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I kind of want to delete everything
Because maybe then I could forget who I am
But with my luck it'd make me forget who you are too.

I need to believe that I'm good enough
But rereads make me think the opposite
And words in bed are too dangerous to believe.

You see something in me
And apparently I'm blind to it.
I've been trying-your words don't scare me as much these days
But I think I might be showing it more.
I guess I trust you, is all.

You scared me, bad.
Or I scared myself.
All I know is I had to retreat.
It wasn't intentional
Without defense mechanisms, war would be much faster.

Maybe it's a cycle.
I'm not sure which is the starter, my writing or my self esteem
But they both seem to fall terribly every few weeks.

The limelight is unflattering to everyone
Because lime green is such a horrible color.
I think it's the worst on me.

I don't think you can realize how big of a deal it is for me.
I don't know what I'm so afraid of
But nothing you say seems to help.
I still freeze
I still petrify.
It still makes me want to run away.

Shame.
Self-loathing.
Slovenly, slobbering sycophant.
Stupid.
Scrofulous.

Should've stopped, sedated.

Staggering self-esteem? Sometimes.
Struggling, someday successful?
Supposedly.

Short-lived, surely.

You and him
And the frogs and the crickets
Provide the only heartbeats for miles.
And when supply is low, demand is high
So your pulse increases
And you can feel your heart pump faster
But you're not really sure if it's your blood
Or him.

Gradually you stop hearing the crickets and the frogs
And the two of you are all there is.
And you know you're safe
Because you're away from the ring of fire.
Not the kind Johnny Cash sang about
More the kind Giuliani would talk about.
The ring of city lights that is so far away from you
So you know you're safe.

You can see the freckle-stars
And the half-moon
And the silhouette of his face.
You can see everything you need to.

Whispered litanies of love
Bliss. Perfection. Pure happiness.
You wish you could be so happy all the time
But all good things come to an end.
(Does that really have to be true?)

Racing through backroads
You watch as stars appear as if from nowhere.
Freshly born, newly created
Made only for you and him to know.

You don't know where you're going
But you'll go anywhere with him
So you aren't worried.
Anywhere he goes immediately becomes a good place.

He drives far too fast through unknown townships
If you can ever call them that.
But it's still dark enough there that you just
Stare out the window; you put your arm out to feel the night.

You stop in a dirt road
Abandoned, for all intensive purposes.
Lay on the hood and watch the stars
As if it's a PG-13 romantic comedy.

He gives you the stars
And you have nothing to give in return
So you just try to take in the universe.
You just want to reach out and touch it.

And as you leave you watch the stars disappear
Fading back into the city lights.
You wonder if the universe holds a funeral for a dying star
You wonder if this has all been orchestrated by the cosmos.

Just leave me alone.
Please.
I know you think you're being sweet
And you miss me
And you blah blah blah.
But please.
There's nothing to say and I hate forcing it.
We are fine.
I just want to read
And sleep
And be alone.
It's not hormonal.
It's just me.

I want to struggle against your restraints.
I want you to lose control.
I want to lose control.

Force is not a ***** word.

I want you to
show
me
what
you're
made
of.

I don't want to write you any more praise.
No more verses about your lips
Pressed tight against my skin.
No words about how
Absolutely fascinated
I am by your mind.
And how I desire to know everything about you.
I want to write about something entirely different.
I don't like being so
Focused
On one person.

It would be easier if you would get out of my head.

You probably have a name like Amber or Ashley.
You probably drive a car made in the 2000s
And like to play popular hip-hop songs on your top forty radio
You know, in that stereo he probably bought you for your birthday.
You work at a temporary job for eight bucks an hour
And during your lunch break you make plans for that night.

You are the basic suburban female
And you exist to be the bar that the rest of us judge ourselves on.
Or at least, I do.
You are prettier than most
Have more money than most
Have more friends than most
And you are the person
Who allows me to think that I can one day be at your level,
Even though it's far from true.

More *****
To make me more fun
And let me enjoy life more.

More gym
To let me be healthier
And have a more positive
Self-image.

More work
To let me enjoy the
More complex pleasures of life
And afford some luxuries.

More life
To live
And enjoy.

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.

Everyone is stupid!
No one understands.
My brain works much faster
And their's are all bland.

No one ever gets me!
They don't understand.
No one ever lets me
Let my words be grand.

