Everything’s wrong.
Going to a sub par school for a liberal arts degree
That I’m not sure I want or even need.
Drinking alone at night, six nights a week.
Lying in bed for hours waiting for some sort of nocturnal relief.
Failure at ***. Failure at friends. What stories do I have to tell my uncared for grandchildren?
All I have is a brain of useless trivia and shameful memories I would give anything to erase.
My past is embarrassing, my future’s depressing, and my now seems pointless.
Really, what’s the use?

My tongue runs over my swollen gums.
I taste the blood.
I feel the aching zones
Between off-white and red.
It stings.
There's not enough room in my mouth.
My tonuge runs down the row of 16;
There are two prongs sticking up
Where they shouldn't be.
Wisdom teeth.
Four corners, four teeth.
My teeth are textured.
Some feel smooth
Some ripple
Some have edges that grate against my tongue.
One tooth hides behind another
Afraid of the air
And the water.
The tooth that once housed a hole
Is now thicker than the rest.
Thick with plastic
Or whatever it is they use.

It's a cavern of discomfort
Cause by my own doing.
Blood.
Plaque.
Pressure.
I should've been a bird.

I'm afraid of this.
This one says poetry.
And that's scary.
When something has a name
It has expectations.
If something has expectations
It has failures.
I'm tired of failure.

I guess I need to remember that we are young
And most young love ends like that.
Sometimes I forget that love's supposed to end.

It's funny how your needs wane when my needs wax
Or at least stay the same. In stasis.
I still prefer just us two.
I understand that you're the opposite. Your needs wane.

And I still want you twice a day. I guess those needs wane for you too.

This isn't a poem. This is just a break-up letter, before it happens.
You seem to like preparation.

I wonder if you'll still read these.
I wonder if you'll still talk to me.
I wonder if I'll still want you to.

Since I was young I assumed I'd be alone. It wasn't something I thought about. It just always seemed the way of the world. I was always fine with it.

I'd rather be with you
But you say young love ends like this.
I say-
It doesn't have to.

Odin created us, as is par for his day.
Creator, killer, poet.
Fitting, I think.
When things get hard, Loki will tempt us
With deception, floating through the air.

You were Odin and I was Thor.
You were the giant-killer and I was the storm.
I tried to stop you with thunder
But you killed my giant.
(Thank goodness).

But I think Baldr exemplifies you more.
Norse god of light and beauty
For not only are you beautiful,
But your soul brings me light.
Together, we become the shining day.

Together, we could be greater than all the gods combined.

It's kind of funny when things fall apart
Especially since that's supposed to be an idiom.
But you were a ****** builder, so all my foundations are shaking.

A father is supposed to be something strong, stable
Consistent and comfortable.
Maybe that's why you had the sign-
"Anyone can be a father
It takes someone special to be a daddy".
Turns out you aren't really either of those.

You never wanted me and I never wanted you
At least, that's what I'll tell myself.
It'll make my life easier
And apparently easier is always better, in your eyes.

I want to burn that desk you bought me.
It doesn't hold my computer anyway
And now I think it's ugly, not classy.
Just like you.

You built this bed and you fixed my car and you taught me about computers and for years, for years I just wanted to be enough.
I wonder if she'll be enough.
But apparently you've ****** her up too.

I wish I could understand what kind of person you are
And I wish that there wasn't proof
And I wish, I wish, I wish when you said you were going fishing
You would actually go fishing.

My ceiling has asbestos
And my tiles are moldy
And my wood floors are rotting, falling apart.

You shouldn't have even tried.

The breath of the wind through these trees-
These beautiful, strange trees
Seeming unstable, but older than either of us-
Is inspiring, yes.
But not as much as your breath in my ear.

I could write sonnets to this cave, this grotto
Overflowing with purity and so empty,
So full of possibility
But I prefer the tangled depths of your eyes.
They're full of vines, you know.
They're full of a different possibility.

Mountains and valleys create the geography of this place
And a beautiful scene it is.
Eons have been hard at work here
But it is external, and therefore less.

You are quite the archaeologist.

How big can a star be?

Big enough
To cloud your judgement
(Or maybe just rethink your life?)
And free your mind.

Bright enough
To blind you to the world around you
And force you to focus.
Focus!

