7
You dance with me
While the wind gathers
In the portrait where you
Fix your hair in a bun,

Your back arched to the camera,
Your clothes on the floor
Where you dance with me
While the wind gathers.

You watch the sky
As you dance with me
While the gathering wind
Tears holes in the clouds.

We hear something final
In the gathering wind
Rushing through tall trees
As you dance with me.

Wherever you are
The wind gathers
While a dance goes on.
I still hear the music.

I am nineteen
And sitting in an over-glorified sports bar,
Telling him about my ex
Who would sip from the Devil's cup
And pummel my face
When he tells me
"You are too young to have dealt with that."

And I almost cry.

Because having been involved
In some serious **** before my 18th birthday,
I am afraid to tell him
That I have seen my friends
In coffins with track marks kissing their veins
And truly guilty rapists walk free.
I am ashamed to say
That I know what it is like
To have a person say to me
With no concern, only disdain
"Are you going to calm down
Or do I have to call the police this time?"

I took Atticus Finch too seriously
When he said to put on your fellow man's shoes
And walk around in them.
I have been on first dates in mental hospitals
And I became addicted to nicotine
By tasting it on men's breath
And he would be appalled to find out
The real reasons
I don't drink.

In a world where a year ago
I had to ask to leave the room and ****
I am now in a world
Where I am condemned
For not knowing where I'm going yet
But I will be dammed
If I do not know
What you're allowed to gift someone
Who is in the hospital after a suicide attempt
Or drug overdose.

Books, but only ones with non-controversial themes,
Shoes, laces prohibited.

It seems to me that they know
That my connection to this earth
Has become so frail
That even a shoelace
Could sever it.

His eyes are as young as mine
But he is saying these things to me
With a cigarette in his hand
And the weight of sleepless nights on his shoulders.
And I want to tell him that pain isn't relative
And what hurt me
May **** him
But I will not burden him
With the knowledge
That life gets better
Because I know he is hard headed.

I wonder some nights
If a shoelace is all it would take for him, too

And I almost cry.

I brought you my still beating heart
In a bismol pink bedpan,
Your hands lifting from the gurney
Awaiting salvation through my touch.
In my visions I am seventeen.
I am seeing you for the first time at my work
And you make me laugh.
You reiterate the scarring in your soul and down your back
And I ask, rudely, if I may see some time.
You say sure,
But your face wishes that I had never asked.
In my wonders
I am eighteen and telling a group of people my age at a party
Why I am sober,
Because my body is weak
And I am not tempted.
Thoughts of you and my future swirl in my mind
But they do not connect.
I will try in vain for another year
Before I realize that maybe I need to sober up from you.
In my recent memory,
I'm sitting on the side of your bed
Hoping that you do not die.
But I'm half naked,
Underwear and undershirt the only things I have on
And your skin is too hot
And your voice sounds coked over
And your breathing is not a slow hum
But a ravenous wheeze
And I'm scared
And my breathing becomes torn.
I'm nineteen again
But now I am saying goodbye
Though you are still living
And a week earlier I had pledged myself to you forever.
You cry to me that you were saving for a ring
And I had hoped to hear that
But now that you've said it,
I can feel my stomach toss
Into the bedpan
Which houses my heart
In your hands,
I've taken my place among the dreadfully unbalanced
And the perpetually sad.
I have come to the conclusion that I have made a mistake
That is too late in the making to be remedied.

One side of her face flush
red, like she has been slapped
hard, broadsided

Since the report
her searches on Google
garner extensive lists

of indecipherable medical terms
inciting fear, fuzzy thinking
as despair shrouds her essence

Part of her is scarred

and she wraps that spot

with scarves, high collars

or extra mascara.

Remnant traces

ring her shoulder.

Embittered echoes
careen 
around her brain.

His self-inflicted torture

spills over onto her

as his crazed lashes
strike her 
bone deep.


Musty smells

from those moments

linger among
her nostril mucus.

She carries on

unable to attain

her forgiveness.