i asked for directions and
he pointed to the sky but
i still don't understand how
the bible can be a road map
or prayer a flashlight
so i think that i will cross myself
and remember how to see
in the dark.

i beg for drunk texts like they're diamonds
knowing drunk words
are more valuable than sober
and that later
i'll be high enough to pretend
you sent me them spontaneously
and believe that i'm the one who's truly
on your mind
when it can't even function.

remember when you loved me?
it's so strange to think
that you can't return me &
exchange me
for something better
to fill those three months
of your memory

no matter how long it's been
since you spoke to me
those 94 days will
always be filled
with us

i know i'm damaged goods
the blockbuster dvd
that came with a scratched disc
even if the case was pristine

my movie doesn't play
day after day
without you
my heart just sits
in this shell
of what i used to be

i remember the time
i was only damaged goods
fondly.

these days i am oh-so
empty
.

there are horror films
where my heart
should be.

when they say that they're
no good for you
b e l i e v e  t h e m.

this is the world
and i'm supposed to exist in it
today
and i am not prepared
at all.

i hear you carry my name around
in your pocket [instead of on your sleeve]
so convinced that i forgot yours
on the bottom of a glass bottle

[but i could never]

when my mother turned my jeans
inside out to wash
she found your name scribbled
inside, over and over
and over again.

let’s be adults about this. let’s slam the dishes as we do them. let’s scrape what’s left on everyone’s plates into the garbage disposal; i’ll flip the switch when your sleeve gets caught. let’s put away the kitchen knives, chop chop chop, and see who finishes with the most fingers left. let’s put the nubs in tupperware and put some aside for susan, just let me spit in the container first — or would you rather *** in it? she’d probably prefer it. let’s answer the phone when she calls, answer your phone, answer it. answer and i’ll put your head in the microwave and turn it on high, i’ll blow the house up, i’ll

keep your voice down
the children are outside
quietly dividing up their toys.

we twist and twist and twist
like dishrags over an empty sink
where do all the drops of us go
where do they go
where do we go
eighteen
and i feel like i’m running dry

i swear to god,
every bit of my body
is crying
besides my eyes.

most of all, i want to listen to your voice. anything you have to say. recite your grocery list, what you ate for breakfast. what’s your opinion on the weather? remind me about how you like the snow, but hate the cold. how you couldn’t fall asleep because the wind kept whistling through your broken window. tell me the story about how you broke that window again. again. again. how you hit that baseball too hard and it went soaring. tell me about that moment. the moment that it looked like that ball was flying. how’d you feel when it crashed? no, don’t tell me about that, i know it’ll make you think of the crash. how i crashed down on the concrete when we were walking that one night. i was barely conscious, so tell me about how you carried me a mile to my apartment. if you have to, tell me about why you left me there alone. how you’d asked me on the walk because we “needed to talk” and you had to do it that night, because she’d given you an ultimatum. don’t tell me about how you’d stayed with me that last month out of pity. or if you do, let those be the softest words you speak. softer than the things you whispered to me months ago. softer than the way you touched my cheek before you left me on that bed. tell me again how touching me made you sick those last few weeks and please assume that i felt the same. because every time i think of the truth, every time i think of how it wasn’t over for me, isn’t over for me...i love you. i can’t breathe. don’t let me speak. don’t let me speak. i only want to listen to the sound of your voice. keep talking. say anything. tell me all about her.

all the boys
who do
end up in the
trash.

i bore my eyes into my screen and wait for it to burn out my eye sockets so i can’t see its faults. burning dots when you close your eyes. i want my brain to catch flame. i want my heart reduced to a foot pedal. start and stop and start and stop. i want to wither away until i am nothing but what is necessary; until i cannot cry over cracked glass, excess flesh, the holes in my life that will never be filled (because i can’t turn back time any easier than i can stop biting my nails.) i want to be a wind-up doll with nothing between the ears, nothing behind the eyes, nothing in my rib cage. i want to walk until i can’t feel my legs and keep walking.

