where they reside.

People wrapped together
in a present for each other
answer with a smile.

To save time
we made our phones into computers
and send notes into space to tell people we care

even though time never asked to be saved
and probably doesn't give a **** anyway.

I granted you the ability to know me better
so I could look into you like you were a mirror

We always want people to tell us the truth
unless it's about us.

I declared from a soap box in my room under covers
that I would start holding people accountable for their actions

but the mumbled clause was only if they'll still love me afterwards.

"Get some new friends"
And I didn't listen.

So now I'm stuck inside of this old love
burning alive
because I didn't jump.

If  had a nickel for every kid in this neighborhood who got shot on accident

I'd have a pile of dead kids.

It does not make my death less tragic
although it does add me to a pile of bodies
whose faces are all starting to look the same.

Spit me the glitter of the tips of your fingers giving me goosebumps that stick to my insides and lie to me.
Give me a ride, you know I paid for it.
Send the bullet in so I don't duck when the gun goes off, somewhere straight through so it doesn't give me heartburn.
Make me grin my own poison.

Make me eat my words.

Wake me up.

I spent drunken walks
saying I love you into a made bed
into a moving train
a locked gate
like the mortared bricks could hear me.

The Christmas lights shone on wet face droplets
happy tears of nothing.

And if you were never coming back
I would never cry out loud
and it was the first time a love would never feel crippled.

I climbed up your arms and had a fight in your collar bones
because I wanted to taste what you thought of me.

So, when I wake you up don't be mad
because I wanna feel your breath on me,
your smile against my face,
contagious
and in that moment I feel I'm growing again
instead of dying.
And can you please, please
be at least half of what I think you are
instead of me being me
and wrong.

Don't be mad when I put the crown on you,
I wanna see if it fits
and if it sits right, or at all
I'm fine.

You had me at
"Lock the door."

There's a certain mix of alcohol on the breath that reminds me of a hug.
So, drunk *** doesn't bother me
as much as it's a preference.

My father drank himself into hospital beds
floating on his shattered tibia
believing it would carry him home.

But all good memories are ***** christmas lights.

Now, everything is more or less the same
except I sleep with you invisible.
I can't feel your heat
or smell the whiskey
but if my eyelids are tight I can feel you next to me
miles away.

This parachute is crushing my ribs so that
my knees buckle when I land.

I feel sick.
I ***** up post-its and
menthol cigarettes
and pages of a movie script.

Inside jokes drip off my chin
when my eyes
roll back inside my head.

There's too much sweat
on my upper lip out,
out without warning doubled over
come collaborated lyrics that ****
sticking to quotes from books that speak to us.

I put a message in a full bottle of
gingerbread schnapps
so you won't know what it says
when you get drunk
and this parachute won't come off.

The wall of the supermarket entryway
tells the story of how a housewife got a part-time job
 to save up enough money to run away.

She needs an accomplice 
watching her kids
from eight a.m. to three p.m. 
every day
besides Sunday.

Little bombs go off in the background while

patriotic cupcakes
make their escape
past the stories with 
tabs torn off.

No cars turn left 

when the memories of our forefathers 
light up the sky.



We can smell independence a day after.

In this way you remind me of a dog fight:
Snarling or
shattering my ribs with silence.

You were still burning when I met you
and nobody blamed me
because I fell in love with a void.

They called you
The Black Hole of Calcutta
because of all the casualties that were mine
on accident.

Sure, I’ve been in love.

I fall in love with people who buy the same drink
and people who sit three seats in front of me
and maybe
even the people who walk next to me for a while.

I fall in love with the boy on the bench outside English
and the boy  who just passed on his bike.

I fall in love with backs of heads
and shoes attached to legs
I’m in love with
voices two flights down and the barking laugh
walking past.

And I’m probably  in love with you
or have been before.
It might have happened twice
and you might have never met me.

Another moment and I won’t remember your face.
But, trust me,
I love you.

Maybe one day you’ll catch my eyes
and fall in love, too.
And then we can spend our entire lives
in love.

And in the mornings
the sun can cascade
onto our blankets
to pry us from our perfect sleep.

I know you are an explosion of chemicals,
heart races,
marvels,
sweat, spit, teeth, lips.

You are momentary

but so am I.

as if you never would have found me,
as if you never would have caught me,
as if you never would have kept me
inside
outside
ribcages
veins

*when you find the right person
you just want to destroy them.

Me keeping you keeping me keeping you
awake.

I almost fall asleep
I wake up again so I don't miss what's left of you.

I want the yolk of you
to crack you open and sip your soul.

And I don't know how to say this,
but I think you're beautiful on the inside.

