I asked her why she cut herself,
and she said,
"Because death has an edge
and life is pointless."
She asked that I not
write a poem
romanticizing suicide,
just a poem about
how hard it can be
to celebrate life.

TRIGGER WARNING*

They met at a dance recital.

His eerie blue eyes watched her, stalked her,
riveted by sinewy skin and the way her legs stretched and parted
skillfully, seductively: she knew how to captivate her audience.

They had mutual friends.

Her curiosity thirsted for more, for she had been taken
over by an empty lust, broken by another, but the way he spoke:
she felt as pretty as his charms sounded.

They went on a date.

He kissed her, pinched her, and spread those legs
that comprised his fantasies, not caring about the bruises he left
when he took off her lacey coverings, pinning her to the floor.

They learned more about each other.

She saw the empty, carnal look in his eyes, but her pleas
and shoves were not enough to lessen the weight of him, to push
his hands or his hips away, as he broke her over and over again.

They ended the night with a kiss.

He grabbed her face like a starving man grabs his first meal,
forcing an intimacy she could never get back, but he said,
“You liked it, didn’t you.”

They kept in touch.

She tried blocking his calls, his messages, asking her if she’d
come over to his place. Like the continuous force he prodded her with,
the pounding in her head beat out a thumping heart-line of no’s.

I will love you
in the worst ways possible

I will take you slowly at first
then all at once like a sudden storm

The small light touches
Innocuous

A gale of laughter

Secret smiles
Like the sun playing hide and seek
on a particularly cloudy day


I will rip you apart and settle into your bones

Love you like you've never felt it before
As if there was no one but Me


I will tear you into bits
And open out the auricles
and ventricles of my heart


Tell you it's necessary
And leave
In a sudden storm

I will say it was for you
So you could move on  
Find someone better

Love someone the Right way
I'm too much of a mess,
I'll tell you

And when I leave
You'll beg me on your knees
To stay

I will say it is necessary
and go away
Say that one day,
looking back,
You'll see why

But my lightning
Will reside in your lungs and breath
Even as I make you burn

You'll never see why

But you know I wouldn't stay
I can't stay, I always say

I will apologise
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

But

But
Maybe I really needed to go
before you sunk into my bones
became my lightning
and took me by surprise

I will make you taste blood in your mouth
I'll be your biggest fan
When you write raving about my misdeeds
and coldness

I will see your writing grow exponentially
In oceans and mountains

I will love you love you love you
The only way I've known how

- from a distance.


this is how I've survived.

The first time I met you, I tasted blood in my mouth. You reeked of ***** and misogyny and bad intentions. You reeked of my mother’s rotting happiness.

Every time I saw you my skin turned to Braille, but that never gave you the right to try and read it. See, the small of my back was not your pocket, my chin was not your coffee cup and my shoulder was not a place for your crocodile tears. You don’t have to touch a person to know them.

When you realized I wasn’t a tween romance novel, you started to read my mom like she was self-help book. But I knew you were illiterate the day my mother’s makeup foundation couldn’t find the exact shade that went with black eye. The cut on her lip was just a new shade of lipstick and the bruises encircling her neck and wrists began to look like jewelry. She told me they cost more than any pearls she’s ever owned. And like Samson, my mother’s hair was cut short. But it was by her doing. What good was strength when you were the one pulling her around by it?

But the moment we found out that she was carrying life inside of her your hands had to find a new hobby. I suggested training your fingers on how to pack a bag but instead you chose how to learn to pick up bigger bottles. It was a relief to see my mothers stomach swell rather than her face but 9 months is nothing compared to 18 years.

The only solace I find in you being in my brother’s life is that I won’t have to teach him how to hate you, he’ll already know. And I’m counting down the days until the ocean in his veins form a category 5 hurricane. I’m counting down the days until he destroys you.

Tie me in knots
     and drag your nails through my flesh.
Tear me open
     until orchids bloom from every laceration.
Take everything you want;
     only I ask that you put me back together again,
and trim the flowers back below my skin.

WELCOME TO SHRAPNEL CITY, SPITTING ***** OUT LIKE BULLETS, OR PEOPLE, OR GRAINS OF SAND, OR PLANETARY SYSTEMS. I SAY “I THINK THERE'S SOMETHING ****** UP IN MY HEAD” LIKE SOME PEOPLE SAY “IT'S RAINING OUTSIDE” AND MAYBE THAT'S REALLY ****** UP BUT I CAN'T WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO ROMANTICIZE ME WHAT IF THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME BUT THAT'S OKAY, IT'S NOT VIOLENT OR NASTY OR ******, SO THAT MEANS IT'S HEALTHY, RIGHT? THAT MEANS WE'RE HEALTHY, RIGHT? EVERYONE HAS BAD DAYS, SWEETHEART I WANT TO DRAW EYES ON MY WHOLE BODY, COVER MYSELF IN SOMETHING GOOD, PEEL OFF MY SKIN AND MAKE IT INTO A SONG THAT OTHER PEOPLE CAN BLEED / CRY / SMOKE TO (THIS IS MY DREAM, I SAY, AND I THINK YOU MIGHT BELIEVE ME). I HAVE A DEATHLY FEAR OF CHOKING BUT I LIKE IT WHEN MY CATS SCRATCH ME BECAUSE IT GIVES ME AN EXCUSE TO BLEED THAT I DON'T USUALLY HAVE, AND ISN'T THAT JUST SO WEIRD? ISN'T THAT SO CUTE? DON'T LOOK AT MY LEGS, OR MY FINGERS, OR MY SCALP, DON'T ASK IF I'VE BEEN GETTING ENOUGH SLEEP. IGNORE THAT I EXIST (I DON'T). IT'S OKAY, I WON'T MIND. I WEAR SWEATERS ALL THE TIME SO NO ONE CAN SEE MY CHEST AND I SAY IT'S A GENDER THING BUT ACTUALLY IT'S MORE LIKE AN I-HAVE-SCRATCH-MARKS-AND-SCARS-ALL-OVER-MY-CHEST-AND-I-THINK-I'M-­BECOMING-LESS-OF-A-REAL-PERSON THING. IS THAT MESSED UP? IS THAT WEIRD? IS THAT CUTE? I'LL PUT IT ON A T-SHIRT, MAYBE. IT'S NOT SELF HARM, I JUST DON'T LIKE HAVING BUMPS ON MY BODY. DOES THAT MAKE IT BETTER? DO YOU FEEL LIKE A HERO YET? I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I REALLY AM

Yowling, thrashing, squeezing me whole,
She's slashing onyx crevices, my soul,
Begging out, pleading forgiveness
But I won't give in, I just press
Down, fight now, hate this,
This thing, this misfit,
Crippled defect, this won't sit
By me, won't defy me,
Rip my nails down crusty
Skin, she feels sick, I feel quick,
I dig deep and can't keep
From hissing, it's ******* me off!
She cries but it makes me scoff.
You pretty little folded bird,
I'll smear you like a ******* ****.
I hate you, I hate me,
So help me, I can't see,
I can't bleed,
I won't heed
Your cruel trick,
You foul ****!
Despise me!
I hate me!
I hate me!
I can't
See
I
Can't
Breathe...