Looking at myself now,
I am not sure that I recognize
any piece of who
I used to be.

Our cells are constantly
replenishing and replacing,
and technically speaking,
I am not at all
the person I once was.

I understand that I
am a collection of my experiences
and that everything I have
done has led me to this moment.
I do not know what has come of
the choices I
made opposing this.

The patches of my skin
that only said yes
when they meant it have
peeled away and are
replaced by the fresh
tissue of compliance.

If I am
the sum of my experiences
then why are there no
scars on my thighs from
the times I smiled?
If I am
the sum of all of my experiences
then why is there
a fracture in my arm from
anger but not from love?

If I am really
the sum of all of my
experiences then
why does my body
only show my regrets?

My brother told me
that if I keep dressing the way I do
and cutting my hair short
I'm going to look like a man.

I hope so.

Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
no one will tell me I can't
listen to Van Halen because
"it's guy music".

Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
they won't think I'm the antichrist
when I kiss my girlfriend.

Maybe if people think I'm a man,
they won't expect me to shave my legs
and arms
and every other area with
"unsightly hair".

Maybe if people think I'm a man,
my teacher will not tell me
to make sure I marry someone
who can support my family
and will start telling me
how to ******* support my family.

Maybe if people think I'm a man
they won't get angry at me
when I refuse to send
pornographic photos of
my body.

Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will be able to walk home
at night without pepper spray
on my keychain in case
I look too "provocative".

Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will finally get treated
with some *******
**respect.

You asked me why I don't eat meat
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
They'll get killed anyways
and I didn't have a good argument
other than
I just don't want to be the reason.

You asked me why I felt so guilty about the cuts on your arm
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
I would have done it eventually anyways
and I didn't know what to say
other than
*I just never wanted to be the reason.

When it has been five days since
anyone told you they loved you
and no one has held your
hand in four months
and you cannot remember the
last time you felt wanted,
remember this.

People aren't meant to say I love you.
Those three words mean
so many things but somehow
they mean nothing and eight
letters thrown together into
a combination of
lines and spaces is not an
accurate representation of feelings.

They say I love you
in the way they smile when
you laugh at their jokes and they
say it in the way they shake their head
when you make a bad pun and
they say it with every
text message in all-caps at
two twenty-four in the morning
because something incredible
just happened and they had to let you know
and they say it with every
hug and high-five and punch in the arm
and with the way your name
bounces off their tongue
like a child making poor judgement calls
on a trampoline and

they will not tell you happy birthday this year
and they will take four hours to
text you back because
they got distracted and they
will call you an *******
(because you are one, sometimes)
and eat all your lunch
without saying please or thank you
and they will
forget to tell you they love you
when they say good night,

because people are not meant to say *I love you.

I was standing on a beach
in pitch black
when I realized I wasn't special.

Your entire childhood,
your dad tells you you're the smartest child he knows
and your mom tells you that you have the kindest heart
and your relatives tell you you're the most beautiful girl in the world,
And it isn't until your heart has been broken
by a boy who called you the one
or your best friend has stopped talking to you
for reasons you'll never fully understand
that you realize the only loved ones telling you the truth
were your brothers,
who pointed out your flaws
and tore apart everything you found beautiful
and destroyed every ounce of pride you had.
This is the only truth you can find.

On a scale of the universe,
no single star can be considered unique.

You spend your whole life
thinking how unprecedented you are
and how different your life is from everyone else's
And you're going to be different when you grow up,
you're going to follow your dreams
and live an amazing life
and you're going to travel
and have a one of a kind wedding
and your children will have unique names,
And one day you're in your dad's office
and you see all these people in cubicles
and you realize they all thought the same thing.

You may be a star
but the universe is infinite
and there are billions of stars
and no matter what your parents tell you,

Trust your brothers.

I want to destroy.
I want to burn,
to break,
to bleed;
I want to feel the sting
of shattered glass
tearing through the tough skin
of my heels.
To see red.
To ache.
I want to breathe smoke.

corrosion of the soul
happens slowly but surely
by crushing grind of monotony.

each day society tells me my
value is based on my function and production,
and little by little I am crushed by failing expectations
that are not my own.

my soul slowly corrodes into nothing, but
out of the vast emptiness, life emerges again.
I yearn to be free, and this time I bear my
wounds with honesty and dignity. I am
unashamed about my soul being free to be me.

I have value period, not based on function or production,
but simply because I have a spark of life within me.
a divine spark that gives brith to new life
within me each day, each moment.

Bad Day
When things seem rough,
life getting way to tough.
Feel like giving up,
drinking from a Dixie cup.
No food on the table,
been awhile since cable.
No money to be found,
too shy to make a sound.
Already ate dogs and cats,
lowering down to only rats.
Lost the house, and the car,
no more cookies in the jar.
Living now with mom and dad,
roof overhead, just be glad.
Looking for any kind of job,
tired of being a lazy slob.
Not a dime in the bank,
Only yourself to thank.
Burned all the bridges,
never was very religious.
All this happened in a day,
hoping soon to find a way.
Things could get no worse,
drug overdose, put you in a hearse.
Just another lost soul,
who had no self control.

Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.

Yes I am torching
ber curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.

How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers

till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.

I vomited
her hungers.
Now the ***** is burning.

I am starved and curveless.
I am skin and bone.
She has learned her lesson.

Thin as a rib
I turn in sleep.
My dreams probe

a claustrophobia
a sensuous enclosure.
How warm it was and wide

once by a warm drum,
once by the song of his breath
and in his sleeping side.

Only a little more,
only a few more days
sinless, foodless,

I will slip
back into him again
as if I had never been away.

Caged so
I will grow
angular and holy

past pain,
keeping his heart
such company

as will make me forget
in a small space
the fall

into forked dark,
into python needs
heaving to hips and *******
and lips and heat
and sweat and fat and greed.