Everyone is stupid
And they don't understand.
My thought so far surpass them
That they look like grains of sand.

Bohemian goddesses stalking the coffeehouse
All wiry hair and flowing skirts
Points of view and opinions and self worth
How her soul craved to join them
Don headbands and sandals and learn to be like them
To play the bongos and be part of natures and kove what’s real
She wanted to feel her soul in the mass joining of the human spirit

She envisioned it, and it was beautiful.

You held my hand
And looked me in the eyes
And told me I was beautiful.
That you wanted me.
That you needed me.

And you proved it.

It was the first time I really believed it, I think.
It was the first time I took it to heart.
I still can't get over how you make me feel
And I don't really want to.

You make me alive.
You make me feel like I matter.
You make me feel like I'm loved.

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.

The sugar courses through my veins like adrenaline.
I feel it in my blood.
My arteries expand with energy
And my ankles start tingling from the inside out.
I feel like I should go to sleep
Is this how diabetics feel?
I feel like my body will start to swell
And I will explode once my innards take over my flesh.
I will turn into a cloud of glittering crystals
And unicorns will spout from my eyeballs.

I am but a mad girl,
And you have taken my love song!
He is real, I assure you.
But my reality,
Flawed and inarticulate,
Makes questionable my answers
Rather than answerable to my questions.
I am but a mad girl
And you have taken my voice, dear Madam,
And created a world of flame and fancy!
My love song must be less
For surely I must be less.
Please madam, pity the poor mad girl
And relinquish my soul
So that the seraph and seraphim
Can once again bring my love to fruition.

She's not happy, you know.
I wish I could tell you
But I don't think you'd care.
She thought she'd be more.
She thought she'd be in love
With beautiful baby ducks all lined up
And a fabulous career.
Mansion included.
She's disappointed with life
And the dreams she left behind for us.
That's why she does this.
This was not what she wanted.
She needs a lot more
And she will never get it.
Would you be much better?

I’m doing Important Business!
Do not distract me, world!
It must be done
And you cannot stop me!
So get your act together
And get out of my way.
Because this is Important Business
And will be done
Whether or not you live through it.

He tastes like salt and sunshine.
I spend an hour
My hands scrambled in his satin hair.
My lips picking out the flavors of his flesh.
I taste down to his manhood
Still salt and sun.
My lips meet his head.
They feel the silk
And taste the soul.
They turn flat against his steel.
Hard-pressed.
What seems like hours of exploration
And experimentation
And suddenly I taste his essence.
His love.
His heart.
It tastes like salt and sunshine.

Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.

The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.

Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.

The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.

Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.

The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.

She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.

She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.

Excess molars fill my swollen mouth
My jaw cannot take it
Saliva seps out of my guns
Hoping for some
Soothing salvation...
My teeth grow as I type
Expandingexploding
Until my tongue and gums are absorbed
And turn to fire to match
All that I'd left is
Far roo many
Massive molars

Everything is far too
Temporary
To be important.

Jobs are passing.
School is passing.
People are passing.

The only reason anything is done
Is to help spend time
Until your time too passes.

The stale stench of criticism and loathing hangs in the air.
My thoughts are replaced with the cacophonous crackling
Of plastic wrappings.
I think my soul left weeks ago.
My body is run-down and deprived of the necessary fuel to charge it.
The minuscule amount of hope still clinging desperately to life
Is the hope that maybe tonight,
I can get a few hours of blissful unconsciousness;
The hope that the smooth, cool hand of that sweet, sweet death
Will soon calm my aching essentia.

I imagine
Clumsy kisses
And sloppy makeouts
If you were here.
We'd stumble to the bed
A single mass of flesh and cloth
And fumble around
For minutes.
We'd soon pull together
Via a team effort
Allow two to join as one.
Our teeth would probably hit
My lips wild run down your face.
Your motions would make me queasy.
Soon enough you'd explode
Or ooze out
(I've yet to see what alcohol consumption
Does to ***** production )
And inch out
Clumsy smile on your face.
And we'd both pass out
In a heap of drunken comfort.

My brain's going back to that dark place...
The corner filled with anger
About how he lives with his parents
And has no job
And claims to be more of an adult than I.
The corner where his extravagance
And lack of ambition make my soul boil.
The part where his religious beliefs fly in my face
And force me to look at how ridiculous they are.

