the cigarette smell her breath emits
disturbs the delicate orchid,
it refuses her fragrance
using inhibitors,
as a retaliatory
measure.

in the bright morning under the free sun
all are now equal each of us may stand
glad in the knowledge that the lash is done

the times are over when we had to run
justice has entered where it once was banned
in the the bright morning under the free sun

a different type of journey has begun
when no one has the right of sole command
glad in the knowledge that the lash is done

we look around and see that we have won
so very much that all our words seem bland
in the bright morning under the free sun

what will become of us is known to none
but t we are ready and we understand
gland in the knowledge that the lash is done

and we have reached the point where everyone
must pause to sing then claim as theirs the land
in the bright morning under the free sun
glad in the knowledge that the lash is done

a bruised sternum is a perfect injury
for me
(lame, out of place, piercing only if i
breathe hard enough)
smack, crack, dunk,
i sunk into weeds, muck,
and the utter and entire absence
(of you)
i crawled, wheezing, a thunder
cloud roared.
(Zeus was laughing, i’m sure)
how...coincidental.
how…ironic.
how…idiotic.
that i should have a chest
pain
near my heart.
a cracked rib would taste
sweeter.
people ask if i was crying
because of the pain.
i nodded, wanting to crack my head
upon cedar.

they never asked where the pain was from,
or from whom.

When Sylvia Plath first met Ted Hughes, she bit his cheek so hard that blood oozed from his skin.
I want to believe I made an impression like that on you.
(Not the first time, when I was fourteen, because I was awkward with too much eyeliner and not enough ideas)
I marked you, on your bones, beneath skin where only I could see it.
(Beneath layers and layers and layers, so I could
fit comfortably. A parasite)
Sylvia and Ted married quickly,
but the idea of marriage terrifies me,
but I want to be with you forever,
(and yet I don’t)
Sylvia loved Ted.
and I love you. too much. so much.
(my chest deflates when I think about
empty beds)
please do not leave me, like Ted left Sylvia.

do not find muses, inspirations,
but since I am the writer, I need to find my muse.
(you are my only one)



I think Sylvia and Ted shared writings,
but I cannot show you most of my words,
for the truth would burn, and I wouldn’t know
how to put out the fire.
but Ted was a writer, you are not.
so I will be like Sylvia, writing about people I love,
until it consumes me
entirely.

“you must know you’re beautiful”
somedays, yes. somedays, no.
the twelve year old me will haunt me most mornings,
placing nonsense like a flower wreath through my hair.
she’ll pick my stomach, stretching the skin like putty.
she’ll still her tongue out, gnawing at my bones.
i will hear the dark words, and they will stain upon my skin,
coal and smeared.
the fifteen year old me will creep in the afternoon,
smudging ink eyeliner, telling me there’s never a thing as toomuch.
she will sing into my pores, telling me i need to return to pale tiles
and empty hallways.
she will hide under my skin, waiting until the men and scary ideas return
to the base of my mouth.

my insides are pretty, beautiful (most of the time)
so give me more time, to work on the outside.
it has been long, i know.
but i need more.
more.

My lips were wounded,
badly hurt by the broken glass,
of yesterday's love, tumultuous.
You came by after a while,
a floating silver cloud,
providence, brought you here,
with a healing potion
ready at hand.
In no time, you exorcised all the demons,
a wizard you were,
with wonder filled eyes I witnessed
what you did.

From under the rubble
you pulled me out,
removing debris, you retrieved
the lover in me by and by,
your searing kisses
quick stitches
made the scars vanish,
without any trace,
a magic you alone can summon,
with such finesse.

Now  my smile
has the sunshine sheen
that has gone hiding
when the lips were
hurt and bleeding.

you lick me clean,
(no need for seconds)
i am dinner and desserts,
wrapped in one.
i have metamorphosed.
(you chipped and cracked until
the cocoon fell and shattered)
sticky air kisses my collarbone,
you slurp the salty water because no one can
satisfy you like I can.
the fields tingle through my old bones,
the lakes shiver upon my friable vents.
i am free, darling,
free only when i am with you.

darling, do you find me clingy?
you are the first who has stayed for longer then a
week.
you are the first who has spoken to me with truth,
instead of lies intertwined with alcohol and
lust.
so excuse the bite marks, the extensive sighs.
you are the first who has wanted my words,
not the stains within my legs,
or the dampness of my lips.
so excuse my nails that constantly scratch,
excuse the quiver my voice has when you
leave.
you are the first that has said,
“i love you”
and i have actually believed.
you are the first that has said,
“i will stay”
and actually have.