(i) want to ask about how she hurt you
the summer that you (changed)
(but) i am afraid that the truth
will make you realize
how many flaws (i) hold
because she had so little.

and i am afraid that my imperfections
were your favorite things about her.

i'm scared you (won't) smile like you did
with her in arms.

because she is the kind of perfect
i could never (be).

i am afraid that i am not (good)
at making you happy.

mostly i am afraid that i won't be
(enough).

j.l

He nipped
her lip the first time.
Back against the brick wall.
Bottles warming,
soon forgotten at their feet.

There was something
so urgent
in the way they fell--
limbs tangling on
or against
any surface that
could hold them.

But those surfaces were edged
in pasts long hidden
and razor-sharp,
wrapped in caution tape.

And they remembered their fragility.

So they tucked
in their elbows and
side-stepped each other.
Trading bitten lips
for shattering glances,
they told themselves
No.

But sometimes,
in quiet moments,
the Yes still breaks through.

my fears are as follows.
i am afraid of water,
of pain,
of high-up places.
i am afraid of getting stuck in one place.
i am afraid of dying in a terrible way.
i am afraid of the medical irregularities of my heart,
the condition that gives me too many beats at one time
and that will, someday, cause the beats to stop altogether.
and i am afraid that my life will be nothing like i want it to be.
i am afraid that my art is mediocre
and my poems unoriginal.
i am afraid that i will never love anyone again,
and that i will be bound, forever, by his ghost.
i am afraid that my fear will choke out my hope,
and that i will ******* myself,
and cheat myself,
and extinguish my ambition with all my doubts.
i am afraid of myself,
but i am so endlessly inspired by everything else.

(The following was written under extreme duress, within the usual conditions of life and death.)*


Look into the night and pick out the brightest star in the sky.
Once you find it, do not let it leave your sight. If you must venture indoors or underground, do not let it leave your mind.

Once under the influence of said star, allow it to think through you, and record these interactions on paper; written in sand on a beach next to the ocean; scrawled on walls with black marker; or stamped into hearts using blood for ink.

Leave these messages laying around in places that the heavenly bodies may look down and catch them with a glance, or throw the loose papers into the wind and let them travel where they may.

Once a soul comes into contact with such energies and becomes fully entranced in dissolving the self in the waters of the perceived,

Only poetry is spoken...

Though it may sound like madness...

Only poetry...

However broken and disjointed it may be.

there once was a young girl with green eyes
who wore her soft blond hair
in braided pigtails

at the age of seven,
she watched her older sister
stand in front of the mirror before school
and pinch her stomach with a disgusted face
          neither of them ate breakfast that morning

at the age of nine,
she watched her older brother
make fun of a girl with glasses
for reading on the bus
          she went home and hid all her books in the attic

at the age of twelve,
she watched the older girls at school
with straight hair and short skirts
put makeup on in the bathroom
and discuss how boys would only like you
if you looked perfect, like them
          the next day she arrived with red lips, short shorts, and no braided pigtails

at the age of fourteen,
she watched her father hit her mother for the first time
her mother cried when she saw her standing in the doorway
and told her daddy didn't mean it
          the next year, she told herself that her boyfriend didn't mean it, either

at the age of sixteen,
she was paper thin and empty
with straight blond hair, red lips,
purple flesh, and lifeless green eyes
          while staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror,
          she thought to herself "at least i'm normal."