stop eating
I look at food like others look at deadly snakes
stop eating
Ive stopped feeling my insides eating itself. I imagine thousands of sharp, white teeth eating me from the inside out. One day i’ll look down and see a little tooth poking out of my soft belly
stop eating
You get used to being dizzy all the time. You become a cheap drunk. You spin it as a positive.
stop eating
When did food become the enemy? Was it ever not?
stop eating
I sell my body to the lowest bidder, i want my weight to match its cost
stop eating
Can you love me more when there’s less of me to love?

regret.
I feel guilt for my lack of guilt, sorrow for my sorrowless heart. I thought the fall would have been harder broken my back like i broke your heart broken my neck like i broke us but i fell like a princess onto a mattress (i felt the pea, it bruised me slightly). What did it feel like for you? (to be honest i don’t care but i care that i dont care does that make sense to you?)

I broke my back neck arms legs heart long before i lept, my brittle bones healed anew

contemplation.
am i reading too much into this? all i do is read novels your face your mind your eyes your laugh the pauses in your sentences the small hitch in your voice the way you clench your jaw the way you walked away the relief i felt. im losing that skill like an unused language you dont have a need for anymore.

balance.
i am my yin to my yang my better self my other half but i’m a ****** partner. i love on tepid but maybe that was just for you. (there was nothing wrong with us but there was nothing: two souls passing on like boats in the night but i’m looking for my lighthouse & you had your light on)

when you look at me, i want to rip your eyeballs out and display them. Not in public. I’d put them in my underwear drawer, at the bottom, beside my diary. Generations of girls and women hide their secrets in their underwear drawer, but i’m the only one with your eyes. I’d cut them into little slivers, create love potions with them. My cauldron bubbles over as i slowly follow my family's recipe: eye of newt, eye of you, baby’s breath. I’d add rosemary for flavour. You tell me there’s no need for the love potion, but i’m not so sure--better safe than sorry.

I’d set your eyeballs on fire. Read them like you privately read diaries and find out their secrets. What do you see? Do you see me watching your eyeballs burn? Your eyes were never blue until i see them aflame.

Do eyes come in different shapes and sizes? I had hoped you had heart shaped eyes, i see love when you look at me. Your eyes are perfectly spherical. This isn’t the first time you’ve disappointed me.

i.
How do i love thee let me count the ways. My voice gets caught in my throat nothing comes out because i have nothing to say, but you dont care you werent listening anyway. Do you even know im here?
ii.
we exist in two halves of a whole. Its weird baring your soul to someone that already knows whats in there, comforting like your breath as your chest rises.
iii.
maybe im really a witch like you say. one eye of newt, three locks of your hair, two fights over nothing that you instantly regret bubbling in my cauldron in my kitchen on the 22 floor. The neighbours bang on the door, the smell is too great too disgusting too raw. You drink it anyway, hoping for a cure.
i.
You eventually realize there is no cure.
iii.
in the forest guided by moonlight and spirits, im summoned by my ancestors. We set effigies on fire we set the past on fire we set the future on fire. we learn the future is set in soft clay, not stone.
ii.
How many lives did we lead together? How many times have i rested my head on your chest how many times have you kissed my head and ive smiled i wonder if you made me smile often did we always love each other the same in vibrant colours?
i.
Were you always distant was i always crazy?
iii.
my cards say we were always perfect.

i am lego.

like a child, you spend hours building me to your will. your vision for me is clear & pure - the foundation is strong and you want to see how high we can go. You build me in sections by colour. Red is your love, blue is your gifts your sweet nothings in my ear making the hair on the back of my neck stand, green is your gaze once filled with so much love i could taste your heartbeat on my tongue, yellow is the sun moon and stars we promise each other.

out of everything you do, you lose interest half way through the best. You knock me down, my pillars and many floors crash down without you even noticing.

(you eventually rebuild me, but its not the same its never the same im bruised and damaged with little cracks in my foundation. The next time you knock me down you wonder why i went down so easily, disappointed in my lack of fight. My secret is i never heal. Why do i let you do this am i weak like you said?)

black.
A life with you would be a life of isolation, of breathing underwater. I’d never drown, you’d always revive me despite my screeches. You never seemed to hear what i was saying anyway.

Can love be mediocre? Can it be a lukewarm bath can it be a lukewarm pizza can it be an okay book? Is love love when you look in the future and see stagnancy? Love shouldn’t be grey, but my love for you was the purest shade of grey.

You claimed to know me well but you were still reading the owner’s manual. You were on page 14 of 400. You’d recite facts like i was a human periodic table. When i asked you to create new elements, you froze like i spoke latin.

white.
You came into my space. I checked into an asylum. The white walls, the white straitjacket was the only thing keeping me from jumping off the 22 floor. You demanded nothing from me and that was too much. If black is the absence of colour, why isn’t white nothing? I felt nothing. I felt too much.