The corner that I've tried so hard to stay out of.
I wish I could just erase it.

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.

When I was nine-ish I planned to give my mother a book of poems for her birthday.
Mother's Day?
Christmas?
Something.
I would write fifty-three poems for her
I was in a Jack Prelutsky phase.
My sister preferred Shel Silverstein.
I don't remember any of them
Or even if I made it
But I remember planning.
At night I wrote on the slats of my sister's bunk bed
She always got top bunk.
I wrote my plan
And ideas for these poems
And styles and layouts and covers.

I don't know if I went through with it
But if I did
I hope that she kept it
So I can remember who I was.

Pretty girls
Pretty blonde girls, pretty brown girls
Try on wedding dresses on late-night cable.
The dresses are pretty too.
Organza and flow and corset and satin.
Pretty dresses for pretty girls
Who will marry pretty boys in a pretty church.
One is less pretty
Fittingly, her dress is less pretty.
Where most have satin, she has cotton.
Eco-friendly, she says.
I like it.
She not very pretty
She's neither blonde nor brown
I wonder what her boy is
And where her wedding is
And if everything is "offbeat" in her wedding.
I hope she gets to use an adjective
Other than pretty.

All of my works are "in progress".
None of my words come out right.
My phrases are static, my endings not dramatic.
I need you to turn on my light.

It seems I only know sorrow.
Negative feelings at best.
I've not learned to write what's not said in a fight
But I don't want to give it a rest.

They say an artist must suffer.
Can only make with the pain that she feels.
But you give me no pain; I laugh in the rain.
I want you for all of my meals.

So I guess I will just have to work
And figure out how to write love.
So my words are in progress, my ends have no success
But there's nothing I'd rather write of.

Floating, adrift.
Like a speck in a kid's book
A dandelion seed in the air
Minus the grace.
A purgatorial lack of gravity
Empty.

I guess you were my earth
And now I'm lost in space.
But it's time I made my world,
And stop abusing yours.

I haven't seen you in a while.
I almost forgot the feel
Of your lips on mine
And your hand down my shorts.
Thank god you reminded me.
Parked in front of a Baptist church
I would never go to
I jump over the car seat
Involuntarily.
I'm closer to you than I have been
In a long time.
Your mouth crashes against mine
Absorbs it until there's only one.
Mitosis in reverse.
You tell me you love me
You miss me
You only want me.
I tell you the same.

We feel each other
And demonstrate our words
In front of god and all her missionaries
In front of the Baptist church
I will never attend.

The way you hold me in your sleep
The way you mumble through your snores
The way you always make fun of my noises
The way I can make fun of yours.

Your eyes, your lips, your smile, your touch.
Your hands and the arms that reach.
Your height, your sandals, your silly t-shirts.
How easy you are to teach.

The way you can always make me laugh
The way you don't make me embarrassed to cry
The way you make me feel like everything
The way you never lie.

Your thoughts and your mind and your heart and your soul
Your fantastic spaghetti dinners.
Your hair, your beard, your manly features
How you let me be the winner.

The way you make me hope for the future
(I hope you hope for it too.)
The way you allude to it, on occasion.
The way you refreshed me, anew.

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?

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.

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?

----------------------------------------------
He was older.
He paid attention to me.
Years of being alone
With no sense of self-worth
He noticed.
I knew he was short
And chubby
And had a strange face
But he noticed.
I knew it was strange that
He was interested in one so much younger
But I craved someone to care for me.
A reprimand from my mother
My brother
A teacher
And it was over.
Then months past
I needed it again.
I was slipping
Again
Into somewhere I didn't want to be.
A secret rendevous
With his mother asleep in the next room.
A lost shirt
A gained shirt.
Months past
It was over again.
----------------------------------------------------------­--------
A year passes
The boy I had a past with
[Secret hand-holding in a football field
Stolen glances
Nothing serious]
Shows renewed interest
In the dark of night
In the backseat of a car.
The first time
I noticed an *******
Against my backside.
The first time
I saw one
In real life.
Months past
I never cared for him
But he told me he loved me.
I told him I didn't.
Eventually I couldn't hurt him anymore.
I wasn't getting anything from it anyway.
Just experience.
-----------------------------------------------------­---
Now I have him.
He is mine and I am his.
But really, I am mine.
I'm too independent for him
But we share our awkwardness.
Three years have almost past
Many more will, too.
From him
I have gained a family
A patience
A sense of self-worth
And love for others.
He is the end of it, I guess.
I had to get through the others first
(And I honestly wouldn't mind going through more)
But with relationships, you grow.
--------------------------------------------------------

You might be coming back.
Back to Texas
Back to the few connections you have in this world.
Back to me.