Hot enough
To burn your cells
And leave enough scar tissue to make sure
You never forget.

Blue enough
To make blue your new favorite color
When you hated it before.

Powerful enough
To make you really look at the sky again
And see the night as magical.

He must have a sensor.
A sensor that can tell
When I'm low
And when I feel like nothing.
He has a magic light
That comes on in his ship
That shows him when I'm vulnerable.

This happens way too often to be coincidence.

When I leave you
I'm not trying to abandon.
I'm seeking serenity and solitude.
I need to go be alone
To be able to smell the air
Drink some wine
Listen to the running water.
It's not you.
It's me.

He says he loves you.
Not that he will love you forever
And not that he wants to pledge his undying fervor.
But in this moment
He loves who you are.

And that's really all you can handle now, probably.
Because you know how boys like to say
I love you
In the flame of infatuation.
And you know how people can lie
Malicious intent or not
Because you did it for months.
And you know how that song goes
"Boys like you love me forever"
And it always makes you uncomfortable
Because forever is a long time to promise
But some boys don't seem to move on very well.

So you are unsure about forever
And about promises
And about love.
But he says that it just means that
He loves you as a person.
He loves you right now.
He is in love with this point in time.
And you're so **** happy
Because that's exactly what you feel
Because you are in love with this point in time
And you love him as a person
And you love him right now
And no one else has ever been able to understand that distinction.

You can't get that stupid grin off your face
And you fall asleep in his arms
Subconscious armed with idle speculation
About fictional futures
And possible presents.
You just hope he's grinning too.

We could be heroes.
(At least, you could be mine.)
We could be something.
We could stop time.

We could be icons
For people like me.
Those who gave up.
Those who want to believe.

I think I believe in this.
I think you do too.
We could be heroes.
We could see this through.

It feels strange when I don't write
But stranger when I have nothing to write about.

I could write about new starts
And how I'm feeling near-adult these days
Or about how nothing's the same as it was two months ago.
But writing about events always feels wrong to me.
Forced.
Artificial.
Desperate.

What if writing was just a summer's phase?
A passing fancy
Disempowered with the start of fall
Disempowered by my attempts at improvement.

Maybe I only had enough poet in me for these three hundred.
Maybe I've used myself up.

Maybe I'm just not letting myself be inspired.

She spent half an hour in front of a mirror this morning
Trying to make herself look
Like someone else.
Trying to make herself look
Like someone she's not.
Knowing all her work would fall apart within the hour.

Knowing she would never be able to fool herself
For as long as she needed.

I think too much.
I was thinking
Wondering where I weas going with this whole
"Poetry" shindig.
I was thinking
Maybe when I'm eighty
When I'm dead
When I die
Someone will look through my computer
And see my blog.
Maybe they'll read my poems
Declare my a virtuoso
Claim that I should've been revered in my time
And declare it a shame that I have passed.
They will show them to a publisher
And distribute them worldwide.
I will become a literary Picasso
And live through it.
Those who knew me will mourn with ferocity
Ashamed that they never knew.
I will be loved for an eternity.

In all likelihood, that will never happen.
It is near impossible.
Will I even keep this up that long?
But it's nice to hope.

But I can tell that I'm thinking too much.
I was taught
That poetry should come from the heart
Unfiltered
No thinking.
Just your soul on paper
With a rhythmic beat, if possible.
So not only will I never be even considered
As a poetic woman.
But I am doing this all wrong

Night breezes cool hot cheeks,
But breezes can only be fleeting.
My skin can't cool for long
Because my temper's so hot.

Every car that passes,
I wonder if it's you.
It never is.
And I know better than to really hope.

You should know to find me here.
If you would think, you would know.
I guess it's just your
Selective memory acting up again.

You say you don't want to leave us like this
But you didn't seem to mind making us this way.
Maybe you should pick a direction you want us to go.

I can't keep doing this.

Your soft fur would make the most comfortable pillow
I'm sure your muscles taste divine.

Scratch me and both of these thoughts will come to fruition.

