When we decided on ice cream
I suggested caramel
sticky sweet
dripping down the sides
I wanted to lick it up and
feel the sucrose explode on my tastebuds
a minefield of pleasure.

When we decided on ice cream
you promised whipped topping
and hot fudge
rich luscious chocolate
oozing toward the edges
swirls of dark intensity
intermixed with bouts of airy lightness
a most delightful contradiction.

With all the imagery that’s found in words
and pictures bound to play out in my head
It’s fair to say this sundae tempted me at waking hours
(and maybe even crept into my dreams)

… it’s quite a shame that in the end you settled for vanilla.

For My Sister*

Doll face, what does it matter
if you're ugly as hell?
If you’re short or you’re fat
Or your face is full of pimples?
Why the hell should it matter?

Sweetness, who gives a ****
If you tie your laces upside down?
And your left hand smudges the words on the page?
If you break down crying at the sight of rotting road ****?
Who is anyone to laugh at you?
Who is anyone to tell you who you are?

I am sick and tired of seeing your red-rimmed eyes
I am sick and tired of seeing what they do to you
I hate to see you hurt and I crave the very best for you
I want you to be happy in all the ways you can
Let go of it all and crawl on the ceiling, weightless

Darling, people are messed right up
And we've all got cuts and stitches and oozing wounds
But don't let the bruised and beaten up punks
the privileged warriors, the wait-listed mental patients,
the scummy lost wanderers, the vengeful aching souls,
Tell you it matters if you're ugly as hell
Please please please
Understand you are so much more than a shell
than an exoskeleton of a soul
You are a glorious, bruised and beaten up,
Ugly, pimpled masterpiece,
And it's a shame that they don't see it

Salt.
Running from my eyes and my nose.
Salt.
Flowing down a stream of my woes.
Salt.
Touching my lips, burning my irises
Drying and cracking
My face.
A too-familiar taste.
Salt.

I’ve lost all respect,
Yet at the ****** of admiration
I am despised
But adored
I am anorexic
And unhealthy
I am calm but quick to break
I hold my head steady
As I stumble down the street
I am solid,
But dripping;
Dripping with desire
And all your worst fears.
Like a skeleton,
I drag along,
Hearing my muscles moan and bones snap
With an irregular heartbeat.
I am in your nightmares,
Lurking in your fantasies.
You deny it.
You plead to be different.
You are no better,
You are not special,
I’ll envelope you in toxins
And leave you in guilt
With a frenzied need for more.

writing poetry
really isn't that hard:
you put down the words in your head
and you

break
up some
lines,

you can even try to rhyme
from time to time
but,
writing good poetry:
poetry that moves
and poetry that inspires
and poetry that is a blueprint
to your personality
and all your desires
where the lines
are smooth, slick with rhythm
where the phrases
are greedy of attention
like war and prison:
those kinds of poems
are going to be hard to write

but, in the end,
are so worth the writing