Yes, I want you to hate my ******* guts
so I don't have to spend 70 years earning the love I'm not worthy of.

I bite down on the orange, with the intact rind. My teeth break the thick skin, and I find the soft fruit beneath. I slurp the juice that's begun to dribble out of my mouth and down my chin. It burns my cracked lips and the sores in my my mouth I've acquired from gnawing the skin off the inside of my cheeks. Using my tongue, I feel around for stringy, hanging flesh to rip from the walls of my cheeks and roll around on my taste buds. I look up at the sky, the sun shining in my eyes - but I manage not to squint. It's a Thursday and the morning is ripe with possibility.

My feet crunch the grass. Softly smoldering the bright green flames. They rattle in the wind and scream upon my approach. With a glare, I urge them to shrivel. Before me lies a small ***** covered in weeds. The type that grow small white and yellow flowers. I lower myself into a cluster and weave the flowers together in a white-yellow-white pattern. Bees kiss my knees. I'm disrupting their means to make honey.

I can see a figure standing stiffly in the distance. The figure is a person. The person is Bailey. Bailey is my boyfriend that moved here from Chicago and talks too loud. Dating me makes him feel interesting. I imagine he likes to tell his friends he's dating a girl made up of sharp angles - a girl that hasn't shaved her armpits in over a year.

My ******* are the size of half dollars. I know. I've measured them. They're pink and puffy - jutting out from the small ***** of my breast. Contrary to what you might think - I keep my ***** hair trimmed short and tidy. My *** is flat and wide as a door. I am the inverse of every man's fantasy.

Boo-boos heal if the right person kisses them.

Yes, I do like being vulnerable.
Because it enables me to still believe in magic.
It enables me to fully give myself to a person,
to love without withholding,
to love the way I want to.

sometimes you ruin me.
you make me feel second rate, but you say i'm priority.
I want to nurture you back to health. I want to make a difference in the way you feel.
maybe that's selfish,
...yeah probably.
but sometimes sadness is selfish too.
We're victims to ourselves.
sometimes I don't want to feel better,
sometimes I need to feel blue -
and maybe so do you.
I will try to understand
even though there are things I never will.
like why it takes me feeling worse for you to feel better.
or why spicy pastrami can cheer you up more than I can.
or how oblivious we can be to the pain we subject each other to.
any effort I make is futile.
you undermind my attempts.
shame on me,
I don't learn
not to fix
broken things.

and i'm not sure what's worse;
to be lonely with someone, or to be lonely without.

Pixie stick kisses
And a sticky tongue.
Pigeon pointed toes
Curled in triumphant approval.

Buzzing eyes and flushed cheeks
Making a grand entrance
On your face.

Let's reenact
The age of innocence
We tossed out with
The trash so long ago.

My feelings are hurt.
I say it out loud despite how stupid it feels in my mind.

The old me would be a self fulfilling prophecy.
The old me would prove your suspicions right.

Always on the defensive.
I feel like I always need to be.

But I am kind.
I can see beauty where others are blind.
I love hard.
And I love right.

Why so many opponents
When I'm not playing a game?

I know it seems crazy.
The circumstances are insane
But we need more people on our team.
Your opposition brings me pain.

I love him.
You love him.
And I'll love you
Because he does.

I won't get it the way.
I won't let my love run dry.
I won't  abuse his affections.

I just want to make him happy.
I want him to get what's best.
I want to fulfill him in every way.
I want to fall asleep on his chest.

What you are to me is far too cliche to say in this medium. So I won't say what you are. I'll say what you aren't.

You aren't my father,
You don't call me the things I deserve to be called when I'm acting like the things I deserve to be called.
You aren't arrogant.
You don't hold my past misdeeds against me.
You haven't left.
You aren't aware of your worth.
You are not a coward.
You can't stay mad at me.
You aren't ordinary.

Sometimes it's the bits we don't say. The unspoken words in between the ones we say with our voice. Sometimes it's oir actions that give us a voice.

You said
               "Go away, I don't like you anymore."
"Your nose is too big."
                            "You laugh too loud."
            "You kiss with your eyes open."
He said.
So I left.
I closed my mouth.
I shut my eyes.
But my ****** nose
                    It's still too big.

Relief.
A rush of it comes
As the words tumble out.

Because the words are true
And the feeling is nice
Which is precisely why I'd choose you every time.

It was always you
You were always the one
That I was going to pick
To give all my love.