He's beautiful.
His all-encompassing smile
The jail cells that hold his teeth
His strong nose.
I want to trace the bumps of his nose
With a pipe cleaner
And have him feel the soft fuzz against the jagged bone.
I want to run my lips
Over his full ones
And taste him
And feel how soft they are.
His eyelashes are black as ravens
And his eyes are pools of earth
That I want to live in.
His eyebrows cut across his forehead
Showing his native background
And his scars tell me stories.
His hair never falls
Only expands.
It's perfect because it's his.
Black and soft, it feels like satin to my hands.
His ears poke out
Like small mammals checking to see if danger's around.
They will enlarge with age
And that fact makes me smile.
Mainly because I know I will be there
To watch his ears grow
And his back get hairy
And his face to wrinkle.
I will always be there
And I will know the locations and cause of every wrinkle.
I will tease him for every hair on his back.
And I will kiss every inch of his ears.

Surrounded by noise
People who think
They're better than they are.
They don't stop.
Thisthisthis
Blahblahblah
Unending racket
Awkward sounds
Grating noises
Scraping away at the last of my sanity
And the last of my humanity.

Soon all my compassion will be deteriorated
By the force of your sound.
Then, the world will live in fear.

Music is the only escape I have.
Books used to be my chosen drug
But as they say, it was only my gateway.
Now I have music.
I don't have to think about anything
Just enjoy.
I guess that it's my ******.

I am drunk
On the warmth of the sun
And hot Jack Daniels.
My skin has felt the caress
Of that star's stinging rays
And my mind has become that
Softly buzzing puddle that Jack inspires.
My tan lines and liver failure
Will tell a great story to those
Who live on after me.

They will show my adoration of the mother star
And my devotion to the deity that is whiskey.

My kissed skin and pickled organs make me what I am.

I
Don't
Need
You.

A beautiful thing, really;
Security for you.
I must want you then, if I stay.
I must be there by choice.

The thing is, right now
I don't really want you either.
I know I will again soon.
I always go back to it.

But you keep pushing me farther
And I'm a quick learner.
You would be wise to remember: I am not a guarantee.

She steps out of herself
Literally speaking.
Takes a step
Her flesh opens,
Her muscles and bones
Advance alone.
No blood is shed.
She's just trying to be true.
Takes another step
Her muscles fall off
They lay on the ground
Twitching with energy.
Just her bones now.
Her bones
White and strong
Yellowed and brittle
Either way
They are all that support her now.
She has stepped out of herself
As much as she can.
If she takes another step
Will she simply disintegrate?

I have decided that I no longer care what to call you, dear words.
You may be a poem
Or a journal
Or a subliminal plot
To tame my psyche.
It doesn't matter.
I should you to one long ago
She did not care to look.
Today is her birthday.
She means the most to me.
If that one doesn't care to look,
[which is fine,
i didn't really expect it]
Then I am sure
In my assumption
That no one else would care.
This will not make an *** out of anyone.
And as no one will care,
No one will see.
It's reverse logic.
Therefore I will call you as I wish
On any given day.
Poem
Prose
Vendetta.
You are all in one
And you are all for me.

I feel like the literary world
Is turning against me.
Words were my aloe
Comforted me
Let my bad aura out.
Instead, they infuriated me.
I went to that
Sacred house of books
The calming station.
I thought I was safe
It had me
Made me better.
Then it too failed me.
Tricked me into passivity
And caused me pain.
The pain of lost hope is greater than the pain of irrational anger.

I think words are forming an army against me
And I can't fight that.

I read recently
That free verse is not poetry
Will never be poetry
Never was poetry.
Sometimes I question it myself.
But the writer made it sound so...
Indecent.
Now when I set down to write
If it has no specific rhyme and meter
Then I feel *****.
Like I'm the lewd young girl
Who's gone around the block a few too many times
And then gone straight to her grandma's house.

It makes it hard to enjoy  the trip.

I could fly away.
If I didn't have him
I could hop a plane
Going anywhere.
I have the means
And I have the attitude
The only thing holding me back
Is him.

(The only thing holding me here
In this plane of existence
Is him.)

(I should thank him.)

More diagnoses.
More pills.

More reasons to
barely
exist.

(I wish I wasn't the only one broken.)

Your three a.m. words intoxicate me
More than Jack Daniels.
Your clever phrases
And beautiful insights
Make me crave to know your soul.
You know me  more than most anyone
Though I've only known you for days
And you neither judge me nor praise me.
I'm well aware that you are what I need.
Why must you keep testing me?

