Dear Daddy
The best thing you ever did
Was leave.

We silently strode
the streets of Babylon;
Revolution in the air,
but my eyes were shut.

It was late autumn then;
the nights turned cold.
It felt like yesterday
had been the equinox.

The walls were crumbling,
but I was unable
to think for the dogs –
forever babbling.


I grasped your hand,
and you squeezed back,
but we already knew
our garden had withered.

Love is tacky.
Love is cheap.
Love is scrolling through an endless amount of ****** online dating profiles
on a Saturday night.
Love is not subtle.
Love is two people bargaining,
lying to each other,
lying to themselves.
Love keeps track of every misstep
so as to hold it against their partner in an ongoing war of attrition
so that they get to pick what to watch on Net-Flix.
Love does not rejoice in itself,
but does so on Facebook,
so that you can rub it in the face of your ex,
and all those friends that just really want to watch you fail.
Love is cheap.
*** with a price tag marked to sell.
Love is dead.

I really should stay away from boys like you.

Who take me to their rooms and don't go anywhere near the bed, just put their arm around me and tell me about themselves. Who touch my cheek and look at me for a moment when they talk about things they love.

The beautiful, innocent ones with stars in their eyes. Who introduce me to their parents and hold my hand and hold me and don't try anything in the dark.

Boys who I really, really don't deserve, who eventually see that for themselves and leave, taking a piece of my heart with them.

Boys like you, honey.

She stopped eating until she was nothing but right angles and sharp edges. It was if she couldn’t understand the math of the world she lived in, so she sought the neat geometry of the curve of her hollowed hips, the bend of her wishbone elbow, and the measurements of her rag doll ankles.

one day ill open my soul to you the way tulips blossom in the warmth of spring.
one day my walls will deteriorate like paper left in rain water
and when "one day" comes I'll love you the way you love me

I am sorry.

Three words that can help heal
Yet we often find it so hard to utter
Our pride gumming up our tongues
So they lay silent, our lips mute
I have never understood that difficulty
To take responsibility
Regardless the action
We are built to withstand pain
Not create it

Look around you.

Pain is an art form
One we have perfected
In what could be the sunset of our civilization
We are still as un-evolved emotionally
As our dawning
Such great pains are taken in the name of progress
Foul atrocities that stain our hands
When working together, as one heart
One whole
We could have sparkled bright in these last rays
Instead we are judge and executioner
With little thought to how we will look
When that sun rises again