It's okay.
One day I'll leave this town.
This rundown city
of mundane madness.
This place where they know my face
and forget my name.

I'm endlessly restless.
Every Wednesday is an existential crisis.
I clock my time card
to earn the currency that promises escape
but I can't seem to leave.

Dreams won't come as easily these days.
And soon I fear I will have missed my opportunity
to put them into practice.

I don't want to be alone
but I always find a reason to be.
I've given socializing some thought
and I've decided that I'd rather be a no one
than a "plus one".
It's just not for me.

I'll keep chipping away
my broken bits
until I'm a pile of shards.

Even when you think you've cleaned them all up
there's one lingering.
People don't piece shards back together;
they throw them away
and buy something better.

I must admit that it gave me a thrill when you said you owned the rights to my body.

"Where do I sign."

I think I blushed when you told me to sign with my tongue.

I deem no one worthy
To behold the brilliance of your eyes
Or intertwine their fingers with yours
Or hear a word uttered by your mouth.

Not even me.

I'm writing you a poem,
not to boast of my eloquence
but because your very existence has given me a lifetime of inspiration.

You are not a mere muse,
but you are every word spoken softly,
gently.
In my ear.
But if spoken loud enough everyone would hear.

So I will speak for you.
I will say it in a room that echos
so it can be heard again and again
until the words return to their original form,
a whisper.

You beautiful creature.
You beautiful boy.
I saw the honesty in your eyes.
**Like I heard your whispers.

Space.
Time to erase
The scars and bruises
I've given myself after getting too close
To things that hurt my mind
My heart
My skin.

My scars will fade.
I've just got to wait for
my memories to catch up.

Misunderstood,
Such a cliche thing to be.
I'm a user.
I'm a rude girl with a bad attitude.
I don't respond to authority well.
Clingy.
Selfish.
Pessimistic punk.
Teach me a lesson about my own existence.
Tell me not to roll my eyes.
It's instinct,
Like your inability to spew anything but verbal ****.
Tell me how it's because I'm young.
I know everything.
When I hear laughter I assume it's at my expense.
You don't like me,
What a big ******* surprise.
Thanks for giving me a reason to give up.

I bled because it's the only way I knew how
to love you.
All that red.

Dip your fingers in it -
the romantic parts of me.

Color me all the shades
in the spectrum of your affection.

We're not hardwired to mean it every time we say
I'm sorry.

We save most of our sympathy for ourselves
and give the leftovers to those who have earned it.

We're hardwired to say
Fine.
Or some variation of it, every time someone asks
How are you?

We all know the apologies aren't sincere enough.
We're well aware that if we truly cared about someone's well being
they would tell us that they're
Scared.
Because they don't know how they're going to pay the rent.
Because their mother has cancer.
Because
I
made
myself
vulnerable.

I'm sorry.
I'm fine.
I'm a
l
i
a
r
.

My life is boring. There is nothing particularly interesting about me. I have no special talents or abilities. Exciting things don’t happen to me. I live in Florida in a city you’ve probably never heard of.
And this is my story.
Let’s fast forward for the time being to my junior year of high school. Heck, let’s skip right to my first kiss. Underwhelming romantic, it took place in a soundproof piano room in the school’s independent music study area.  I ditched some school ceremony to rendezvous with him. We both sat on the wooden bench in silence. I was aching for him to kiss me, but he was playing hard to get.
“I’m not going to kiss you unless you tell me you want me to.”
“Why are you doing this? You know I want you to.”
“But I want you to say it.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
And he did. It was awkward, but I didn’t realize at the time. I was too busy reveling in the moment. I’d made a bet with myself at the beginning of the year – that this year – my sixteenth pathetic year here on planet earth would be the one that I got my first kiss. I had succeeded. I was elated.

she dances at parties because the people that dance at parties
look like they're having fun.
she never learned that fun isn't a synonym for happiness.

maybe daddy hates her because she reminds him of mommy.
*mommy danced at parties too.

tell me something,
like how it feels when we finally kiss after a huge fight.
how the cold wind rushes past cheeks flushed red from  the warmth of liquor.
we said so many things when we were upset.
I barely remember why.
I do remember the smooth brush of your stubble
as you'd nuzzle
against me.
And making love in the kitchen,
the smell of homemade tomato sauce still lingering.
Pounds upon pounds in my pockets after a night out on the town.
drinking cider,
drinking red stripe,
drinking wine til I cry.

All those things we said
when we stayed in bed.
Exchange a glance.
have a tumble til our bellies rumble.