I've written three poems in this same box
In the last five minutes.
All on the topic of your words
And your mind
And mine, in comparison.
One mimicked your style
Another, dissected your phrase.
The other, not even worth mentioning.
My words never came out right
Especially since I was comparing them to yours.
I don't know you. You are an imaginary human
On the other end of a fictional wire.
But I stumbled upon your poems
And was blinded by the flame.
My hands press the keys reluctantly
Knowing that it is fruitless
My brain has been destroyed
And I can no longer understand any sensations to transcribe.
Your skill frightens me
In that it shows me who else is out there
And how I measure up
And, as usual, I am a foot short.
I hope you never stop
Because if you continue leaking like you do
Maybe one day I can soak up a bit of your radioactive words
And gain some super powers of my own.

I hope you don't contact me.
I deleted your name
And your number
So I can forget.
I hope you did the same.

I hope you don't fall
Down those stairs you tripped over last time.
The ones that have self-loathing at the bottom
And substance abuse.

I hope you let me move on
And I don't have to make you.
Let me have hope again.
Let me believe.

I'm sorry my temper flared,
Behind my eyes.
You weren't meant to know.

You are not the cause, my lady.
However, your actions speak louder
Than I could ever hope to express.
They are saying most inflammatory things.

Yes, anger may have me for now.
But soon it will leave
And you were never supposed to know.

You are the bad seed.
She killed them all.
It happened. What will you do?*

Why do you make me try to reinforce my possible schizophrenia
When you are only here to have fun?

Who cares.
Let's have some *****.

The world wanes like the moon;
I'm at the line between now and then
And all I can think of is you.

Your facets, flaws, fine features
Are only parts of a whole.
Your hands wouldn't make me shake
If they didn't have your intent.
Your eyes wouldn't liquidize me
If they didn't show me what you want.

I think there's a reason you rhyme with heaven.
I think there's a reason we have each other.

Potential is kinder than perfection
Because it allows you somewhere to go.
Thank you for that.

The world was waning, and I wanted you here.
I still do.

What do you think of at night?

Maybe sometime I'll feel like you want me too
Because I know it's all in my head
But you're not very good at helping
(No offense).

I would never stay mad at you
But I probably could.
I think it's because you don't mean to do what you do
Which is actually nothing at all.
I guess that's the problem.

It's hard to feel anything without writing it off when you're so self-aware
But it's hard to feel some things all the time
So I guess what I'm saying is it doesn't really matter what I think.

I just wish you wanted me with you
Or you wanted you in me
Or really that the words "want" and "me" (or you?)
Would ever go together at all.

I don't blame you
As in, I'm not trying to accuse
That's just the way I feel
But it doesn't really matter what I think about that.

How do I summon my narrator?
She's the one who writes the good ****.
Her voice is breathy
sultry
But it's mine too.
She's connected to the world
to the water
to the earth
to the wind
She feels.
She feels how soap slips on her skin
and how her teeth need to be brushed
and how her hair needs to be torn apart.
She senses more of what's going on then I do.
If I could be her I would.
I tried.
I tried to be connected like her
But I know that's not me.
That's not who I am.
I'm denim and cotton
While she's soil and grass.
When you pretend
You just end up with disappointment
And desperate wishing.

I felt something today.

It wasn't positive
Or productive
And it was excessive.

But still.

I felt something.

It's just good to know that I haven't become permanently detached from humanity yet.

No one understands just how hilarious I am.
My sarcasm is perfected
To a spear-like point
And my allusions are consistently charming.
That is why I have, dear blog.
No one knows you, you know.
But only you understand me!
You laugh at my jokes
Which are rarely written
And you see the depth of my greatness.
Thank you, good sir.

Words left me mouth
And fell down to the floor.
Giant magnetic letters
From off my fridgey door.

Colorful and bright
Who knows what they mean?
Once upon a time
They really said something.

They fall out of my mouth
I don't know when they got there.
The words I try to say
Leave my throat dry and bare.

Giant magnetic letters
All colors, no meaning.
You try to understand
But my thoughts, they are fleeting.

