I've learned that happiness
cannot be found in the form of a little
purple capsule.
I've learned that Pisa will have to wait until next time.
I've learned that the third mushroom
held in my sweaty palm was not as
big a deal compared to the other two opening my mind.
I've learned that a part of me
died that night where we ****** in a
room with no furniture.
I've learned that life is work and that
the molotov cocktail of Dubrah and eay mac
that came spewing from me left an orange tang
upon the floor.
I've learned that pain is better than numbness
and that jabbing a sewing needle repeatedly in my arm
was an educated decision.
Most importantly I've learned that together we are better than alone.

when your daughter tells you that she has an eating disorder, believe her.
do not mock her, do not tell her she is wrong. though you could not hear her in the bathroom on her knees at christmas or on her birthday or after dinner, listen to her now.

know that after she reveals this and runs crying to her room that she will lie directly on her floor and place her ear to the carpet and she will hear you discussing her declaration like a bad movie, a critic to the fact that yes she still has all her teeth, but you do not know anything about disorders.

when your son mentions at the dinner table that your daughter thinks she may be depressed, do not shake your head. do not continue your meal, do not let her escape to her room immediately upon mention of the subject. do not shake your head, and do not continue your meal.

when you ask your daughter if she wants to see a psychiatrist and she does not say no, take her. make an appointment, do not cancel it. take her.

after an argument, when your daughter refuses to hug you, do not be offended. do not make a sarcastic remark about how she is "really helping the situation," that will not help the situation either. only know that she is hurt, and that she is only sixteen.

when you buy your daughter acne treatment and teeth whitener and brand new makeup and pore strips and she refuses to use them, do not yell. rather, attempt to fathom why your daughter may be boycotting your unrequested purchases, and try to find three things about her more important to you than her appearance.

when your daughter tells you that last night she sat in her closet for an hour so that she could be safe from you due to the way her her heart races and her palms sweat every time she hears the sound of your footsteps outside of her room, please reevaluate the way you talk to your daughter.

when your daughter tells you that she is sick and that she cannot go to school for the fifteenth separate time this semester, ask her about in what ways she is feeling ill, because one does not contract the flu fifteen separate days over the course of five months. that is not how the flu works. it is not likely that she has been physically ill to the point where she will lay in bed until past the time she was supposed to be getting home from school. do not accept the fact that she has a "headache" and do not let her tell you that she is just fine, because she is not.

when your daughter stays up all night doing homework but does not complete her work, do not nag at her. do not tell her that you and her father are "just waiting for her to have a mental breakdown" or to “stay out of your face when she loses her mind” like you know she will, do not tell her for the twentieth time to get her life together. it will not help her get her life together.

when your daughter tells you that she thinks she may be depressed, listen to her. do not fail to notice the words "years" or "finally".
do not simply forget about it, do not wake the next morning and assume that just because she is at the breakfast table eating her cereal that all is well. do not assume that last night she did not make a detailed plan to **** herself and that the only thing that stopped her was a line of a song, and a boyfriend.

when you notice that your daughter has stopped going out with friends, stopped going to practice and stopped trying in school, do not yell. do not lecture. try to predict what she may stop doing next. but do not yell.

do not say things like that she is “upsetting  your  household” statements like that make it very clear in the head of your daughter that the household she lives in is not also hers, and that you do not want her around. do not make careless statements in front of your teenage daughter.

though you may not know that the most common word in all of her google searches is “depression,” it should not take that for you to realize that she has a problem. though you did not see her ask the internet how many of her vitamins she would have to take until she could be sure she would not wake up, it should never have gotten this far.

do not tell her that you are sorry. it will be too late.

I used to hurl myself at the idea                                  
that your body is a craving,                                        
a fire to be stroked.                                                      
Ne­ver did I feel that heat,                                            
the heat of skin on skin,maybe,
but the "fire in your *****"
"passion in the rippling bodies"
never.
Were my *****'s a little loose?
They all spoke another language
with their hips and lips
and the fingers grasping at the hem of my skirt.
I flicked them away.
Sent them dancing in reverse down my leg
and back to the party.

Forced myself to play into the ****** game
of who done who.
But I never lost a round.
And I never lost my *******, either.
Because once I felt the walls come down
I was a ghost.
I was water,
slipping through your fingers
left nothing but a wet spot on your trousers
and a little annoyance at your dumb luck.

