i can see in your little ringlets clumped around your ears and pushed off your neck
how you tried so hard to stop him
and i can see your ***** and chewed-off fingernails
how difficult it was for you to leave
on a cold morning from his warm arms,
from those four walls, and the full kitchen, and the blankets and the coffee and the books.

you're brushing your teeth in the sink next to me
and you're not looking at the mirror
or anything.
your purse fell off the counter and a few things fell out
hairspray; a ballpoint pen; a tube of mascara; a bottle of water.
i don't know why these things were the only ones i remembered.
why didn't i look closer at your face?
because when i handed you your pen you didn't say anything,
just held open the bag and stretched your lips into an almost-smile.
i remember your bangs covering over half your face,
and i remember the cut just below the left half of your lips.

i remember the way your permanently-damp skin clung to your bones,
like dew on a flower,
and the sides of your shoes were falling apart.

i wish i could tell you how much of an impact you had on me in those 30 seconds,
but even more- i wish you found home and that you're happy.

I said that I would wait.
I put it down in words.
Even though the distance was slowly and painfully beginning to settle in,
I said I would wait.

I promised that regardless of what happened,
I’d wait,
Because somewhere, deep inside me, I knew we were worthy of it.

I returned,
Heavy bag in hand, tired eyes, heart full of hope,
But you weren’t waiting.

You stopped waiting.
You didn’t even have the courage to tell me about her.
After all our history, the years, the growing, the learning, the tears,
I thought you’d maybe wait.

But you didn’t.
You were gone before I could even touch you, smell you,
Hold you.

You didn’t wait.
And now, I sit here.  
I sit and wait,
I wait…
And wait…
But I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.

Because you were gone before I could even whisper “wait”.

Gorgeous girls never flock to me
with my goofy grin and icy feet
Sure some pretty ones come
and talk to me
But I look inside and what
do I see?
Emptiness, some worries about
what people think and a thick
vein of vanity

Don't get me wrong, smooth skin
is nice and makes me think
of giving in, but where's the
beauty of a wrinkled brain?
Where is the darling charm
that comes from thinking?
Give me crows feet from years
of laughing
maybe some scars for kissing
and a stubborn idea or two
to keep me guessing

Because flawless hair is nothing
compared to a flawed but thoughtful
mind
and big chested, large rear-ended
doesn't have scratch on imaginative
and inventive
**** walks combined with hips
can't hold a match to intelligent words
pouring from chapped lips

So here's to hoping that
sometime soon, I'll get the chance
to stumble and fall into a
wrinkled brain romance

In the corridors of the body,
In the halls of the jagged ribcage,
I milk the stars in her eyes
In a field of tissue and organs.
They fall from my memory
Into the hummingbird heartbeat
Which makes my body
Nostalgic warm.

I hated the way childhood tasted
Like sticky kisses from unfamiliar lips,
But I remember you softly,
As though thinking too hard about it
Would shatter the memory.

You’ve nested in my brain
And kept my small hands warm
With your big heart.
You are channeled into me
The way west winds
Whisper their messages in and out
Of metropolitan suicide suites,
Telling us not to jump,
To put the knife down,
Not to pull the trigger and
To get off the chair-
You are a lifesaver
In ways we can’t count on fingers
And toes.

My mood swings like a pendulum
In a long-broken clock
And I gently fray at the edges.
I can feel your hand on my face
And I am comfortable like a cloud.
I give my entire heart to you
Neck and all
And in return, you give me yours
Pale, pretty wrists and all.

Somehow, through the dresses,
The curled hair and the pink nails,
I felt you reaching into me
From some private distance
With eyes, hands and body.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

you were curling my hair around your fingers and laughing at the shape of them
  or maybe you were just laughing at me,
         I’m not sure.
and then I told you I loved you and you smiled—
                  ok that didn’t happen—
what happened was you pulled at the curls you just made in your own hands
until they weren’t attached to my head anymore.
     it didn’t hurt, I think.
    and then you put them in your pocket and ran away
                                  and then you fell and she picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away too.
then you came back and said whoops, sorry but you still didn’t give me them back
         I don’t know if I even want them back.
on the way to the place with the people and the things in the car you winked at me
or maybe you had something in your eye,
but I smiled and you said that’s fine so I cried for a little and then it was just us
but I was still scared she was going to put you in her pocket and run away again
     but you told me not to worry.
and then we were swimming in the pool
but then I looked down and it wasn’t a chlorine-colored blue
  it was red like the sun at sunset but it wasn’t sunset and there was no sun;
      I felt ok but you didn’t and you pulled a knife out from under the pillow—
               the one in your room—
and that’s when I finally realized you were going to be the one to **** me
and I also realized I was ok with it
because better you to **** me than some other shmuck,
you know?
      the only problem was I wasn’t the first one you killed,
or it should have been a problem,
or rather they all said it was a problem;
but it wasn’t.
and then we were rolling around in the grass,
and I lost an earring and you said whoops, sorry and I kissed you anyway
               but you didn’t kiss me back
but you pretended to and that was alright so I went with it
      but then you didn’t want to go all the way and I was ****** but pretended I wasn’t
and then you said shhhhhh and then you grew wings and flew away
and left me there for the birds to eat
while she grew wings to be with you so you weren’t alone.
and then we were sitting on your porch swing and it was swinging slowly
and you looked straight into my eyes for hours while I talked about nothing
but then you started to talk about something
and then I got really happy
and then we started swinging so fast that we were in the sky,
         but we weren’t, really.
and then she stopped the swing and picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away again.
     this time you didn’t come back.
then I turned into ***** and told you I was ok with it.
                   and then I cried.
               and then I woke up.

A clinging fear of the
Creatures beneath our beds,
Lurking and waiting for a
Dangling foot, a quivering
Finger serving as bait.
We promise and swear we can
Hear them, snapping and growling from below.
But they vanish when light floods the
Room and a comforting voice
Chases them away.

They say it’s imagination,
But we all really know the truth
Of when we stopped looking
For the monsters-
We stopped looking when we realized they
Had moved somewhere closer,
We stopped searching once we stopped pretending they
Hid under our beds.
We stopped when we felt our hearts
Stir and our stomachs twist
As the monster gnawed at us from
Inside.