I might miss you—
Every hole in your jeans
And flyaway hair;
I might have saved that crooked smile,
Kept it close,
Carried it with me to the bus stop
And the bakery that makes my favorite egg sandwiches.
Maybe I counted every stutter, every heavy blink of your eyes as you fell asleep.

I might have stared your demons in the eye,
Kept them away during the night
(I've never been scared of the dark).
I could have kissed the scars on your hands,
The bruises on your knees.
It's possible you meant more to me
Than the autumn leaves
And the stars that stay frozen in place outside my window.

Maybe you knew me,
My bright lipstick and lack of self control,
The pale birthmark on my neck;
You might have memorized every curve of my lips,
Pensive sighs,
As I let you see the fear behind my wide blue eyes.

Maybe you filled the cracks I'd never admit I had
(It hurts just to say it now),
Found the fragile pieces and wove them into a blanket to keep me warm.
It's possible you saw the lies I carry,
The spiders with their gnashing teeth and blood-red eyes,
And stood by me all the same.
Maybe you called me, suddenly, on your way to work,
Surprised to find yourself wanting me, though we'd just left each other.

We might have been in love,
But those three words burned in our throats,
We could only choke out ashes, not even a spark.
Now every trace of fingertips across our hearts only brings up dust,
Settled deep in chambers and arteries for heaven knows how long,
Made from the memory of my lipstick, the holes in your jeans,
And everything we might have had,
If only we'd allowed ourselves to recognize it.

lie down
with me
cry
with me
climb
through
the sky
with me
wash away
the tears
from
my eyes
to see
and
fly with me

My pulse is racing
I can feel their eyes on me
My heart is aching
What is it they want to see?
My legs are quacking
I feel like I'm drowning in an endless sea
My life is a endless berating
Keep walking, don't look like your in a sense of urgency
With a final burst of energy
My daily task is complete
I've made it to the safety
Of Period III

Time is like a throwing star; It has many apexes

Raise your voice and society will silence you. Be excited about the future and the news will deter you. Be emotional about your losses and tolerance will be little. Be numb about your existence and you'll fit right in.

*djm

I feel my flesh move rivers
Staring down the clammy skin on my stomach
Looking into the face of a stranger
Body count?
Maybe four
I don't remember exactly
I put my legs up and let his body move like clockwork
It is the easiest position for me to detach
As far as I know, I keep watching the same movie
Man, in front of me
Man, ****** on
Man, inside of me
That is the moment I close my eyes
And stop watching.
That is the moment my PTSD tells me
I am not in control anymore
That is the moment I hold my breath
Dig my nails into his wrist
His throat
His eyes
So he will stop looking at me like that
So the world will stop looking at me like that
Sleeping with guys whose names you cannot remember
Makes you a **** these days
But blacking out does not always come from drinking.
He gets off
And rolls you to the bed of grass next door
He says
"That was fun."
You say
"Until next time."
And walk into the future
Onto the next one
Nameless, faceless
Leaving you
Naked, alone.

Dear God, I’m an unbeliever,
if there was a higher power
i don’t think you’d let me leave her,
with the pain and despair I’m finding
you’d think the power you held would
allow you to come out from hiding
being the veil of what you claim to be
and the honesty extends beyond me
I’m not speaking with any selfishness
only with selflessness to guide me
away from your declarations of
mandations that mould foundations
for nations that struggle under your hand,
it’s all part of “God’s plan” only if
the blueprints call to stand and watch
everyone crumble beneath the cries
to higher powers while the darkness pours
and showers, soaking sanity and the ignorance
of humanity.

Dear God, I’m an unbeliever
I’m writing to an entity,
a supposed supreme deity
foreshadowing naive spontaneity
for those who have no one else,
I hate writing with the topic of self,
but the constant lack of health
brings not an illness
but a stillness in progress,
I’ll pick up the gun **** it,
I'll fill my body with pills
and begin to rock it,
and will there be a hand to halt?
nay, only a finger to point fault.
any god, any being wouldn’t let sadness
flow through a spineless body,
whether a monotheistic mantra
moralizes a mental mantle or
a polytheistic point towards a
pleasant prefixed phase of
past problems postpones
present’s purity,
I’m writing to a transparent
inexistent foster parent
letting me cross the road
without looking both ways,
so, dear god, if you see this
let me count my life in years, not days.