Today, the pain is too much.
I get up anyway.
I get dressed.
I cry quietly so I don’t wake my roommate.
I fantasize about death,
about getting high,
about feeling good for a little while,
about feeling nothing.
I pause in the bathroom mirror,
staring at the shape of my hand closing it.
I breathe into the pain,
feeling everything.
I sob quietly.
I make myself face it,
the same way I make myself get up.
Keep going, keep going, keep going.
People will hate you if you k!ll yourself,
but those same people don’t answer your calls.
My pain is too much for me
and I know it’s every detail;
like a complicated tapestry.
I’ve traced every thread many times.
They don’t ask for my story.
They can’t hold any of it.
So why do I care that they don’t call?
I’m too much.

I hate this come down,
the feeling I get when he leaves.
The smell of his cologne
lingers on my skin
and my mind spins.

Everything good ends.
Maybe that's why I
don't like anything good.
Why can't I savor the pleasure?
What's wrong with me?

The future and the past flash before my eyes
like a movie reel that I can't stop.
He loses himself in me
and I leave my body.
I look to him to bring me back.

I can't find him behind his eyes.
He doesn't hear me when I speak.  
It's too fast and I feel sick.
The respect has been pulled from my body
in an instant, like a cloth from a table.

Pleasure turns to sadness
as soon as the door clicks shut.
My mind spins.
I hate this come down,
the feeling I get when he leaves.

I dreamed we were
running through puddles
and laughing.
When I opened my eyes,
I reached out for you in the dark.
My hand hit the back of the couch
and, for a minute,
I forgot where I was.
I forgot that you’re gone.

His love is quiet,
almost too soft to hear.
It's the gentle touch of his hand
on my back when I am sleeping,
just behind my heart.

Will I be the prodigal daughter
who returns?
Or the scapegoat
who escapes?

No matter how loud I cry,
she cries louder.

I can't help but
look over my shoulder
with every step.
Will she come after me?

No matter how loud I cry,
she cries louder.

In a way,
I'm still that little girl
reaching to be picked up
and no one is paying attention.

No matter how loud I cry,
she cries louder.

The wounds are as fresh as
the day they were made
and no one can see them
except me.

No matter how loud I cry,
she cries louder.

She won't look at me.
She's reaching to be picked up,
but she's grown.
And so am I now.

No matter how loud I cry,
she cries louder.

The difference between us is
I'd never put that burden on a child.
If a baby reached for me,
I'd pick her up and wipe her tears.

He comes into your life
without telling you his name.
He climbs onto your shoulder,
and chews the ends of your hair quietly
in the middle of a seminar.
You feel the weight of him sitting on you
and you want to crawl beneath your chair.

He keeps you from going to the doctor,
the therapist, the energy worker,
even your mentor, your sister, your friend.
You look around but you don't see him
visiting anyone else.
You try to hide him.
No one must see!  

You stuff him in the closet
when company comes.
They furrow their brows at you,
become withdrawn,
and suddenly
you feel him on your shoulder again.

They ask you why you don't go to the doctor
and you can't tell them.
I don't want to be seen.
I don't want the doctor to say,
"There's something wrong with you."
I don't want to be touched,
because I've been touched wrong before
and Shame stole my voice from me.

Dreams for sale
the problem with dreams is
everyone’s looking to buy
looking to sell

I hate pretentious poets
Bukowski is the man for me
even he was selling a lifestyle
selling an image

there are studies now that show
trauma impacts the speech center of the brain
that’s why speech is “delayed” in some young children
who’ve experienced trauma

the speech wasn’t late
they were made speechless by the cruelty of this life
maybe that’s why so many of us are drawn to poetry and rap
because we can’t speak

these words are not for sale
they are my salvation
I'm not selling a dream here
just spitting out a reality between clenched teeth