when you were a child,
they told you you were special:
you picked flowers instead of playing with dolls,
you colored in the lines when everyone else finger-painted,
you were shy and it was sweet

when you were with others,
you felt un-special:
you were afraid,
you never wanted them to dislike you,
you held your tongue even when you had no words

when you were alone,
you wondered what was so special:
you didn't relate to them,
you weren't understood,
you were a misfit in a place with no norm

when you were sad,
they told you you were un-special:
you were having a hard time adjusting,
you were new in an unfamiliar place,
you would be okay

when you were afraid,
they told you you were un-special:
you didn't try to be strong,
you had a bad outlook,
you were in control

when you were with friends,
you felt so special:
you told them your name,
you laughed,
you let them see the person that has a hard time sleeping at night

when you were in love,
you felt so special:
you were embraced,
you cradled their heart,
you were loved for everything you tried to hide

when they left,
you felt so un-special:
you blamed yourself,
you thought you were worthless,
you slept away your life

when you cried in front of them,
they told you you were special:
because nothing else could explain why you cried so much

you treat people
like a scarf you take remove at springtime,
like clothes that have gone out of style,
like a burnt piece of toast,
like a piece of fruit that has gone too ripe,
like plants that will not bloom,
like an umbrella after the rain,
like your hair you finally cut,
like the makeup you take off at night,
like a date that isn't working out,
like the morning you leave someone's bed.
but yet you think
i'm important to you.

what you don't know
is that a voice of your own
comes out through your throat.
you hear it like a siren call--
how can i escape?
is there a fire?

what you don't know
is that you're not a bomb.
you were made with no fuse,
no timer,
no intent to self destruct.
you have no fate.

what you don't know
is that your mother and father
would rather hold you
as someone they never expected
than find your familiar body,
lying there, without your voice.

what you don't know
is that the world you fear
does not fear you.
it has homes for you,
like nests,
that are not in exile.

what you don't know
is that you are far more beautiful
when you cry for help
than when you laugh in fear,
but you are most beautiful
when you blame yourself
for neither.

i heard there are a thousand ways
to greet your body;
twenty one keep me up at night.
i don't know if i'm happy or sad
when i think of your skin.
its warm tone is the brightest star
in my universe, and i'm stuck
orbiting around it,
surviving off its rays.

i can't want you more.

when we last kissed,
over a thousand days ago,
something was taken from us,
locked up in a safe
we both have keys to.
maybe it's grown--
maybe larger than we can hold.

i can't love you more.

i've forgotten how you taste,
and that's a sin,
and i've forgotten
your glance, too.
don't be a stranger;
we're already so strange,
wanting to lap each other up,
but holding our jaws shut tight.

i can't stand it anymore.

i'm here for you,
with you, by you, inside of you.
i'd lie here naked for you,
but it's too cold
to sleep here alone,
exposed.

i remember when someone kissed my hipbones last:
it was years ago, in the dark.
you don't know now how long it's lasted,
like a disease eating away at the bone
where the sweet warmth of kisses should be.
i miss the way you pulled me to your core,
yet your hands were hooks,
puncturing me
"catching me"
like stealing a fish from the place where it is free,
only to cut its head off,
scale it,
filet it,
until it's easy to eat.
i'm in a bed like a net that has protected me
from falling into a canyon of fear,
drowning in its tumultuous rivers
which beat me against rocks.
when i can sleep again
maybe i'll find someone else to join me,
someone who will let go when their kisses are dry.

every day, you burdened me
with your heavy, heavy hands.
you called it love--
then why do i feel like i'm sinking?
if you let me escape,
you'd have no way
of displacing your hate and resentment.
don't worry, babe,
i was too strong to see i was weak.
so you pushed me harder and called it passion,
choked me tighter and called it fervor,
ruined me longer and said you didn't know.
i was too weak to see that i'm strong.

you're the one
who crept into my chest.
i've saved you a spot;
it waits here now, unfilled.
no one else
claims space here.
what they would find
is a home for you.

you're the one
who kissed my lips
with the intention of bleeding
your warmth into me.
no one else
would give a part of themselves
as tender, no matter
what the word 'love' meant.

you're the one
who brought me to your bed,
for the sunshine and swollen bliss
that could inspire.
no one else
knew the joy of time;
they thought space was an enemy,
and touch a savior.

you're the one
i want to see in the morning.
your sleepy face
could hold a whole day.
no one else
could make me want a tomorrow.
they ran away
from the hole in my chest
that seems to be fit
for you.