We lived the same day over and over and over and over and over and over and over and so many times over i could fill this page. The setting changed but your tone never did. The day changed but my sadness never did. You never hear what i have to say.

grey.
I poke my head out of the ground like i’m a groundhog. I don’t see my shadow, spring comes early this year.

sugar.
I ask all of my lovers if theyre happy with me. They always lie. “Im so happy with you.” how can you be happy if all i do is poke and **** at why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why?

I wouldn’t be happy with me. I’m not happy with me.

If i could, i’d be sweeter. I’d be gentle. I’d be a soft breeze on a lazy summer day. I’d be docile. I’d ask less questions, i’d be trusting, i’d be nice. I’d wear nice church sunday dresses, braid my hair, cross my legs more. Isn’t that what you want? Isnt that what i want?

spice.
I am a tempest. I grab you in and destroy you with my “why.”

do you love flowers because they don’t talk back? do you love me because i dont talk back?

(i should i have so much to say so much to dream so much to feel but you dont listen sometimes always you trample me with your monologues and throw me a ‘how was your day’ but thats it do you care do you care do you care about what moon is in the sky what constellation is in my rising sun, it’s pisces season why are you not in touch with your emotional side i thought you were different i thought you were different i thought we were the same i thought i was different i read these poems and ask if im happy would you read my poems and think the same would you make the connection like the freckles on my body playing connect the dots with my beauty marks to form an abstract version of me am i an abstract version of me, just out of focus like im not wearing my glasses would you love me more if i was out of focus would you love me more if i had a focus my focus is you what is your focus is it me too do you refresh refresh refresh too do you tattoo our memories on your heart do you sing our tender phrases alongside the radio is my touch your jacket in the winter is my laugh the summer sun i thought i was your spring maybe im your fall why wont you fall into me are you scared of heights is our love the tallest building youve ever seen because sometimes it feels like it and i ask you to jump and you just laugh at me your laugh sounds like the piano keys you always hit playing your song my song our song theyre worn down like i feel are we worn down like an old pair of shoes you just cant let go of yet but they need to die let it die let it live in your dreams do you dream of me like i dream of you do i even dream anymore i dont remember my dreams so maybe i dont dream of you after all)

i.
Your secret messages become even more secret in a hidden part of my room, in my heart, in my mind. They never see sunlight, but they don’t have to. Things are better loved quietly, in the dark without the interruption of light--the truth. Messages become more meaningful under the moonlight, anway. You write me love poetry in what’s not said, you paint me images with the swirls of your type type typing fingers. We create a moon world. We create many moon worlds. We name them after jupiters 53 moons: io, herse, europa, thebe, leda. We plan to name our dream children after these moons. We don’t discuss the likelihood of our dreamlets. We don’t realize it’s because if we look at this during the day, it’s rotting.

ii.
Is the way you look at me in the merriam-webster’s dictionary? Is the way you brush your bony fingers on my hairy arms taught in grammar school? How do we define forever? Do we have forever? Do we even have today? We’re school children with no concept of linear time and a perfect understanding of infinity. We’ll never stop for the recess bell.

iii.
We sit in the bath. The water is hot for our baptism, cleansing our sins and souls and troubles and worries. We stare. The steam disrupts our vision, blurring our bodies into a two headed monster. Isn’t that what we are? Monsters? We sit in the bath. I think of that line from The Bell Jar: “There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.” I quote it, but you don’t get the reference. You’ve stopped getting my references. We sit in the bath. You tell me I’m special to you. I blink. I don’t believe it anymore. We sit in the bath. We stare at each other, the steam stinging our eyes. You pull the drain for the water, but we go down instead.

iii.
You push me away. I push me away. You push me away. I push me away. We stop pushing. We never moved.

ii.
Is there a synonym for you and me? We only exist in synonyms, in other versions of ourselves.

i.
I light my prayer candle for you. I whisper a prayer for happiness, for you, for me, into its embers. The flame climbs the wick slowly. Four of cups, reverse strength, the tower. I pull tarot cards until my fingers are paper cut to the bone. Past, present, future.

ii.
I read you love poetry, but not mine. I can’t capture the feeling of lying next to you like cummings. Do you carry my heart like i carry yours (in my heart)? I carry your heart like a school boy carrying your books.

iii.
Do you worry about me like i worry? Do you wear your guilt like a sweater? Does it envelop you like a blanket on cold nights? I wear mine like perfumed lotion, it sinks in all over my body and becomes one with me. You love my smell.

i.
Can i stop hiding you? I want to climb to the highest mountain on Io and let everyone know. There’s only you and me there, but that’s all who needs to know. I love you.

ii.
I love you.

iii.
I love you.