Here I sit, as always.
I am waiting for life to find me.

Upon this ledge:
uneven pigtails,
cold glassy skin,
shattered chest,
for a nest of spiders
covered by frilly cloth.
It makes me feel beautiful.
The patterned plaid,
sewn by my mistress.

She made me without love,
untaught to my sisters;
handled, mishandled, carelessly.

My shell sits here like always,
waiting for love to find me.

The spiders tickle; so many.
Dust cloaks me from interested eyes.
My stare is blank,
HORROR movie scary.
I'm sorry, I don't know another stare.

Please someone see me,
deep where something should be.
I will wait atop this ledge forever.

I don't ask for much
a kiss now and then
To be spoken to
with reverence and kindness

My throat is somehow
not speaking its truth
these days
just a succumbing to every
whim but mine

and nothing to show for it
but this lousy t-shirt
that says "life is good"
It can't be that easy
where are the t-shirts
that proclaim the truth

*"Life is good as long as you
don't have a clue about anything.
Life is a conglomerate of
contradictions at which we all should
strive to embody the center of nonduality
for true inner peace."

The evening stars glow
Because I watch them do so
She says 'our love will never die'
But I have no visible reason to believe why
Faith is a crutch with a hairline crack
Forever is the stuff of romance novels and poetic hacks*...

He's the reason I flinch
Because when I'm with him he doesn't hesitate when hitting me
When you move to fast all I see is his fist

He's the reason I say sorry so much
Because he always made me apologize for everything I was
Everything I am And everything I will be

He's the reason I hesitate when saying love you
Why I can't trust like I want to
And why the people around me think I hate them for loving me

But maybe one day I won't flinch anymore
I won't say sorry as compulsively
And I'll be able to say I love you
To the people I trust

Maybe one day
I'll unlearn all the lessons he taught me
I'll forget how I loved when he hurt me
And move on

Maybe one day
I'll be happy

Stitches

How can I weep
for something I have not yet lost?
Perhaps it is because I can feel it slowly, surreptitiously
slipping away from me, and
I do not want to let it go.
I truly am endeavoring
to stitch this tear in my bedraggled heart,
but I am no seamstress.
I do not know how to mend or make amends with myself,
and I really don't know
if I want to.