In this culture-crossed world
I too have a mouth, though it may speak a different tongue.
funny oxymorons of biology and psychology that we are
Why is it that the saddest people are always the first to smile?

I'm surrounded by photos of young people now old and old people now dead
I drop the empty stem by a tree, into a pile of other broken bodies
Each a flower’s memory
His heart stopped on a train and that was that, it's a matter of fact
"Soon, we all meet again."

So tatter your shoes, dear princess, step by weary step in this dazzling cage
It’s being in love, in lust, but with life itself.
In chocolate and popcorn and spider-like boys
Working off a vision of what never really was
You owned that darkness and I'd always tried to paint over it in sunshine

Now may I raise my hand and address the jury for the defense?
It’s so hard to breathe when every moment you’re aware, you look to see if anyone else is choking but no one seems to care,
Like multiple choice:
a) improve
b) destroy
You see what you seek

And it is here, I rise, Amethyst Fire

Push pins. Little drops of watercolor wasted ink, shimmery gold and murky green. Bottles and bottles and bottles of unfamiliar pink and red and blue. So many colors. So many thoughts in my brain that bring me back to you. I never drew you, but I wanted to. Maybe. in my subconscious. But I was afraid, because I didn't want to accept that you didn't want anything to do with my hands.
These hands are ugly and broken and these hands are what made me.
I'm an angry person and I am bitter. This is why I write.
You'll never see it because you hate me.
I torture myself wondering why you hate me.
I wonder about you constantly and it's sick.
I look at somebody's old pictures and I feel a longing for human connection. When I'm presented with an opportunity, my body rejects it. I float outside myself and I can't speak. My body is so broken. I broke it myself. I broke it with my thoughts about hating you. Hating you, and knowing you hate me too, makes me hate myself.
I have so many complicated relationships. I wake up in the morning and I stress about how I'm going to stay connected to the people who care about me if I don't text back.
I threw a fit about you not loving me. Now that you're trying to love me I am disinterested. I feel done. We have been carrying on a conversation through text messages that, face to face, should only take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if we had coffee in our hands.
I don't want any more small talk. I want to be understood on a deep level. I want someone to support me through all the crazy that is my brain.
So many words but nothing to say. nothing makes sense. i want to write fiction. i want to write fiction but it's really about me hating you. i wrote a book but it ******. somebody i love reads the book and says i am broken. somebody reads the book and apologizes for treating me like ****. they don't treat me like **** and i tell them so. i make myself a victim. I am ugly. do you wake up early? i don't have to work tomorrow but living and breathing can feel like work sometimes.
nothing makes any sense and I am jealous. I don't want you to love her. i want you to love me, but you don't. you do but not in that way. not in the making out kind of way, unless it is convenient for you. i kind of want to make out with you on country roads again. i remember, we were so close to my house, and i was feeling this weird thing inside like "please don't take me home" and you said, right at that moment, "want to drive around?" and god, i miss driving around, i hope i don't die before we can drive around again. i don't know why i think i would die before that. i am worried more about you coming back than something bad happening to me. i feel like you'll never come back sometimes.
i am lonely. i am so ******* lonely and i want a friend. all of my friends are gone. my partner is so amazing and perfect but i feel like i need more in this life. i don't know what i need. i fantasize about old partners and old *** and i feel so guilty. i even think about the man that abused me. how ****** up is that? my body is broken and will not respond.

Most days I survive
But it would be unkind
And sort of rude
If I did not take a day
Or a night here and there
Just to grieve
For the heart
Ripped from my chest
And the soul
****** from betweeen my toes
They were mine
And they were stolen
A blessing in a way
But still my nerves
Are frayed and split
And send messages to a brain
Overloaded with drugs
And fill with pain
So tonight a grieve
One candle lit
And one sleeve barred
Goodnight I say
Goodnight you sleep
But you will rest
While my skin weeps

I see how I never really wanted  you.
My greater want was simply need.
I was so caught up in grieving,
dying inside, with my heart bleeding. 
So deficient, desperate for touch, 
and you were the closest thing.
Though you far away and distant,
spoke words beguiling, so soothing.
Calming the dark storm,
brewing inside of me.
I tempest, tossed and torn,
bereft with such great need.
It's taken such a long time to see
you were not what I supposed you to be.
I blinded by darkness and simple greed, 
wore pain cloaked about my heart deceived.
So how do I take these steps alone?
Not feeling wiser, but older indeed.
Longing still in my heart for what was,
ambling along, taking pause.
Folding my arms in a tight embrace,
I release a sigh for this lost cause.
Remembering his winsome sweet face.                                                              
Pining for a love now erased.                                                                                        
Why does grieving take the lead,
when one is left in broken need?
How can a story continue
when life seems like an endless storm?
Awakening at dawn still feeling torn.
Drawing a deep and cleansing breath, 
knowing I must begin anew.  
But then my thoughts return to you,
and momentarily I feel renewed.