This is a nonfictional romance.

I am worth your last stick of gum
Your undivided attention
The window seat
A fleeting moment of embarrassment.
I am worth at least 75% of all the tea in China
The risk
Your Saturday nights turned Sunday mornings.
I am worth a long drive with no a/c just for the company.
Pretending it's your fault
Having my honor defended
Being noticed by senpai
Extra cheese on a pizza.

every hour he grows nearer to perfection
until he turns to dust.
it's those sounds he makes before he falls asleep
that make it hard not to touch him in the night.

he dances through my dreams
with fistfuls of daisies
he says they're the color of me.
his words turn me to vapor, and I'll cling to the first thing I see.  

he is every living green thing.
he cleans the air around me.
he purifies.
he makes me drinkable.

I am fresh with bruises,
the kinds you get from bedtime wrestling.
I want to nuzzle myself into the space between his two front teeth
and use his uvula as a tire swing.
sliding down his happy trail, I'll explore my surroundings.

this boy with the electric tongue, that shocks when we kiss.
static at the tip of every follicle of hair.
lightning in his eyes,
always coming a few seconds before the thunder in his head.

he is the tang of honey mustard,
the swell of a sea,
the crackle of a record;
this boy that stays up til 5 A.M.
(just for me.)

For a moment all I see is a broken little boy
that grew up without a dad.
I want to tell him it's not his fault.
I want to tell him
that dads are overrated.
We can share mine if you'd like.

But before I can slip behind the curtain
that keeps your true self hidden from the world
you put up caution tape
and say it's off limits.

As if I don't already know you're not the great and powerful Oz.
I don't care.
Because I'm not Dorthy.

2 years.
August 4th.
9 hour plane rides.
5 hour time difference.
4,000 miles away.
1 year and 3 days apart.
6 month countdown.
2 months of bliss.
Once a year.
5:00 am.

You're my 1.

My darling boy
Of green-eyed innocence.
Brown hair bias,
With beige finger tips
warm as the wet flesh of your inner cheek.

You color me purple,
Like your favorite color spree.

Get so upset
Text your ex.
Feel so broken
You're drinkin and token.
Hurt so deep
Weep and weep and weep.

This is the life cycle.
The story behind every pair of sad eyes.
I've run out of ideas.
I'm this close to exploding.

i'm a bad investment.
a fixer upper
that you'll be lucky to break even on.

there's mold in the attic,
water damaged floors,
but worst of all:
I'll never feel like *home.

Worried.
Worried sick.
But you're feeling better cause your boozey.
exit conversation
Ctrl
alt
DELETE
smokey shoes
smokey feet,
From walking on hot coals.
It's why you run,
Why you leave.
Dip your toes in water
Since I can't cool you down.
It was something I said wasn't it?
Maybe you need me not around.
backspace
backspace
*backspace

I don't want to be this way.
This needy leech that clings onto warm things
and turns them cold.

Too eager
too wishful
too expectant.

Burn my skin with a match
and I'll let go of you.

I'll leave you alone.

We lie still.
Unmoving.
Unchanging.
You're pulled under
by the current
and my lungs
fill with air.
You pull me
from the water
and watch as I float on.
You won't let me get to far
because you know
I can't swim.

I forgot how to whistle
somewhere in between
my growing love for you
and the escalating hatred
I had for myself.
I was a chicken drumstick
that had been picked apart
until no meat remained.
Even the marrow
had been ****** out.

Use your lips to numb mine.
Use your hands to smooth away my rough bits
like sandpaper softening wood.

Char up the walls of my mind
so my flaws melt away.

Mince my mouth
when I talk too much.

Peel off my scars
as if they were stickers.

Cut me up
and put me in a jar.

He was the kind of boy that wore sweaters
and had a blog about music you've never heard of.

And he was cute
in a socially-acceptably-awkward kind of way.
The kind of way that was charming.

He had quick wit and clever quips.
And he stayed up until 5 A.M.

Casual brush of friction wrought felsh
Causing metallic sparks of the rusty kind.*

Red cups.
Shuffling feet.
Dry tear ducts.
Unnecessary screaming.

It's only midnight.
It's only one.
It's only four.
The party's not done.

Take a shot.
Take a bow.
Keep your thoughts inside
Let the ***** out.
Not in the street.
How much did you drink?
What the **** is all over your shirt?

Go home.
Rest up.
Let's do this again real soon.

The perfect time to kiss someone
is when they don't even know they want you to.
when you're not using your lips for talking.
and your mouth tastes like candy.

