Manchester weeping
inconceivable losses
for a madman's game

he waits until his feet
hit his dirt floor before
he thanks the Great One
for allowing the sun
to rise again    

he walks through
well worn weeds to make
water, and again gives thanks
he could pass the water, and saw
no serpent in the grass  

this is a blessed day
for he has yams and fruit
left in his hut; he finds little
mold on these gifts from the
ground, the trees    

he looks to the sky
for omens--it is mauve
with morning, but the clouds
have no foreboding shapes
again, he gives thanks  

before and after his repast,
there are the prayers, then the silence
in which he has learned he will hear the voice
which commands all, its words in cadence
with the slow beating in his chest

My father told me
to **** myself.
Lacking like-mindedness,
thankfully I've never been one
to do as they're told.

Knuckles white,
gripping the steering wheel,
face flush,
my inner monologue tells me
to drive straight through the curve.
A crash a crunch and a click.
This accident had a purpose;
was on purpose.
Upside-down, perspective is vertigo.
Clarity is a crack in the windshield.

Shattered glass lay around me.
Lump in my throat
from a pill too large to swallow.

So I crawl to an antique store
and purchase an urn.
A pull from a cigarette, I tap
the ash into the urn.
When the pack is finished
I place the lid
and hand the contents
to my father.

i am a lot of things
to you
i may read as an
amateur poet
perfecting her art
to my parents i am
their failure
their too much and not enough
their daughter who acts
their "why do you fake everything?"
their "why don't you sing anymore?"
their "how long have you been smoking ****?"
their "i'm disappointed in you"
their "i knew you were going to be a ****"
their "bisexuality is *******
why is everything with you for attention?"
their "why can't you be perfect like your brother?"
their "pretend you're happy or cry in your room"
their "cry in your pillow i don't want to hear that"
their "why must you fake every ******* thing?
if you want to act audition for plays
i don't want your ******* in my house"
but i only fake happy
the joy that lights my face
everywhere but my hollow
eyes
and you see, they are only hollow
and dark
because i walk the shadows
with my left foot stretching out
in front of me
i've walked the shadows my whole life
with a cane on my back
and blood etched into my chest
you see i
am a **** victim
there i said it
what i've denied for so long
in hopes that i could be strong
and carry on
and just get over it
like i was told i should
but i cannot trust anyone
or anything
because he always said
my 9 and 10 and 11
year old body
was appeasing
so what do i do now
now that i am a young woman
who's growing into these
"great things" he always said i had
but i never had
not then
and i know you will hurt
me too
i know you will hurt
me too
but maybe this is just a
nightmare
perhaps i am a butterfly
and my PTSD is just a jar
or could it be that i am
not real was never
real
because i do not feel
real
i shrink from my own skin
because your handprints are still there
i am a walking skeleton
afraid of having a body
yet i yearn to have a body
but i only wish
you did not have eyes
god do i hate the fact that men can see me
because i can see the despicable things
that rack their lustful vision
tear my feathers
clip my wings
pour bleach on them
make sure it stings
2 years later
not a second goes by that
i did not eye
every suspicious man
who followed me when i walked
and i started to get over it
it wouldn't happen again
i repeated
every
single night before my eyes closed
and you stomped through my dreams
cutting all of my seams
i was 13
the day he offered me a drink
and some ****
and of course i obliged
because i know him
i know him
i see him every day
and his flesh is plenty real
he is real
and i wonder
if he stole my real
when he stole everything else
i drank until the bottom of the bottle
looked like a pool of blood
i could sink into
i smoked until my throat
was black and charred
like all of my unworthy pieces
burnt until they are ash
he told me
words i can never scrape out of my ears
out of my head
i want them out of my head
they are pills i digested
that stuck to my kidney
my body never forgave me
"i am only here
to get you drunk and *******
but i'm not doing that this time"
and now i live in constant fear
*** you a cigarette and a light
so i don't have to hear
your voice crackle like a fire
that burns too high
it scalds me
i am a lot of things
and i do believe
that weak
is not one of them.

she wonders why
she goes for the type of guy
who is too far from her
too far out of her reach
she: actually loves the thrill

she thinks that
it's just bad luck that all the guys
she likes rarely reply
take way too long
she: loves the suspense

she waits patiently
for the day that some guy, anyone
will want her as much
as she wants them
she: scares them

she's passionate
she dives in deep
and she needs someone
a thrill-seeker just like her

.
If our eyes
Should latch
Whilst pretending
To gaze unconcerned,
On some inconsequential street
Into days with sun and rainbows,
Dandy as lions on fields of praise,
Magical in bluish skies, mysterious
As eyes grasping without guile nor plan
Nor pains, then we might love as birds low,
Sing above, then we might truly be, become
Alive in the light of another lone, pining star
Under the infinite, shining, unruly heavens.

When I was young
I didn't have any doctor bills
now I get statements
special delivery, envelopes
full of X-rays I hold up
to the moon, that rock
sinking deep in my gut
looking like all of those cold
feelings I've swallowed
the many curses held inside
wooden matches chewed twice
and not spat out, a cancer
like a two-headed speckled trout
swimming around
trying to find its way out
when in fact it's just a feeling
I get trying to swallow regrets
one rusty old fish hook at a time.

i could never ever  forget the night i met nari. it was like magic, like the powers that be wanted our destinies to collide, to crash, to blend.

it was the night a meteor shower was to come to my small town. people came from neighbouring cities just to see them, these bright lights, these shooting stars. everyone was camping out, the high school's football field covered with trucks and blankets and tents. There were even people cuddling with blankets wrapped around them in the bleachers, their words filling the air as they prepared to stare at the sky, prepared to see something more beautiful than anything they'd ever seen.

i was doing the same, sitting in the back of my dad's truck with a blanket over my shoulders, but i was beginning to doze off. i was feeling a sensation much like falling, when i heard a someone speaking in my direction.

"need help staying awake?"

it turns out, i didn't need to stare at the sky and see a meteor shower to see something more beautiful than anything i'd ever seen. i just needed to open my eyes and look at her. she was smiling, and god, she had a smile that grow flowers, birth stars, and mend butterfly wings. and she was smiling. at. me.