Keeping my flowers on their stems.
I let the hands find me,
call it peer-pressure.

I let Lewis and Clark
explore my terrain.
They both left positive feedback
and told everyone
about their grand adventures
in my mountains and valleys
and swift, coursing rivers.

I was busy playing hide and seek
in the closet
with the boys and girls
and forgot to mention
that all I wanted
were a few kind words
and a hand to hold.

Busy keeping pace with the promiscuity
of my youth
and losing track of those sweet little wisps
of lovers,
fleeting.
Eluding my fingers,
slipping through them
like water,
leaving my eyes a little wet
and the rest of me
damp with a dark shade of gray.

Maybe I am just afraid.

of what?

Of everything.

For each word that never made it past my teeth
-harsh critics-
I am sorry
I told you I loved you last night in bed
and all you heard was my breathing
-waves on your shore-
I am sorry

For each step I should have taken that was frozen in my legs
-stone pillars-
I am sorry
I ran to the edge of the earth for you
where I heard the lilies were blooming
-empty vase-
I am sorry

For each song that suffocated in my hollows
-white noise-
I am sorry
I scored you a serenade for clarinet and bassoon
and your shutters heard nothing
-white noise-
I am sorry

For each quiver of my hands that has held me
chained to the anvils of fear
For the confidence I lack and the love I have not given
-myself-
I am sorry
For times I held truth by the throat underwater
and prayed you wouldn't notice the splashing
For those days I went sleep walking
-through prayers-
I am sorry
For the stability I cradle while sitting on dreams
singing songs we all know the words to
the song we've each written verses to
12 bars on each wall of this blue cage that we sing through
For the times we don't fight
For the times that we mean to
For the injustices that steal the peace from our silent nights
For the riotless streets
For thriving inequalities
For microphones and stages still wet with my ego
For the silence I keep
-when the world is listening-
I am sorry

Shake me
from these paralytic dreams
from the cloud of ideas and fantasy
-what is art but a landing?-

Shake me
make me rise up and face the music
climb out of myself and breathe
-what is prayer but respiration?-

Shake me
until my apologies are gone
and your house is full of flowers
and your ears are full of songs
and your heart is filled with this love of mine
your quivering hands shook free

Shake me
until I see beauty in truth
and truth in what we are made to be

***.
i wish we could have made that word into friction,
and droplets of ocean streaming off our bodies.

i've always thought that maybe something could grow
like a plant
between us,
plant its roots through our faces.
i always imagined that one harsh summer, sweaty
blanket night, after open mic,
we'd run the streets barefoot,
and you'd sing tom waits in your
rusty voice, like a garden pail
left out for a couple springs.

and you'd take me somewhere frightening and strange,
where i've never been, even though
my feet roam this tiny town even when my eyes are
sleeping.
then i'd tell you
that
heaven is a foreign concept to me,
and you'd whisper
that there is nothing realer than this earth,
and you would say it with passion, with a bite and a kick in it,
like good hot sauce;
your lips moving harsh and fast against
my stretched neck,
its skin begging for the weight of your kisses.

and then we'd recite poetry with our bodies
under a summer moon,
like an empty plate,
with august skin peeling off our bones,
leaving us raw and intertwined,
a knot of ferocious dreams, and thin
crunchy book pages.

words whispered loudly into the sweet
sweat of the dark,
your hands playing me like a violin
my body singing with your touch.

four cigarettes after;
two for our mouths,
and the others for our hungry hearts.

I woke up in the dark
Early in the morning.
I felt the hum along my skin that meant
You were next to me.
It was quiet
And in your sleep you were breathing hard.
I could feel the tension in you.
I'd never seen anyone so out of breath in a dream.
You sounded scared. You felt scared,
Next to me.
I opened my eyes, careful, and your half-shadowed brow was creased with...
Worry?
Fear?
Pain?
I couldn't be sure. Maybe it was nothing, but...
I felt for you, in that second.
You looked so young. You looked so hunted.
I almost shut my eyes again, unwilling to invade upon it-
Sleep is such a vulnerable thing, such a private thing.
I almost woke you with a kiss
And forced you to know I was there.
What if you were suffering?
What if you were terrified?
I almost woke you, right then,
And disrupted that strange, innocent rest-that-wasn't-restful.
I almost woke you because I couldn't take it anymore.
The way you were gasping air like you were dying.
I reached for you, indecisive,
Fingers hovering above your shoulder as if you were a flame I was getting too close to.
But instead
I steadied myself, pulled back.
And I took your hand, real soft,
And I just held it,
Making little circles with my thumb on your palm.
And I breathed with you,
And then slower, calmer, deeper,
In my head saying, "Shh, it's okay."
And I sent my love through my fingertips
To yours.
And I stayed like that, just breathing,
Trying to reassure you without you ever knowing it.
And as I did your breath slowed
And the strain left your body bit by bit,
And my heart broke a little
That perhaps I caused that.
That maybe in your head you'd been in pain
And maybe I had helped you breathe a little easier.
And I lay back down, carefully, gently,
And closed my eyes again
And let the warmth of your hand in mine
Comfort me
And the thought that maybe I had comforted you
Sustain me.

