This reality, different from yours.
Sandpaper ice-cream cones sold
in engulfed, aflame stores.

This body, tense yet soft
tears underneath
the rub of rope.
My friend's feet swiped
a flailing chair,
And her neck did snap,
feces everywhere.

This sky, wrapped in saran wrap,
becomes pregnant when it rains,
the plastic weighed down by water,
slumps down the aquarium sky,
we slump down as it kisses us,
crushes us, mashes us, thrashes us.

- It all changes here,
from god to god,
from year to year -

Her hips lay like cursive,
pale, promising, pent up
like the shoulders of
an anxious angel.

Her hair a burnt brown,
wrapped around a whatever-count pillow,
like a L'Oréal snake, sleeping sullen,
drifting off into a designer dream,
unsure of this, unsure of me.

I see her as a child --
No, I see me as a child --
No, I see us as children.
This. This surreal feeling I get
when you're around me.
When the world is around me,
vibrating underneath my Toms.
Vibrating in my prescription bottle.
Vibrating between her legs, my ribs.
Between each page, so much is hidden:
my early swearing that my late love
is slowly draining.

I do not remember,
The goose bumps against my skin,
The ice cubes I would hold in the very palms of my hands
I DO REMEMBER the brutal Darkness I had within
Not of them
Not for him
Not for his group of friends;
For myself.

The interruption of trauma put fourth into my mind.
I was;
The outlined name on the piece of scrap paper
That everyone seemed to gossip about
I was the 1 out of 4...

1 out of 4
I had to feel the slim of shame through the outer course of my skin
It felt as if a vast sign was beginning attached to the back of my shirt
Everyone knew
Throughout the whole school,
Throughout the world
It felt to me...

The bitterness in my throat as I choke out the words of ****,
The word **** itself is not hard to say
The kids used to scream it on the playground each and every day
My life today is full of Rage,
Not for them
Not for him
Not for his group of friends
For I myself

often i look down at myself,
my body,
and ask myself what have i done to it?

these feet,
used to nakedly wander through grass,
roll wobbly on blades,
kick carelessly in water.
now,
they sink into quicksand.

these legs,
used to run for infinity,
swing into clean air,
lounge across chair arms.
now,
they are streaked pale.

this stomach,
used to tremble with light,
dance in the sun,
lie flat.
now,
it dips in hills and valleys.

these arms,
used to lace through trees,
hang heavily on bars,
hold my body.
now,
they recoil.

these hands,
used to form art with fire,
write to remember,
caress plant buds.
now,
they pick at petals.

this body.
now,
stained with regret.

his words take my breath away
his stars are not my stars
and there are worlds in-between

so i come back and i sit
and trace all the letters
slow, slow

i let my heart wander
just far enough
to feel the mountain air

singing feels like flying
from the pines
on the mountain

his words take my breath away
and i don't mind much

sometimes,
often times,
i am cold.
there is snow within me and wild winds outside my door,
and i watch from the window while my crops wither.

i silence the sun.

he stands at my gate with nimble fingers and begs to be let in,
but i have always been a grove of shadows,
and he knows there is no space for him.

sometimes,
often times,
i am cold.

but other times,
spring finds me.
it lifts me up into its gentle arms and suddenly i am a field of clovers,
lucky,
rising up.
suddenly i am baby’s breath, i am pure,
i am a blooming hyacinth.

i am warm.

i know what a change in season feels like.

and i try to be loving.
but on the days when i have gotten up
and planted my seeds,
you are still tangled in thick black weeds and roots.
on the days when i am a rose,
you are the thorns,
and on the days when i grant the sun a chance to speak,
you take his tongue.

i know your pain; i have lived it.
but i will not give up my songbirds just because you are only left with crows.

i know what a change in season feels like,
but you are always winter.
and sometimes, i am spring.

so i will flourish.
and i am sorry.

(a.m.)