i remember your tiny bedroom
all of its glory
guitars on the floor
***** glasses on the nightstand
warm red cream soda
my mouth was dry
but you didn’t mind

i am confused
because i just can’t
sleep

i stay awake
until my paranoia wins
and then some

i was so afraid
of what i had concocted,
i did not see what was there.
rose colored glasses,
but backwards.

i don’t know how to speak
i always get so scared
feeling perpetually threatened
in every social situation
i speak too much too deeply
about taboo or personal things
or not at all
sometimes my mouth is bone dry
but i still feel
the sensation of choking

the first time i was assaulted
my mom said to me
“that’s what boys do when
they like you.”

i often think about this when
i wonder why she stayed
for 22 years
no matter how hard he hit her.

what a flammable heart
i have.
your fingers matches,
striking against
my matchbox skin.

it’s funny

in some twisted, ironic way

the food you brought up

you pray goes down

would it really be so bad
if you kissed me
every once in awhile

i know you think about it

i know you miss me

i must be
utterly submissive
and take it all
to respect you
and for you
to respect yourself
you must
control and
belittle
the people who
should matter

shed your fat
like the leaves from the tree
you sat under in the fall
by winter
your frame is protruding
i can see your ribs
and the snow between
your thighs
you’re growing so thin
if you don’t stop
you will die
melt into the ground
decompose
you walking corpse

a royal blue ocean
turned black by veil of night
the lighthouse stands alone
on an island made of rock
and moonlight spills
onto everything below
shiny, dark waves
rush onto the shore

sunday and i mark the day inadequate. good things are coming up next week. anxiety is coming up right now. and all i can think of is myself. my suffering. my shaking hands so cold to match my feet. the dealer of the drugs i was too hooked on to take once more and never again. the 3/4 bottle of ***** under my jeans in my dresser drawer that has been there for months. the friends who i have spent four days with and now i am convinced they hate me because i am finally alone and can hear my thoughts because they are not drowned out by meaningless conversation. the calories in the chips i am forcing myself to eat because i cant go back to starving even though now seems a perfect time to pick up the habit once again. the three year old puffy scars on my thighs that i want to reopen. the boy down the road who understood the unsaid exchange of using each other for our bodies and it never filled the right hole. the friend who is dead and i don’t want to do that to everyone all over again it hasn’t even been a month since she kicked it. the fact that the world doesn’t revolve around me i don’t need to be so jealous so entitled so demanding. the father who never loved me before but now he really never will along with the rest of the family he can manipulate. the fact that good things will happen next week and i need to keep going to see them.

his eyes are half shut
and the room is dark.
hands gently resting upon
the curve of a waist, a belly.
this is what a home looks like.
those beautiful brown eyes.

i adore my softness
my round peach fuzz tummy
poking out, shielding the bones
that once ruled over my mind

she says that no bad things will happen
though she takes no precautions
but undesirable outcomes manifest often
and they will continue to
unless she finds some sun block
the more and more you burn
the deeper the cancer goes
till it’s terminal

hey yeah i told you i like you
over a snapchat
when i was high off my ***
right after the bonfire with all my friends

and you said
let’s hang out sometime
we don’t talk alot cause
im really ****** shy

i remember the first time i saw you
which is weird
because we’ve never actually spoken
a whole five years ago in art class

we have the same favorite band
and i think you’re cool
you said we should smoke together
and im down sorry if im weird

i wanna go in the woods
and hold your hand
real gentle and tender
see your smile lined with braces

i know your zodiac sign
and i check your horoscope
you send me pictures of dogs
is it cause you know i like them

what should i say
in the next snap i send you
i think i’ll ask
if you haven’t said anything yet

with every utterance of
“do you still love me?“
i scratch at the scar of
The Mother Wound

hello, sweet girl
sweet blonde hair and blue eyes
with the ever-so-perfectly groomed brows
nobody could ever do them quite like you

will you sing to me from heaven?
play your ukelele for us all
and we will hear it
in the form of a soft july storm

you always made me laugh
you made everyone laugh
we should’ve made you laugh more
we should’ve talked more, too late

i will not ever forget
your softly closed eyes and folded arms
we waited on you to jump up
“surprise” you’d say but you didn’t

i cannot forget your family’s tears
as they had to bury their little girl
i can’t resent you for escaping your pain
but i can miss you all i want, right

i have been graced with
a voice so sweet
and this voice rings like a bell.
a church bell, to be precise.

i know others hear this
comforting sound.
the words she speaks and sings
so pleasantly
stick in our minds
like the golden honey she
does not allow.

she commands us to ritualistically douse ourselves
in water
as if it were holy.
as if it will cleanse our wrongdoings.

