I am too angry to write
My words will burn through the paper
Tear it to shreds
Smoldering anger
Burst into flame
Will destroy
Whatever I write
I am so angry that it feels like
Bleeding
Pouring out from deep within

he tells me peaches are purple
he tells me the sky is black
he tells me veins are green
he tells me people are blue
he tells me he is fiery in love
and i'm too shy to ask
"in who"

i want you to imagine standing in the middle of an already collapsing house, and having everything suddenly flip upside down; or after years of homelessness, picture yourself being told you had somewhere you could stay for good, only to wake up just before being handed the keys. these are some of dangers of making places out of  people.

1. don't ever turn a human being into a home unless you are prepared to be evicted without warning.
2. when you start to notice their arms taking the shape of a roof over your head, you have two choices: run, or wait for it to cave.
3. if they ask you to stay and burn with them, you have the right to say no.
4. it is not your responsibility to save anyone, and it is not your fault when you can't.
5. salvaging the photos from a house fire will only re-break your heart every time you pull them out to look at them.
6. when the basement floods, hold their hand.
7. if you are not a strong swimmer, remember that the difference between love and codependence is that one of then will drown you.
8. love will never drown you.
9. i knew this from the start but let you hold me beneath the waves in spite of it, just so you could stay afloat. i can't do that anymore.
10. i don't think i'll ever set foot on your hardwood floors again, but i'll pray that someone new moves in soon.

- m.f.

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

Rock.
A brute force
Pounding, crushing
Driven by fear
With indubitable
Tangibility.
What can defeat
This formidable foe?
None other than

Paper.
A soft leaf
Whispers, gestures
Sweet nothings
Poignant nothings
In your ear
So close, they sound
Like a yell.
But those, alas,
Are drowned out
By our friend

Scissors.
Cuspate slats
Slicing, cleaving
Everything
In their path.
There is no
Discrimination;
Nothing
Is of importance
To the scissors.
Unless
They are bent
By the impetuous

Rock.

I  shrouded
my shame
behind blacked
out
sunglasses
and spiked my
lies with
deep
red wine .

After a few flings
I'm starting to wonder
If I'm feeling nostalgic
'Cause their kisses
Taste like yours,
I see your smug face
Plastered across each
One of their haunting faces
And their voices are
Starting to sound like yours

And I can't get high
Enough to rid myself of the
Flavor of your kisses
Or your memory
That burns my eyelids
Evey time I close my eyes
But I've learned to
Keep them open

My body has become
A landmine
Waiting to explode
With one flimsy touch
I'll turn every substance
In the vicinity black

I'd apologise
But he doesn't love me
He's just in love with
The idea of being with me
Lust so rich,
Tracing the curves of my body
He leaves no inch
Unexplored leaving his
Fingerprints all over my skin
Watching him turn to ash
Wouldn't be such a bad idea
Then he'd know
Where I'm coming from

and I swear
I could tear my rib cage to shreds
if it meant I'd finally feel something again
*(nothing's really felt like anything
since us)