I keep waiting to write the poem
that changes everything.
That twists my whole perception of the world
and its perception of me too.

Is it obtuse
to think that I have words worth reading
thoughts worth seeing
printed in ink
and published on page after page?

Is it stupid of me to think
I could quit everything else
love nothing else
and be one of those sad artists
who dies alone in a room
so inspired by my own complexities,
that I don't need a view?

What is that like?
To be so sure
and passionate
that everything else is static
to know
or at least feel
like nothing is more beautiful
or delicate than that art...

To never be abandoned again
or fail
or is it always failure?

And wouldn't I like to fail?
Just for a minute
and take it all back
if the taste is too bitter.

I keep waiting to write the poem that changes everything.
The poem that changes me.
That makes me brave
or better
softer or stronger
I don't care which.

I want to be that fluid, translucent being
whose tears are written into her skin  
whose desires stream out like songs.

But I can't write that poem.
And if I change anything,
the one thing
would change everything
and I am scared to leave this girl
whose skin is so thin
and whose heart is open to bleed out
with nothing
more than a never-used,
sharp pen
if I never write that poem.

Let’s go out and walk along the river
—just you and me
We’ll trade a bloodied rag like we once traded days.
And I will remind you of every I love you
and you will remind me why they amounted to nothing.

Let’s walk after dark
with no one there to see us.
Two bodies and heels clicking like crickets
with secrets that scream like sirens
I HATE YOU FOREVER
—and the next second not...
and no one around to see us.

Dust will settle over our toes
and time won’t shake it free,
Shattered glass, a ****** nose
and my once alabaster sheets.

Walk with me to my funeral.
I swear no one can see,
you can carve your name into my hand
and I won’t even bat an eye.

I will ask you to do the same to my head, my breast,
the nap of my neck.

We’ll walk by the river after dark
and when you walk away
killing me
no one will see.
And you’ll leave the ****** rag at my feet.

And I will whisper,
Again, again, again.

We fight daily wars
And it changes us
The fight to survive and pretend to thrive
Buy and buy
How much for your time?
Your day or year
At least they buy yours
At least you get to pick your cage.

The house and the fence
Porches and pets
Maybe love.

And that should be enough
You must not be greedy
See how they give to needy
See how the pleading stirs their soul
And aren’t you thankful
For all that you have.

you will not miss me
because I do not intend to go

you will not miss me
because I will stay strong

Somehow.

you will not miss me
because if I have any say
I will never leave

Not until everyone I love is dead
and everyone who loves me
and I don't want to live forever.

but please do not miss me.

Don't cry yourself to sleep
don't wonder what you might have said
don't wish you could have gotten to say goodbye
you won't miss me because I refuse to die

and rip apart hearts
in the ways some ripped apart mine.

And I don't blame you for dying.
What could I have asked of you?
but if I think of the grief
and the pain it's caused me
who didn't love you best
or know you best
if I think of that
I can't die.

You will not miss me.
I couldn't live with myself if you did.

Often I fear the ocean here
between us has dried up to sand
and left us aching, our thoughts unclear—
lonely drifters in an endless land.

Knowing too much to ever leave
...somehow, not enough to stay,
I try and try but never unweave
this tapestry faded to gray.