i am not an inbetweener

not a spaceholder

not a coma in your sentence

I will not hold the back of your bike

Chasing you down the street

Afraid you will wipe out

Scraping your knees on life

I deserve to be an abstract metaphor

Floating under a tree

Sun setting on my glistening shoulders

You should have to think before you speak

To me

Of me

For me

I will not be a flashlight

Or a traffic light

will not be your morse code

I am cursive- calligraphy-poetry on the leaves

Not messages on the inside of the bathroom stall

(of Chauncey’s, Stubbies or The Top)

Written for everyone

Never taken to heart

I will not harden my soul to put up with you

I will remain squishy forever

Powerfully squishy, silky liquidly wonderful

Riddles will drip from my tongue like ink

If you don’t understand it

I am not meant for you

Drowned and dripping

White wine princess

My dresses will flow out of your life

With a quickness

And you will be stuck

Dreaming about the taste and texture of my skin

I swallow the silence

coming out of a nightmare

rising from the depths

reaching your fingers from the darkwater

pulled to safety

introduction to air.

I am a dark crystal in sunlight

i don't shine when i should

only for the grotesque figures

on their gentle moonlit float.

No beauty

no solace

leaving only space to gasp in the badness

bleed it out new

crisp, farm fresh, warm daisies, jello from the mold, dresses that twirl in the wind - goodness

without the victims knowing

passing all from grip to grin

I eat the darkness

i drink the cold

i birth the light

and let it wander

into the mason jars of small smilers

giant eyes on little faces

pinkies up to the sky

teacups full of imagination

leave you sitting on the porch

years later

trying to relive it all-

And then for you

I swallow the silence.

i want to scribble all my secrets

on the inside of your giant palms

let you squeeze them out of exsistence

lay my sweating worried forehead near you heart

hyponitize myself to the beat

fasten myself around you like strings to a guitar

and be rhythm

and be harmony

and be noise upon noise upon noise

layered to your liking

and all at once quiet

with my nose to your nose

so close i can't remember what color your eyes are

so close i don't feel anything but the deep blue hole

only a soul on a soul

i dream of just being the light

the speckles that escape between the shades

and dance on the floor

as the wind rustles the blinds

i want to be wrestled into harmony

pushed into fantasy

kidnapped by bliss

and if it can't come for me

i want to scribble all my secrets

on the inside of your giant palms

-there they might be safe from me

There is no connection here

Severed-

You love you like the four year old buries a goldfish

Tail in the air- falling towards the water

And then forgotten

In the blink of a flush



Me in a funeral box

Me wailing and beating for life

On the velvet solidity

Me falling further from breath



There is no connection here

Cut-

You like a bad paper snowflake

Snipped one time too many

Left crumbled

At the bottom of a trash can



Me dangling out of the oven

Me- Porcelain stillness

Me dried by the carbon flow

On linoleum



There is no connection here

And there might never be one

But for this quiet instant

We should just exist

No strings no arrows no bows

Shot out into the night like air

from air

to air

magnetic connecting ions

butter on toast

risen on something

to fall mouth open on something else



I want to water your dry petals

I’m beginning to think my hands
don’t belong to me
They grip for things I don’t want
Hold hands with people I don’t need
Put things in my system that i
Am highly allergic to
Like almonds, sesame seeds, and despondency
They are always holding onto garbage
That I think I’ve thrown away
There is always a folded gum wrapper or a straw cover
Betwixt my lonely digits

Sometimes they choke me
until I lose myself completely
and wake up somewhere
far-off  and dark
with sweat everywhere but my palms

I’m beginning to think my hands
Don’t like me
That I am just an appendage to them
That all my other parts
Know who is really in charge here
There is a phantom feeling
Of other hands holding them tight
And when I look down
it’s just them
single-handed
And sinister

The nails on them grow too fast
I can’t keep up
Knives clumsily dangling
At my sides
At all time
I want to wear mittens in summer time

I’m beginning to think my hands
Would betray me at any chance
Are just waiting for the opportunity
For me to look away in the shower
Or put them down on a table of weapons
And forget them there.
What do they need me for?
They flirt better,
Hold on tighter,
And fight harder to live then I ever could.

I don’t feel safe with them
Call an authority
Handcuff me to a solid surface
(hold them tight until help arrives)

I just have to admit that my body is astonishing.
My skin is other worldly-
I glisten like an alien goddess.
My heartbeats of its own fruition-
air grows in my lungs and blooms
on the surrounding surfaces. I
have a power that lives between my thighs-
and when I focus it on an object-
that object crumbles in my lusting wake.
My fingernails grow to fierce and frightening lengths
and rap upon the earth with bubbling impatience.
My legs flow like water into my jeans
and ***** out of them.
(I make you question your understanding of words like lady,
*****, ******, sensuality, knowledge and maybe even manhood)
Shoulders that drip delicately with all my emotions-
you can feel my depth in the warmth of  my soul
as your hand grazes the small of my back.
I am every song ever written,
every note ever played,
every thought you have ever had
at an ungodly hour
in ripped jeans
and an off the shoulder sweater.
(I am understated provocative librarian ***
on top of a cool metal desk
next to the life changing novel you read,
my back arching over the paperwork you
can’t begin to think about because
of the way I look laying over them
with one stiletto still on and the other caught on my big toe
calling to you)
My tongue is wet with enthusiasm
My fingers are laced around humanity
Every piece of me is alive with the knowledge
That my body
Is
Astonishing.

In me, you are- wet and thick;
I wish to rub you between my *******.

I can feel you, in me, taking your course,
Driving my muscles to pump.
Oh how steady; sturdy; rhythmic you are.
You understand what it means to be muscular.

Right side
******* in anti-air.
Force a change in me
Until I can breathe what you have to offer.

Left side
Marrying life to the rest of my person.
Each Ventricle is built as follows:
Low to the ground is strong
But the heavens of what you stake,
Quake weak and deathly .

A process larger than the width of my sorrows
And holding me together as I fall apart. Vividly-
I picture: you are, sweet and damp, in me.
Driving my muscles to pump
Coursing too fast to fathom
like a mighty stream of ***** from a toddlers mouth.

Oh how balanced; holy; constant you are.