I haven't seen you in a year
But nothing's changed.
We have a strange (and beautiful) relationship.

You are my best friend.
No one else has ever come close
To knowing me like you do
And being as fantastic as you are.
You are what I've wished I could be, sometimes
And you are the only one I have always
Been able to believe in
To count on.
(Though you are far too ethereal for solid plans).

You are a wanderer
A traveler, a barely-there reality.
You are blue hair and ****** piercings
Ska and gin and legs that go for years.
I wouldn't be able to count the miles.

I don't keep people.
I don't plan to remember them
Or even believe I will, most of the time.
But I always remember you
And I will always keep you
No matter how far you go.

Maybe I should take up smoking.
If I smoked
I could have a reason to go outside
And escape
And sit in the warmth.
I would satisfy my oral fixation
I would satisfy my black-lung fixation.

Acidic, buttery purple
Baby pink half-moons
Cleansecalm my aura

I shall be the conquerer and the conquered.

Dear Pablo,
I see your poem, and raise you another.
For see, I too can write the saddest lines tonight.
They will not have your beauty, but they will have your phrase.
Or, a reverse of it.
For while your love has departed, I still stay.
You see, the truth is this:
He loves me, and sometimes I love him too.
He loves me desperately
In the way that a sailor clings to an unyielding buoy.
He loves me constantly
In the way of the sun in a drought.
He loves me
And sometimes I love him too.

Pablo, if your love loved you not
Why would you desire her still?
You say you love her no longer, but maybe you love her.
Why do you do this?
Why do you not realize there is surely someone else
Who will love you, too?
Why are you unwilling to see
That if she loves you not
She is not worthy?

I've been thinking that I'm kind of awesome lately
You know, in those quantifiable ways
The ones that don't really matter?

I've been kind of kicking *** at life
And I haven't really done that before.
It's an interesting sensation.

Apparently I can only write well when I fail, though
So that's kind of a shame.
Maybe once this high rides out
Maybe once my days aren't full
Maybe once you aren't amazing
I'll be able to do that again.

I don't really know what I am or what I want
I just know that I'm kind of proud of myself
And I don't know what to do about that.

This is contentment.
Or maybe it's that point of just being.
One or the other.
The air is too cold. I feel it bringing up ridges on my skin.
There's an ache in my side and an itch in my ******
But this is just how I am.
The world is fuzzy and sleepy and hollow and overwhelming
And that is just how it is.
If I was removed from the situation little would change.
The air would still be too cold, though no one would feel it.
The ache would be in someone else's side.
The itch would be in someone else's ******.
The world would just be.

I don't even have to specify
And you know what I mean
As if you read my mind.
You don't push me
But you don't fear me
And you are actually man, not boy.
You understand me
The way no one else ever has.

Just as importantly,
You want me to be happy
At the expense of your blue *****
Which I'm sure are quite prolific.
I've not been this wet in months
And you haven't even touched me.

She sits silently
Shellacked, superglued sans sound.
Cornered, Christine clenches
Claws covering cowardice
Comfort.
Taut tongue tangibly taciturn
Turns, transforms til truly torpid.
Silence caused transformation.
She is now an armchair.

She's sad
Upset
For some reason.
She won't tell you
And there are too many possibilities to start guessing.
Is he okay?
Are they leaving?
Is she leaving?
You'll just ruin the night if you sit here and dwell.

Take a shot of whiskey
Get it out of your system.
Forget til the morning.

"We are in LOVE,
that's why.
Now hurry up.
The blood from the pick ax
Is dripping on the carpet
And I don't have time to steam clean today."

"Since you took care of
That filthy mess
What should I do with the body?"

"Do as you like, but remember.
We are in a monogamous relationship
And a corpse is still a person."

"I'm so sorry.
I couldn't resist!
We were alone in the cellar...
Rigor mortis set in
And you know I like my men stiff."

"****** Johnny!
That was the one thing I asked you
Not to do.
I thought you were just
Going to add him to your puppet theater...
How can we come back from this?"