i feel like you stripped me bare,
gathered the rough edges and threw away the soft ones.
at some point,
the sharp points dull and then we can say we won't
have weapons to use upon each other.


i like-like you
and i hope you feel it, too.
we still have energy in our
lousy, late night bones
so lets do something about this,
get caught in a fire
and let it burn to our
temporal lobes.
i want to taste the
aftermath of how you once
thought too much
and read too little,
but i know we can only
ease into it.

let's take it slow.

Chapter I

I once was young minded,
vulnerable with wide tooth grins
and fluttering words,
binding soft skin with liquid
metals - like gallium,
clustering in my ribbed fingertips and
letting love level in my lips.
I turned old the day I watched
rough bodies portraying the new style
of
***
on a vhs tape, and he
gave me a shaking milkshake to
turn off my developing
voicebox.

I always wore this barbie nightgown
that had tears from the nights before,
but that's ancient dust that folks
flip past in encyclopedias.
as he knelt down to tie my veins
together in little bows,
I untied after each loop was set in
my bones.
his acidic fingers braced my eight
year old metal frame,
so I broke the nuts and bolts since
I wanted to see if he was
a part of the human race,
I wanted to see if he could bleed
iron-richness that kept myself breathing.

Chapter II

he was beautiful.
his philosophy branched in
segments and he tasted of
earthy tones, but sometimes
he couldn't smile easy and
I felt his love only in acts of passion.

The football game stuttered in
pure vertigo,
as if my body was still
positioned in missionary.
he held me in concern, his arms
laced as protection from myself.
as a survivor, his words felt like
whiplash or lagging from too much
flying in the high altitude.
I needed to forget, float, forgive
and begin the process over again.
I would never see the shades of love
from anyone other than from him,
his words used to brand me.

Chapter III

I drank too much.
I wished on meteorites,
lead-filled, hoping they wouldn't
fall on the tent.
my luck was never strong enough.
I felt as if a wildfire was singeing
my dysfunctional limbs.
I wanted him off. now.
and my tongue was made of
parchment paper. crisped.

I woke up ten after nine.
my body repulsed me,
throwing up the last of poisonous
alcohol I left stranded the
night before.
I devoted that I will never sleep in
a tent again.

Chapter IV

I am finally free.
I still have energy in these
old bones,
and I want to put them
to good use.
so I'll walk for centuries to
find truth and trust.
I use my voice to tell myself
I am  more profound than the
surface film those insignificants swept
on my skin.
I found my voice again.

today is  named after avalanches,
accumulating up the thick snow
on televisions and
bad language slipping from our
basement convictions.
sometimes we gotta burn them down
instead of holding them up to
let the animal instincts feast.
even if it is love,
like loose change and
lopsided grins,
just begging for a nickel to
maybe get our secrets straight.
or even for the sheets full of ghosts,
phantoms that hold still
when all you want to do is keep
running.
sometimes, even when we sprint,
we aren't fast enough to
explode the truth from our twisted tendons
and stressed in ligaments.
and when we finally cremate the last of our
silhouettes that kept biting at the
frostbitten hills of our familiar perimeter,
all we can do is wish to go back
to the days when the snow
could cover our tracks
instead.

the dendrites don't know what's right anymore.
the tipsy balance is falling off the table,
and there's nothing there to stop it.
gravity is such a *****.
but, so are a lot of things,
and i can't seem to grasp onto anything good
anymore by standing
right in front of the doors
that lead to something better.
i knew it when i found my body
still in the second row of the
dark movie theater,
crying at the smiling stars
on the explosion of a projection screen.
i'm pretty sure i was feeling
sorry for myself
lapping up some kind of
enlightenment.

i've been too nice for too long,
but i've been old since the
day i turned eight.

that was when i learned about
the rough bodies
portraying the new style of
***
on a vhs,
and my eyes stung
because i didn't want to watch
and it seems to hormone driven
boys that it's ingrained in my dna.
i have been uncomfortable for ten years now.

but not as winded on the
day it burned a hole in
my solar system,
the milky way
told me to love the metal hearts
and
always be kind.
i can't do that anymore,
there's too much anger
in my stomach
for my body not to
convulse in shame.
it was never my fault,
but everyone else likes to think so
and
i've always held it gently
so no one else would have
to breathe in sawdust
and exhale hurt.
i always had it covered
with my hands lined with
fortunes.

palms,
can you tell what's in store for me now?

you read me  like braille.
connecting the dots and then crushing them down,
as if they didn't exist,
i'm just a selfish girl.
i heard your favorite sonata
colliding between your headaches
and headphones,
but i wanted you to listen to me instead.
i could tell by the language your body
created,
careless,
brittle even,
but you'd never admit to such
an inclusive map like the one
you picked up on your last
travel through the desert.
and once you got back to
Pennsylvania, you spoke of
how sometimes the nights were
frigid and how the sun bloomed
always, like the day i
reached the level of
vocabulary words
and the attraction
i found between me and
some boy.
i didn't think he'd stick with
my indecisive storm watches
or the fact that i loved the
way shooting stars meant
nothing really.
they were just strikes through the
sky that caught nerves.
so every once in a while when
i catch you speaking
in temperatures,
i guess i don't have the right
furnace to burn through it.
maybe it's selfish,
but i have my own thoughts to
cool down before
i tend to yours.

i could be a contortionist,
i would have bent backwards for a touch
of your cigarette lips and
i could unscrew my bolts to weld against
your plastic case.
your shell you carry is uninviting,
yet i want in.
i promise not to promise,
when you hold your
bird caged  bellows in,
the ones that left you long ago.
i will take your lion frame
and form it in
the comfort and shelter
i have discovered
in the gray weather systems
and your blue eyes.
i can't give you my lungs,
but i could help you breathe a little softer.

i won't give you my heart,
but i could lend you some of it's
articulation,
fascination,
like how your hand fits in mine.