You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

I pierced my *****
Maybe so she could have teeth
So she could bite back
Maybe to reclaim my body
Maybe just for bling
I pierced my *****
As a ******* to pain
As a “no you didn’t” conversation piece
As a **** out of here if you can’t handle me
I’m not fragile
May be ******* broken
But I break myself on purpose just to watch me rebuild
I pierced my ***** as a ******* to fear
As a ******* to an ex boyfriend
An ex lover
An ex ******
An uncle
A parent
A precedent
A deity
I pierced my ***** for ******* fun
For fun *******
Maybe I pierced my ***** so I could write this poem about it
I pierced my ***** to make people uncomfortable
Did it work?

Do you ever show your love like that squeaky dysfunctional shopping cart wheel because same

Theres always lights on in my house
A few dishes in the sink
A pile of clothes here and there
Some folded
Some furrowed in baskets
Hiding under beds
You can find drawers of everything and nothing
Half missing decks of cards, candy, broken crayons, photos flooded in boxes and albums of our lives
You can find pieces of my mother
Scrawled in notebooks from freedom times of her youth
She would never tell you about
Youll be greeted by a wriggley pug with shoe or couch cushion in mouth
No, she will not stop kissing you
Theres always food in my house
Fancified labors of love
Shoved in saved salsa jars
Theres the old fireplace wrapped in wooden shelves and books and books and books
Drafty walls meet creaky aching wood floors
My house was warped with time
The attic is twenty degrees hotter than the basement
Likely from my pubescent years there
Sleeping at night you can hear mice or birds or bats in the ceiling
Scutterring a rhythm of cohabitated life
Id beat on the walls
Theres been renovations
Live ins
Move outs
Break ins
Move back ins
Divorce
Remarriage
Dead plants fake plants and growing gardening
My house is a changing ecosystem
Bustling beside main street
With a cemetary stare past the back yard
Buried lives and versions of mine
Youll find life and love history and family
Holy hurt with
Heart and soul
Best thing is
The doors always unlocked

Late nights in my brain like walking down a dark alleyway barefoot lightly clothed in the idea that everything will be okay thats what they say streetlights shone on pothole streets beats my face reflection to a wavering wonder something will come here caught a wiff of a wayside street wanderer finding sleep in a corner covered in ****** on life of been then being hard to know who im seeing am i still me? Hardly walked in my shoes let alone others loose unused excuse for solitary misuse find time in pocket phoned life we aspire to be more like look alike lavish facacde comradery in journalistic honesty all is well when i burn in hell follower frontier founder of warped mirrors and fun house on acid play my show to the masses how to see oneself clear in lie prescribed  glasses

Always find a way to pick pieces of glass from rock
Softened by the waves
Thought theyd make it harder
But the edges in search seem smoother than my own
Won a green beach glass laugh
To match the hints in your eyes
I couldnt make them stay on me
Hard to see own needs
When wide asleep in your dreams
So it seems
Need comes with a warranty
I never read the fine print
Drawn to a captive glint
Of being belittled by your
Passion aggression
Never learned my lesson
Weary words adorned in blessings
Prayers of tomorrow will be different
Change in an inference
Instant
As if
I could lull a dull duo
From festering
Within a soul ******* sorrow of desire
For you or something like
I met a boy with your same birthday
May be my lucky day
You could say im not through
Whats new

If I collected our memories and put them in a jar
There'd be withered petals
And prestine fake flowers
There'd be im sorry notes
And I love yous
There'd be a finnickey watch
And sandy bottle caps
I'd see crumpled concert tickets
And chipped nail polish
There'd be flamin hot peanuts
And pictures slightly burned round the edges
There'd be tears
And ***
And magic mushrooms
There'd be dirt
And eye crust
And sandman dream dust
There'd be eyebrow hairs
And recipes for laughter
There'd be more than I can see
Then much more beneath
And if I close this lid
I wont know what comes after