every day is accompanied by her singsong voice
in the background,
whispering in our ears.

and even though this voice is angelic
the words it professes are
not so polite.

this voice is a ringing in my ears
that will not leave.

boy number one.

it was the end of eighth grade
coming in from gym class
i remember it was a hot day in may
i was still wearing the black uniform shorts
you were walking behind me in line
snaked your hands up the back of my thighs
as your friends laughed along
at my bright red cheeks
my shaky voice telling you off
and i got to wear teary eyes to the last class of the day
i wasn’t the only girl
and four years later you’re still doing it
my mom told me
that’s what boys do when they like you
and that’s why i never told her
about any of the other boys

boy number two.

i was barely fourteen years old
and it was just you and me
and your ***** (laced?) ****
you told me to hit it
again and again
there i was
twitching in your backseat
your hands on my convulsing thighs
i took the marks home
where you ripped my shirt off
you told me they’d go away
i still have the memories
they are the same each time i relive them
i trusted you

boy number three.

it is safe to say i loved you
for a long while
even after all you put me through
i now understand
coercion does not equal consent
you’d beg me
and i would say no
you made me feel so guilty
but you’d always kiss me right after
(that doesn’t make it okay)
i wish that i had a bigger backbone
and said no
when you asked to come over last month
you said you’ve changed
but you haven’t
and your new girlfriend doesn’t seem to mind
(i don’t forgive you anymore)

boy number four.

every time i would say no
you would laugh
and keep going
just because i said yes once
does not mean yes every time
im glad i called it quits with you
and i will do the same
to any other person
who does anything like you

although tomorrow is
not promised,
we must live as if
we will see it.
otherwise when it comes
we are stranded-
halfway house,
numbered days.

you ask me if i love you.
so i say
“i feel like i do.”
but sometimes my feelings lie to me
and i don’t want to do that to you.

i long to be like a tree
to shed all my burdens
watch them descend to the ground
below me
shriveled and dead
i am barren of baggage and *******
i am free
i long to be like a tree

i am the imperfection
in your work of art
which you erase until
i cease
to exist
and so does the idea
that i could ever be a part
of something so beautiful.

i am the blood on
the mattress and
the mud stain in the carpet.
i am the roach
skittering
into the dark
to hide
where it is more comfortable.
to where
i belong.

i am the dirt below the casket.
i do not see the light of day
anymore.

somehow it is mid july
and i still shiver,
my body so cold.

a blush on my cheekbones
warms me up from inside out,
too fleeting for comfort.

nature is full of honesty
like the ring of age
when you tear down a tree

if i write a poem about you
you are either
doing something very right
or something very wrong

too temperamental.
it is either
                             zero
or one hundred.

not in a good way.  

each word she speaks
brings up that boiling bubble of stress
in my chest cavity.

how can i take
my own insecurities
and feelings of inferiority
out on her

while maintaining
my egotistical
self image?

become slow to anger.
for the good of yourself
and every soul around you.

quickly losing interest
in being alive
stardust fizzling out
melted butter

how will i ever
lead a beautiful life
if i am preoccupied
with the idea
that i am not

my daddy says it’s okay to be a lesbian
my daddy says a ******* a girl is hot
the same way whiskey sinking to your belly is hot

daddy why would you fetishize my love
why would you fetishize my family
daddy why do you love to drink every night

and what are you so afraid of

he tells me he is afraid
to touch me
i cant help but think
all he sees is a crime scene
or someone else’s victim
when he looks at my skin

BEFORE
a belt was a belt,
a peanut butter milkshake only that,
a golden car was
nothing more than meets the eye.

AFTER
you became a leather belt,
a peanut butter milkshake,
every golden car,
a **** flashback that i want to spit out.

it is an ache
that does not seem to dull.
you will wonder everything you did wrong.
when you see him around
you will avoid eye contact.
you will still watch him from afar.
suddenly you feel
his arms around you
his chest against yours.
but now he’s nowhere to be found
except in your memories, your imagination,
and your camera roll.
you were once his confidant.
now you are a blocked contact in his phone.
even if you have not crossed paths in months,
he will still cross your mind from time to time.
you remember
his cat.
that awkward thanksgiving dinner at his grandparents’ house.
you remember his new girlfriend.
and then you remember how he said you were the only girl he has ever loved
and would ever be able to.
and you remember his middle name.
you remember his favorite drink-
dr. pepper no ice-
and you know what you did wrong
and now you’re writing sad poems
about him
while listening to sad songs
not about him but they could be
and the lyrics remind you
of what you had.
the ache has not yet dulled.
you can’t help but remember him
when you look at
the jar of pennies
on your desk.

i overthink
everything i do
can i not just bloom
thoughtlessly
wherever i will
some type of wildflower