Other places
Other toys
Other sounds
Other boys.
Round and round
They spin within.
I am a spectator of my own life.
I am a child not a wife.
My liver still works
But soon it won't
For liquor is the elixir
For which there is no antidote.

I’m looking at your mouth
you’re looking at me,
my fingers curled around the blunt your plug has graded as a “pearl”
we’re passing notes with her eyes and
you’re playing it cool, that is until your eyebrows give you away – springing up towards your skull.
I find an excuse to say “****”
so you’re thinking of mine as I push wet fruit between my lips, still hot from the smoldering
I sense the very moment everyone else in the room catches onto our game.
lowering my gaze as a hit goes straight to my face
the smoke clears
my fingers linger
dangling the roach over your water glass
I let it fall
Ash hisses as if to whisper
“it’sss cassshh.”

Don't dismiss me all passive aggressively.
I'm a person.
Not a class.

Nonetheless, I'm sorry I got defensive and
For this passive aggressive apology.

I love you all the same.

stick your thumb in my mouth,
Alleyway, alley cat.
scritch
scritch
scratch

I hereby solemnly swear - to you I'll bow.
Between your knees.
Wedged between your thighs,
while I stare up at your face -
into your bloodshot (deceptive) eyes.

You act like no one's ever called you a **** before.
But that can't be true,
cause you're the devil himself.
You do what feels good.
"To take the edge off," you say as you promise to be okay.

I don't believe you.
You're not sincere.
Because the first time we met - you weren't wearing underwear.

You degenerate.
You minx in the prime of her youth.
I'll love you and use you,
but only because you asked me to.

Not the kind that requires
Repentance.
Or 20 hail Mary's.

I feel like Oliver Tate
From Submarine.
You're Jordanna,
Reading through
The pages of my diary.

I want you to know
My innermost workings.

Would it hurt you somehow
If I were to say it?
Is it selfish of me to want to?

Tell me it's unconventional.

I know.

But so is breathing fire
And having a three legged dog.
And both make for a great story.

Our story would make for a great
Indie romance.
The kind where you don't cry
Until the very end.

Is the distance enough to soften the blow?

Ache
Ache
Aches.
Then come the shakes.

Struck in the side
Pelvis
And the face.

Loose fist,
Tight grip,
Eyes closed,
Teeth stripped.

Comatose come down.
Good intentions preceded
Translucent affections.

Ache
Ache
Achey.

You've made no effort
For me
But every effort to lift a bottle to your ******* mouth.

I love you
Im sorry
I miss you
Do not act as a get out of jail free.

You've sullied
Longing
Remorse
And affection.

You've made me the thing
You never wanted me to be
By never choosing me
Over superfluous drinks.

Hangovers
Tummy aches
Early starts
Never get in the way of you
And the thing that matters most.

If only I were on tap,
But I'm not the right blend.

he is Peter Pan
never aging.
the boyish upwards curvature of his mouth
is electric
and causes my skin cells to prickle.
he thinks my underwear is fun.
funderwear.
he's perfected the art of making insults seem charming.
and when we lie on the floor in the hallway,
our hair sprawled out on the carpet
his strands getting all tangled up in mine
I feel perfectly beautiful.
our hearts sync
as our noses touch.
Eskimo kisses.
He's a bottomless bag of peanut m&ms;
all green.
Wine stained lips
and a bitter tasting tongue.

I’m lying in fetal position, the bed is the womb.
I am nothing.
I do not exist yet.
I practice breathing.
Sharp in and out breaths.
Growing calmer. More fluid.
I feel myself forming, taking shape.
I do not exist yet.
In out in out in out in out in out.
I move oxygen. I stir the air.

baby when you taste me
I forget all the misery,
no weeping when you tease me.
no melancholy when you get ******.

I am the kernel lodged between your bicuspids.
Use your tongue to nudge me loose.

What started off as a cold shoulder
Escalated to frozen stiff
And I was afraid to be around you  
from fear I'd catch pneumonia.

I'm afraid to move on before you.
I'm afraid to move on after you.
I'm afraid he won't live up to my standards.
I'm afraid she'll surpass mine.
You're allowed to be happy.
But not too happy.
You're allowed to be successful
As long as I'm credited.
You're allowed to see other girls
If it makes you long for my company.
But you're not allowed to move on
Without me.

Timing's off.
Different clocks.
Yours says go.
Mine says stop.
Your time's fast,
And my time's slow.