it is july
and the stars refuse to break the sky.
the clouds are thick and
heavy with rain
and there is a pain in my chest.
the kind you have to push through,
the kind you have to shatter
with a baseball bat.
i am tired of taking baseball bats to my chest.
tired of all this glass.
the shards at my feet glitter like gold.
these are the broken pieces of me
i have shed like
feathers from my angel wings.
this poem is just another shard.
another pin in the voodoo doll.
another cry for help,
if you can call this sniveling a cry.

it has been five years
and im still the same sapling
i was when i was thirteen.
when will i grow?
theres a dead tree in my journal.
it will never again take root.
i remember plucking it from the garden
like it was nothing more
than a rose.
can you plant a rose bush
in a garden of glass?
i want my body to be a green house.
i want to grow.
i want lilies in my fingertips,
four o'clocks in my eyes.
forget-me-nots and sunflowers,
tulips, petunias.
maybe a cactus or two.
just because im beautiful doesnt mean
i have to lose my bite.

it is july
and the fireflies are like stars
dancing on the earth.
theres a pain in my chest.
a dull ache,
a memory.
i am tired of taking baseball bats to my chest.
tired of writing this poem.

Dear whoever,
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the lies. For the fiction carved by lips, for the fables dripping from teeth.

I’m sorry for the fists and the cheeks and the necks and the bruises and the broken bottles. For the violence exploding from the pit of my stomach. The locusts ripping from my throat.

I’m sorry for the scripture. You see, these palms are prophecies. This tongue is a bible. I spit psalms and verses and watch as you burn.

I’m sorry for being an Icarus. I'm sorry you cannot be a Daedalus.

I’m sorry fro assuming you need an apology. I’m sorry for apologizing with blood. I’m sorry for gagging up words left over from previous apologies. I’m sorry you’re not good enough.

I’m sorry for making you the villain. I’m sorry for being a wolf in girl’s clothing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. My god I am sorry.

I’m sorry I say sorry too much. I’m sorry this is selfish.

Dear whoever,
I’m sorry.

with hands made of shrapnel,
i seal the door shut,
hide under the bed.
gunpowder perfume and gasoline showers,
when i was 13 i forced my way out.
i crawled back in,
driven by the sound of
cicadas dying.
theyre last will and testament sounding
too much like salome.
am i john?
summer is over,
the hush of fall falls down
like the last veil.
i am salome,
you are john.
head sitting heavy on a silver platter.
my body is jeweled,
the veils,
the color of violets,
flow, swirl, part.
i reveal myself to the king,
gold melting down his face
like saturated sacrilege.

i.
when they crowned her,
her skin turned gold.
she glittered like the rubies,
like the diamonds,
like the sapphires,
like the cat’s eyes and the ambers and the opals.
she turned into obsidian.
they held her down.
they stripped her of her crown.

ii.
they were new.
they were shiny and bright.
broken over time.
they drank and they smoked.
they crashed their car on the 405.
the storm washed them away.
he said ‘baby girl
you’ll fade away someday’.

iii.
the city flashed neon.
the city was alive with sin.
we drank it up like nectar.
we were drunk off the light.
we turned into ghosts in the morning.

iv.
she was red
and she was blue.
she was purple on stage
like salome.
swirling in the violets.
she is brash
and she is bold.
she spits venom like some spit verses.
this is her
secret survival.

v.
they loved like religion.
their tongues unraveled scripture.
she wrote psalms on his palms.
kissed them until
wine flowed from her wounds.
they were haunted
by yesterday’s deaths.
they were haunted
by mistakes and heartaches.
they were haunted,
they were pure.

vi.
her perfume smelled of gasoline.
he didn’t mind.
he liked the burn.
he liked the champagne and the hurricane.
she liked the control.
the blaze that was her’s
and her’s alone.
this is her blitzkrieg.

vii.
he said
'babygirl we’ll fade away someday.
we are not gods’.
she said 'kiss me and
you’ll feel my edges.
touch me and
you’ll see my magic’.
he said 'babygirl
we are not alone in this’.
she said
'what if i want to be?’