I bet your liver has lights
and I can tell

but really I just want to crawl inside you for the pretty things.

And I know you're tired
and I know you need to sleep
but I can't lose you to sleep.

I like you too much.

Riches in
Fifty-cent flying saucer vending machines
I got a ring
and a note from the future you
explaining that everything will be okay.

Only three windows open
and everyone is smiling about it.

This road has no lights.
My hair is in my mouth, past
empty parking lots
Let's be quiet for this song.

Fellow puddle jumpers of the world,
gather your
sidewalk worm armies
and meet me for hot cocoa.

Tonight is the battle
of getting it wrong.

Tonight we fail
the wrong tests.
Tonight we kiss
the wrong person.
Tonight we go to sleep on
the wrong side of the bed.

Ghandi said
"Be the change you want to see in the world,"
so we will be them all
and ring in walking pockets.

Tonight we have a big enough gut
to swallow the world
and stomach it all

Because if we fall asleep
on the wrong side,
we don't have to wake up on it.

There's something in a kiss.
I've never been.

The quick cheek
or the lovers racing me to see
how many they can give before I turn green.

And even though I'm not,
I'm always green.

Hands out windows, lips blown.

A soft one,
carried to a small, chocolate-ed mouth
so mom can steer.

On the corner every day, waiting at my red
at 3:30 or 3:35,
not as practiced
but meaning as much as a kiss can mean
at thirteen.

But it must be the hopeful one that gets me most, stuck on an envelope, paused at the box.
No one else waits on toes like she does
or kisses paper
like a person.
Deliberate,
and I can almost see it kiss back.

She lets it go and goes herself
and I wish I was every light
to make sure she was safe.

We are learning to make fire.

It's always the moment just before the gunshot.

Why do I remember it as summer all the time, then?

They gaze at me and see a chainsaw ****** just before it happened.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.

I thought I could tell
by your laugh, but
maybe not.

Sorry about that.

I thought I could tell
by your clothes,
but that's shallow.

And you make me nervous.

I thought it was your taste in movies.
You mentioned one of my favorites.

Sorry I assumed you'd like me because we had all the same interests.

Then I thought
I should talk to you,
but you didn't seem like
the type of person
who was good at talking to strangers.
I'm not that type of person either.

But if I did, I would've asked you everything.

I need someone to see me,
even if it isn't you.
I swallow
and hiccup heartbeats.
This is stuff that I've always wanted to say
but never did.

You have become a song, a dance,
a phrase.
I miss you,
but only what I remember.

I don't have words, just carousel music.
You have become my memory of you
and everything you've ever wanted
wants you, too

It had begun to take on a slow
aching, mile-long, groan --
one with a backup battery.

A kind of hysteria set inside of her and gave her venom.

She would destroy him
and everything in him
one way or another.

On sticky wednesday nights I entertain mannequin friends
on a porch with no railing.

Fake rain leaves trees I sip iced tea to the sound of imaginary fighting.  

Breathing comes in heavy gulps
between no conversation.

The next door neighbors leave their blinds half shut
and their tv on
so ghosts dance on the lawn.

How does it feel?
How does it feel?
How does it feel
knowing none of these old poems are for you?

One, two
Ben is coming for you.
Three, four
run for the door.
Five, six
This is what happens when you call someone who is mentally unstable a ****** and a freak enough times and nobody does anything about it.

It’s all right, zombie husband.
I didn’t like the dog.
Or the twins.
Seriously, all they did was cry.
It’s like, “shut up, already”,
You know?

M4W - Seeking young **** 17 year old to objectify and kick out of high school prom - must have womanly figure but only be a teenager - fingertip length dresses are OK - must be a child but still able to make me envision having *** with you - will be on the balcony ogling my daughter's friends and high-fiving other dads with my ****.

Your mustard gas lungs would
fill up this room.

There is only good
on top and around you,
ointment that is not yours
that you do not appreciate
that keeps  
your tar stomach from
eating your shell.

I don't look at your teeth when you talk.

You are guilty
and you will never be better.
You can fall
to not climb back up,
comforting that
you don't have the tendons in you.

There must be
a flame somewhere
to solve this.

His **** is too long
but she can't complain.
Not because she is pleased
but because who complains that a **** is too long?
A lot of girls
not out loud

that's who.

"Well, you know what happens at the end of the story."

But since you're going one way or the other
it might as well be in a gun fight.

Let me drown your panic at the tip of my lips,
I’m insisting this.

People waiting in line for your shotgun shell
and then you got to me like
****, I could get used to those thighs.

I want to fall into your stomach and have a party until you get a hangover from kissing me that way.

I started memorizing your scars and, baby, they make you prom night beautiful.

Twirl for me.