i sat with you in the dark
so i wouldn't have to see you looking
at me
for me
inside of me

because all i had
were echoes of (  ( ((you)) )  )
resonating (inside)
hiding from your look

when you left you said you loved me
maybe you do
somewhere (i(n(s(i)d)e)
your fear of yourself,
buried under avoidance
                               (love)
and behind bitten tongues
                                             (love)
and within the choking realization that you
                                                           (love)
are you

i sat with you in the dark
so you wouldn't have to see me looking
at you
near you
inside of you
where i wanted to be

because all you had
was the want to keep                      /// hidden,
holding yourself
like someone who doesn't need to be held

when you left you let me hold you
and you held me, too
(closer) than anyone had been
since you realized you
                             (love)
have you
               (love)
inside you
(love)
were i live,
too,
behind the fear

i sat with you in the dark
so you wouldn't have to see me cry
when you said you had to   l   e    a       v             e                      

because you always leave
when you find me
(inside) of you

my favorite color is the color of your skin,
like the amber with bugs in it
(except there are no bugs,
just pieces of your mind and your heart
which--thank god--i can't carve out
and put on a pendent,
just to have something touching me at night,
when my sheets are too thin to warm me
but too thick to let my lungs breathe with ease
the cold air which strikes me like a bullet to the throat,
unlike your arms around me
which hold me like a rib cage,
breathing with me in synchronized whispers)

i'll wait for your hands
which will read my skin like braille,
saying "touch me,
hold me like you'd hold the full moon,
with sunshine on it,
glowing for you."

then you'll read my body like a map,
you'll see the sensations
running through my chest
to my limbs:
"kiss here,
stroke here,
wrap your arms tightly here."
my body will say this to you
in a language i know you speak.

i'll breathe deeply with you
because i want to share the air--
can you believe our lungs
surround the same world?

then i'll kiss you
on your x-marks-the-spot,
and you'll whisper with every exhale,
"never stop.
you know who i am."
then we will fall asleep
because we are home.

i hate when i can feel
my pulse in my fingertips,
like my blood is trying to escape
but can't flee from the reality of my skin
     (which is only a trick to make us believe
      we're whole in ways we're not,
      solid in ways we cannot translate
      to thoughts and feelings and words
      without making us believe that somehow
      the curve of a body is real enough
      to provoke a stare,
      or permit a touch,
      or a whole-hearted feeling of need)
which is a thing that dies in the sun
and tells us it's cold to be alone.
when was the last time
i felt hope in my body?
why can't my blood run to that?

in the dead or night you're the most alive
(like a thick gasp in my throat
which lingers beyond my breaths)
(yet not in my mind
where the other thoughts fight)
you've lasted longer than my hair and my nails,
nearly as long as the cells in my bones.
how do you live past your presence?
(and how can i bottle you up,
keep you in a jar on the top of my shelf
where i can pull you down on a rainy day?)
how do you speak when your tongue is at rest?
how do your stir me when you are asleep?
how do my dreams know to bring me to you
so we can speak in the same air?
how do you live in me?
(how are you here right now?)

your name hits me at night
like a slap to the face,
the six letters of your name
sitting like lead on the part of my chest
where you used to sleep,
even when you weren't near.
i don't dream of you anymore;
maybe my mind is done with you
eating away at it like a parasite,
killing it from the inside.

my joints started popping
and my back started aching
right around the time I started sleeping
in the fetal position,
holding my legs to my chest
to feel like nothing could hurt it.
my heart started racing
and breathing started hurting
right around the time I started thinking
of nothing but your name,
remembering the poison you left inside me
and the stain you left on my body.
my body started shrinking
and my bones started showing
right around the time when you couldn't
get enough,
destroying everything you took
while always stealing more.
but my limbs started resting
and my chest started breathing
right around the time when i filled my life
with things besides you.

sometimes you're a sickness when you're inside of me,
sometimes you're a cure

you always had a big heart
and weak, tiny guts.
someone could rip out your hair--
"stop it!"
pull away
they won't stop

your big heart made you stay,
your tiny gut conjuring no more than guilt
and dull eyes when he says he loves you

five foot two,
small enough to feel powerless
big enough to feel like you could do more,
more than lie there on your back.
but you've got tiny, tiny guts
and your heart had wilted

you left but he's not gone.
he's lingering where your body sees no sun
and in your throat when you feel you're choking.
he touched everything.
he touched every part of your life

      why are you so afraid
      when you've got such a big, strong heart?

      why are you so cold with that blanket wrapped around you?
      why can't you sleep when you're exhausted?
      why can't you eat when you're hungry?
      why can't you cry when you're sad?

now it's a new day in a new city
in a new home with a new love.
      why can't you go outside?
      why can't she touch you?
      why do you have nightmares
      when you've smiled all day?

you're a work in progress!
let her hold you,
and let your big heart pump blood
to your tiny, tiny guts

i don't know why i use the word 'vulnerable'
when i could instead show you a picture of my eyes at midnight,
when the rest of the world has moved toward rest
and i have moved to unrest,
placing pillows around my body to simulate warmth
of arms i do not know.

lately i've been dreaming
of someone i don't know
pulling me closer
to all the warm places
that i do not care for
on you

i don't know your name
but i can already hear myself whispering it
when you wrap yourself around me