I make my own soup and I kiss my own boo-boos,
I tell tall tales about love, hell, and voodoos.

I cover up my sadness with jokes, smoke, and malice
Who knew living a tragic life could feel so lavish?

God and I have a pretty tight relationship
I talk to him every night when my fingers touch my lips.

I throw my bones at dogs and contort my soul for fun,
Chewed up, spat out. I’m just like everyone.

-SLuR

Feeling marked and wicked
Silk skin stretched tight across the starving pain of my wanting
Stretching. Breathing. Breaking. Needing.
Ease this tension I must. I must.
The wet rage of the Shenandoah between my thighs
A soft rumble in the distance heralds the coming storm
I can almost feel you in me
Aching for you to fill the slick hollow that I keep hidden
Need you closer, closer, closer
Please
Begging so pretty against the distance
Please

Pursed lips french exhale into the coldness of late January
On the inhale I can taste your cemetery shadows
The rich, bitter heat of your stalwart heart
Thumping to the tune of midnight
I want to draw on your edges with salt and whiskey
Make it burn, make it hurt
Let it really sink in how far away our fingertips have become
Am I still she?
Is this still me?
Looking for answers under the bird feeder
All I find are empty shells

Last night I dreamt of you again.
A lingering gaze and the hand
That slides,
Too far,
Down a back.
I dreamt of a grin.
Mischievous.
Shared only between us two.
Of blushing cheeks that long
To feel the graze of fingertips
And lips that quiver with loneliness.

For many long years I have wandered
For many long years I have roamed
Now a voice in my head is calling
Calling me back to my south country home

I have wandered your tropical forests
Experienced the hot desert sun
Climbed your mountains snow capped peaks
In your lakes and blue seas I have swum

Now a voice in my head is calling me back
Back to where I was born
Once more to walk in the pine woods
Beneath the warm summer sun

Many years ago I did leave her
As a youth so fearless and bold
Now I hear my south country calling me back
To the place where I can grow gracefully old

I'll never forget the friends that I made
As I wandered your far distant shores
And if ever you visit my south country
You'll find a welcome sign over my door.

From one
Who says, “Don’t cry.
You don’t want them to know”

And two
Who tells you
It’s your fault anyway.

To three
Who pretends that
You were old enough to consent.

And four
Who asks, “Was it
Really ****? I think you came.”

To five
Who doesn’t like that you said no,
So he ties you down
And does it anyway.

And six
Who grabs you by the throat
And tells you, “Stop fighting,
I’ll make you feel good”.

To those who think it’s good - yes -
Some think they’re doing you a favor

And they’ll tell you that
You want it
And sometimes you almost,
Almost , believe it.

Thank goodness there are numbers
Higher than one, two, three,
And, yes, even six.

Thank goodness they are not
All the same.

And thank goodness
Thank goodness
We can put ourselves back together
Without them.

The smell of tulips will forever be
Inextricable from that of cheap *****,
And I'll never quite be able to enjoy the taste
Of jelly thumbprint cookies without
Tonguing the teeth you knocked out
The first time we made them.
And I've always preferred open kitchens
So I don't have to think about how many times
You broke the door to ours.
And while I wish we spoke more-
I still remember when mouths were fists,
And words broke bones.
And though I know its in the past,
I still see the glint in your eyes
When a bottle goes by.
Time has healed our wounds;
My adult teeth replaced the gaps,
And you always replaced the door the next day.
We laugh freely now, and the tulips still grow
In the garden on your balcony.
But I'd be lying if I told you
That I can't still see the scars,
Or that the fear doesn't still linger
In our silent moments.
That sleeping with a knife under my pillow
Didn't start when you were still tucking me in.

A handful of water thrown like glitter to bead against reflective floors
Mirrors my cage in a hundred different ways
If I look closely enough I can see myself that free, that open
With every breath I taste the sharp tang of memories
That without you will never sit with sugar on my tongue again
Now I’m not blaming you or this wooden heart that bobs aimlessly without direction upon this endless see of caged reflection
Just exercising atrophied muscles with which I learn to stretch, to feel
Without drowning these polished plains I place cold feet on each morning
I am Alice here, skirts twisted above my head to obstruct the view
Although I know I do not wish to see it’s vast edges
Not unless they’ve painted you

I’m going to get better at this
Your missing won’t ache as much
Horrific reinactments of your loss won’t haunt me
Won’t leave me gasping for air covered in tears of anguish
After each restless sleep
Watching others with their happy purrs won’t cut deep like this ravaged feeling of betrayal that mine no longer does
One day
For now I’m going to cry and rage and remain alone, without console
Hoping that one day happy purrs will greet me each morning once more

I feel like I have lost my words.
Once they flowed so easily
Time has ripped my mind from the flow of my mouth.
I fell in love with a someone else's soulmate.
I became selfish and jealous and pushed myself to a point that my words became useless.
When you choose emotions over words instead of bringing the two together
you create a self destructing version of yourself that lives on the outside while the true version of yourself watches on the inside.
Hiding writing is the hardest thing I chose to do with my life
I would look around at creation and say to myself, 'that's nice.'
Only my insides are screaming, 'describe it! write it down!'
Or something dark would encompass my being and instead of fighting with a pen, I cowered, crumbling.
I allowed myself to be swallowed, digested, and even parts left behind, scattered around a crime scene where my words made a difference
Instead I chose a cowards way, pretending I was incompetent
And my words slowly dwindled down as short as I could possibly make them.
One day, I saw a baby chicken have a seizure, and I started to cry. And as my tears flowed, I thought to myself how would that chicken describe me ?
It seems extremely odd I know, but in that moment I couldn't think of a single word. My lungs tightened as I continued to hold this now lifeless creature.

Lifeless
Breathless
Speechless