~

She is not smiling much anymore.

Waking up to what was waiting
the whole time
you slept;
you slept in,
you slept in again.

Wide awake,
and it's been this way
all the while;
you smile,
you smile soft,
you smile again.

You share smiles
like there's just one.

Nothing left but breath to be done
when we play the game already won.

I have a few unhealthy habits that my therapist wants me to shake.
Chewing my nails is a nervous habit, he says.
Smoking cigarettes is only a crutch, he says.
Gorging/starving is a personality flaw, he says.
Drinking alone will cause problems, he says.
Falling for those who are leaving, have left, or are simply out of reach is a death wish, he says.
Hating yourself simply won't do, he says.


Tonight,
a hot summer night,
spent cigaretteless,
loveless,
and sleepless,
teach me more about myself
than Doctor Eric Schlanger, L.C.S.W.
ever could.

I know not about the feelings I have,
and the urges I get.
I know not when they'll come,
how long they will last,
and what my actions shall be.

I'm a mess.
This is the only way to describe it.
I'd rather breakdown in your arms,
than be at ease alone.

red-breasted and sandy curls,
her power lies in her name,
as does the validity of this veil
softened in soaps and silk
in the washroom tucked
away beneath my molars
so as to never say
the unacceptable(all of it)

i started writing this with a lot to say
and now all i can imagine saying (facetoface)
is that i'm so terribly sorry the only way
you chose to deal with your progression
was to progressively think for yourself
the more others thought for you,
and good tidings on rivertides
will be the last things to draw
you back in discovery of them
and how they have figured out you fill the quota to the brim
on your own,
without fail

I am white dresses and floral lace
Hair in bows
The rest displayed as roses
I dance as I walk
Describe me as dainty and cute
Invite me to your garden parties and front porch tea time

Just so I can show up in reality, burnt out.
18 years of small scars from big adventures
Bones already creaking under the weight of my own privilege
And I have always wished to be something attainable
Simple and pastoral  

I’ve decorated my world in bundles of lavender
They hang next to paintings of flowers and handwritten letters
I dream of sheep and fields of farmland  
But my lovely is fading fast and I have not created something to be proud of in quite some time

It's nights like this
and it's girls like her
and it's wine like my father's
that make me enjoy drinking alone.
The taste of the locally produced wine
and the failure of love despicably drawn out
and the dry heat of scorching July nights that validate my drunken state.

Understanding that no two headed boy will save me tonight
and the acceptance of lost cigarettes makes this night
even more painful and forlorn.


The shadows envelope the tip of the Tree around nine o'clock this time of year.
The heat stays
and so will I.
Drunken,
nervous,
longing,
afraid.
With no two headed boy to save me tonight.