A boning knife was found behind the bed
to keep my older brother's hands at bay.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.

The little brother, trying to hide, played dead
beneath her blankets in a certain way;
a boning knife was found behind her bed.

She didn't fight me off before, instead
she let me, never spoke about my play.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.

The father, puking till his eyes were red:
"When I come to, there will be hell to pay."
A boning knife was found behind her bed.

He came out, knife in hand.  To her, I pled,
"Momma, please...".  Her look caused me to stay;
the words would not be heard, so none were said.

My daughter's plea was ringing in my head;
my father's hands still linger to this day.
A boning knife was found behind her bed,
the words would not be heard, so none were said.

The clouds, then the years
drag through my hair
like a plow traveling through
this sandy gray soil of mine

There are many theories of time
like words that can pass
into the mouth of a Mason jar
and stay there forever, and last
like a message at sea floating far

How is it there are trails
you cannot follow for being
so **** dog tired, something
now, and not was, returned
from so many journeys

I have not set my foot down
in this nest of copperheads
to break the eggs or be bitten,
this is simply where I wanted
to be struck and born.

The boxes
which keep my blood clean
are stacked as tall as I,
a monument
in the spare room
to past battles.
Too many words,
too many thoughts
******* in the
hand-to-hand combat
with mortality.

No more.

What life I have
will not be defined
by an indeterminate end.

I live to write poems;
I will no longer die in them.

Cigarette ash on your bedsheets
awake on coffee and tea.
I do not want to be the person
you know like the back of your hand
or for you to know the titles of every poem I have written
I want you to touch me distractedly.
I want a boy with a car and a mindset like yours.
we do not need to make ourselves into anything beautiful with each other.
we are ugly, empty poets.
therefore,
you love me for what i am.
but if you don't love me,
go ahead and tell me.
your tongue stained with coffee
you're not just some ******* artist
who is going to fill my heart with lilies
and paint.
and I want you to make it hurt as much as you ******* can.
teach me the world is cruel.
because if you can teach me how to write
love poems,
you sure as hell
can show me how to be dark
all over again.
this isn't about creativity
and this isn't art
this is existing.

I tried to hate you
but then I remembered
Wes Anderson
and first kisses
the sort of things that cover
bad songs and poorly worded excuses
and the secret site
I poured my thoughts to
the times it was worse than just "things are bad right now"
and pills
Celexa didn't do anything.
Zoloft made me suicidal.
Effexor was just right but needed to be upped after a while.
seems like nothing ever works right
or is it just me?
soon i can to realize
it’s not
i’m not the only one you did this to
i wanted to believe
it was just towards me
because i was me
no
i hope you and your girlfriend get high enough
to leave the planet
your first name starts with h
and ends with e - l - l
Perfume makes my head ache
the makeup caked on my eyes
cause them to itch.
your girlfriend is using dope and
you're with her
you both act like you're Conor O.
Using your friends
for the drugs
ratting them out
she looks at me
but can’t hold a stare
funny isn’t it
maybe she knows what you’re doing is wrong.
Ironically we are all supposed to help people grow
but you pull the roots from the ground
And empty the water into your eyes
So you can cry
It's not a beautiful thing to do
we're stuck with you
not growing
the sky is still out of reach
All my friends are in love
With their abusive ex girlfriend
I should just add myself to the list
my stepfather says that I'm falling apart
As an insult
as others say
Stop that attitude
Stop being so negative
*****.
i hope my anger towards the world will maybe make sense
but next time you see me
don’t look at me
i hear a girl screaming outside my window
but i don’t shut it
i head outside to see if she’s okay,
she’s on the ground crying
asking
“wasn’t love supposed to be enough?”
she reminds me of the past
and i shake
I’m crying on the phone in the library and a girl
sits by me and asks
“are you okay?”
i don’t know if i should be honest
so i just say
“no, but i’m better than i was a few months ago”
losing you wasn’t a loss
and i try to hate you
and i might
but the secret site is closed down
and i don’t go to it anymore anyways
i kiss others to get the taste of you out
wes anderson is great but we only watched one movie of his together anyways and
i was too busy looking at you to even appreciate it

You taste like static
and your eyes look like hot coals
Let my body fizz
Ease me into your skin
I want to know what dying is