When I first saw you, I thought to myself:
"I really like her septum piercing."
And I told you.
You showed me how you could move it without touching it,
and I thought that was pretty cool.
Then I noticed your face.
Your beautiful, breath taking brown eyes that had the slightest hint of green.
Then I noticed your clothes, and how you carried yourself.
You always looked like you could punch someone if you needed to, but still elegant.  
Then I noticed your sense of humor, and your love for drugs.
Then I noticed the scars on your arm.
and I understood.
You were my friend.
You told me you were a model once, and honey, it was obvious.
You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met.
But you never believed me when I told you that.
You never believed anyone.
And maybe if you did, you'd still be here.
If we ever met again, I would make sure you knew.
I would make sure you knew how loved you were, and how amazing you are.
Because maybe if I told you more often,
maybe if you knew, or if we got you help,
just maybe..,
you wouldn't have left.
And just maybe, I wouldn't cry when a train passed my house.

Wake up, work, repeat.
Welcome to the world.
Wake up, work, repeat.
Enjoy your stay.

Eat breakfast, eat lunch, eat dinner.
Traffic will be the death of me.
Eat breakfast, eat lunch, eat dinner.
Paperwork causes paper cuts.

Sleep, exhaustion, repeat.
Tomorrow is just another day.
Sleep, exhaustion, repeat.
I'm calling in sick...

At five am this morning
I closed my door, quiet and slow, and
Crept out into the blackness.
It was silent.
Dead silent.
The stoplights were throwing velvety pools of light on the street
And I was drawn to the center of it
I placed my strides between the two yellow lines
And I started walking.
I just went.
I can't say whether five minutes passed, or ten, or twenty,
But eventually I left the road and doubled back
To the little bridge where you first kissed me.
And I sat there in the dark
With my legs dangling over a galaxy of reflected stars
Meteors with tails of mirrored streetlight,
Gold and shimmering,
A shadow cut-out of a person set in a silhouette of black water against a splash of light.
I lay my cheek on the cold metal of the rail,
And let it all seep into me-
The night, the cold, the glow of the stars.
My fingers brushed a little husk at the base of it
And I recognized the flower I'd placed there
Last time I'd walked across that bridge.
I'd been late. Late by a lot. Hurrying.
Rushing.
And I thought, Mikaila you are stupid for stopping to pick this flower.
But I did it anyway.
I always do it.
Every single time I walk over that bridge,
No matter who with,
I pick a flower
And set it at the base of that railing
In the spot where you kissed me.
I never give any explanation.
I just put one there, every time.
The tiny delicate thing crumbled at my touch
And the dust was taken by the wind across the shining water.
There I stayed for a long, long time,
And eventually I lay back and looked up at the stars.
There is a very bright one out this month,
A planet, somebody told me.
It was directly above me, glowing with cold, clear light,
And I told it
That I love you
And just then one of the tiny stars right by it
Dove across the universe
And landed in the lake at my feet.

Alone is a peculiar thing.
Sometimes on mornings like this, when I am sitting
At a lonely table,
Coffee in one hand to banish the cold,
Book in the other to banish the solitude,
I set them both down for a moment and
Ponder, stirring.
My spoon makes loud little clink-clinks,
And frothy pictures in the sweet steaming drink,
And I wonder:
How many separate mornings will I spend this way,
Having spoken to no one but woken at dawn?
Not a soul has heard my voice today, and it
Is nearly noon.
How many mornings of my life will be
Just like this?
A cup of coffee, a book,
And nobody looking about for me?
And am I lonely about it
Or just
Unsettled?