You don't even realize what you say.
It makes me sad.
Not because of your words
But the idea behind them.
They convey that you have never
Had to sit alone in a herd of students.
They show that you have never
Been surprised that someone wanted to see you
Outside of a forced environment.
That has been my reality
For eight-teen years
And you have no clue what I mean.
How is it that we have had such different experiences?
I'm glad
That you never had to feel
Completely out of place.
Alone.
You've always had a friend or a lover.
I have been alone
For most of my life.
Not just in love
but in general.
For ten years, I had no friends.
For the next five, I had one.
We have had completely different experiences
And I envy you.

How could you?
I know we aren't full siblings
But I thought a half still meant something.
How could you not tell me?
And she's your mother.
How could you not tell her?
How could you not
Warn her
At least?
You know how she took it
When he went.
Or maybe you didn't
I guess you weren't there.
But still.

We are your family.
It may not mean much to you
But you mean a lot to us.

"The only solution is to burn the body
And by doing so, burn your misdeeds.
Unless, of course, you LOVE him.
Do you LOVE him, Johnny?"

"I could never love any but you, Todd!
It was a moment of confusion!
You know how it is.
You toss the body onto the ground
To stuff and turn into a marionette...
The next thing you know you're
Playing hide-the-sausage with a corpse.

I regret my actions.
You and I are in LOVE."

Three a.m. is my time.
Every night
No matter when I fell asleep
Or when I have to wake up
I will invariably be awake
At three a.m.

It's not on purpose.
My body just decides.
"Look at the time
Time to get up and wonder
Why they hell you're awake"

It makes for a sleepy Christine in the morning.

You reversed my polarity
But apparently some magnets are attracted to the same,
Not the opposite
For we must both be positive.

My ions are re-tuned, altered to allow for you.
And when you combine science and music
The formula gets confusing
But I'm pretty sure that's ok with me.

If you don't know what I mean, that's ok too.
I'm not sure I do either.
But my molecules are drawn to yours
On some base level
And I hear string instruments when I'm with you.

You are empirical proof for all I thought were dreams.
You turn theories into laws
And you turn me into someone whose smile is permanent
And not from botox.

You are all the science I need.

It's a delicate balance
Between clingy and distant.

It won't break my heart not to be with you tonight.
I will cry no tears, feel no pain.
But I can tell I'll think about you
And even wish you were here.

(I guess this is what normal people feel.)

I know it shouldn't matter.
I know that I'm ridiculous.
This has not been me before.
I just want to see you.

It feels strange to know that.

The pain is separate
From the person.
She acknowledges it
Accepts it
Enjoys it
But it is separate.
It barely even exists
Even though it is consuming a part of her brain.

The pain proves she still exists
Even if it's only a part of being.

I've been held captive
By my own life
Which I sometimes think is all an imaginary cover-up
For something terrible.
It's held me inside
In the dark
In the cold
For days
On
End.
But today I will escape!
And be set free
By myself
By my captor.
I will no longer be a hostage!
As of today.
And it will be warm
And bright
And beautiful.

I woke up, heart racing
And you were there.
But it was too far away to be you
So I just got more scared.

The trees turned to guns
My ear turned to blood.
They must've shot me;
Maybe I mistook shots for heartbeats.
I do that sometimes.

The bullets must've been the birds.
They can be cruel, you know
And what else could a tree shoot?
Pinecones are made for glitter
Not gunplay.

You weren't you
Because you were too far
But you were so close.

Nature usually negates my nightmares.
Guns are made of metal and fire
Not wood and birds.
You are always you
Even when I'm not exactly me.

So maybe sometimes
I dig in your eyes
Half-believing falsehoods are physical things
And if I just look hard enough, I will find them.
I can pan them out, like gold in Oregon Trail
But really more like bugs in my food.

So maybe sometimes
I breathe, in/out/in/out
Before I tell you I love you
Because maybe I'm still a little afraid.
Because I don't tell people that
And I don't like to be vulnerable.

So maybe sometimes
If your arms aren't a vise at night
I wonder if you are trying to give me the option to escape.
And maybe I wonder if you need one.
Maybe I wonder if I should treat you like a genie:
"I wish for your freedom."
The problem being I don't wish for that, at all.

So maybe sometimes
I want to remind you
That you aren't chained to me
And there's always an out, if you want it.
Not that I do.

It's just that maybe sometimes
I have trouble believing in you
And it's not your fault
It's just in my head
It's just in my history.

But maybe sometimes,
Like you said once,
I don't like myself enough to believe
You would want to stay.