i don't really know
if i ever mattered
or if i ever will

god forbid i wonder if i *do

i remember when the people i know
became the people i knew. it started in high school,
kids i’d grown up with dropping off the face of the planet before anything could hold them here; like they were hoping to die
early enough that we could all pretend they’d never been here at all.
we all wanted to erase ourselves. sometimes
i get jealous of the people who succeeded.

i kissed her behind the couch so
she ****** the first guy she found
to try and fix it

didn't she know
i was drunk

we don't sleep because
we have nothing to
wake up for.

i have not felt good in a long time
so i would like to rest, if that's alright
just rest until i feel better
and i want to rest alone,
because if i don't
i may be distracted or self-conscious
and i know i'm just asking
to be cold
but i thought perhaps
every few days
you could open the window
and kiss my forehead
to remind me what
warmth feels like
and that this is not
an eternal slumber.

i just want the road to feel real again
i want to feel the cold of the snow and weep
i want to sob, hard
and reattach.

the universe hates me because
it forces me to eat stale bread
and leftover feelings.

just because i know everyone leaves
doesn't mean it's stopped hurting
when they do
every time.

i don't speak science and
i don't speak God.
i wish i spoke either,
i wish i spoke both.

f e b r u a r y
the month we all went mad
in parallel to the month of august
when we all pledged
right hand up, against our hearts, our chests

we are sane and strong and good

we all pledged
to stay well

six
months
later,
we toast to those people
those people who are unrecognizable, now, in the fog of the glass

they draw x’s and o’s with their polished nails
and blow desperate, sticky kisses
so we know that they were us
if only for a minute

our saints of the past
won’t cease ******* us demons,
when february has passed
they will be back

then we’ll blow fairy dust off our fingertips
& wake up
with ******* on the carpet.

i am sick to death
of stepping on everyones toes
just to walk in a straight line.

you won't let yourself love me
but every so often your feelings
slip
through
the
cracks
and i catch them like fireflies
trap them in a glass jar
as reminders on the days
when things are bad.

there's smoke in the street
i want to choke on it

does she love me
or not?*
i don't know
i'm not your
******* flower
i have no petals left
for you to pick.

as the fourth in my father’s string of children, i had to be everything. i was simultaneously the oldest, youngest, and middle child. not to mention, as the six of us were spread across three wives, the only child to my mother. i was a little of everything and a lot of nothing.

i want to connect the freckles
on your faceneckshoulderschestarmslegsback
because maybe then i'll know
what love looks like.

i'll give you a
good kick between the
shoulder blades
rub your face
into the ground
until you taste
the dirt
*this is what it means
to fall
don't *******
yourself
into thinking
it's love.

i hope you choke
on every i love you
**** you
****
you.

you said that what we had
was really ****** up
and all i can think is
how ****** up?
more ****** up than you &
charlottesierraayamiarielascarlettsamyvonnepiasahada?
­were we the most ****** up?
please let us be the most ****** up
let me be the one
you ******* over
best.

i told you congrats and good luck today
you said thanks
gave me a song title
and said thanks again
and that was that was that was that
was that?
was it what it should have been
when all i wanted to do
was ask how you were
and how you are
and how you will be
and listen to you talk
for hours
about everything and
nothing at all
like we you used to
but instead i'm stuck
with this ****** song
which is only ******
because it isn't mine
*just like you

somedays you just
need kind words
[even if they're not meant for you.]

we're playing checkers
but you know
which game
i mean.

i don’t have something to remember you by.

i think these past few months
would have been easier if
i’d had a sweatshirt of yours
to curl up into, even after too many washes
had drowned your scent.

but i think you loved me
too much
to let me indulge myself
in your ghost.

i've been thinking of going to sleep
for hours now
but every time i do
i'm reminded of you

i'll always wonder if
you forgot about it
forgot about me
or just didn't call

i'm not sure which
would be
worse.

there is too much space
on the sides of my face
and sometimes i imagine
slicking it off
someone once told me
that's called "self-hate"
but i traded their terminology in for
"self-improvement"
everytime.

maybe that's why
i think of "hate"
everytime someone asks
about a synonym
for "beauty."

while heartache has left me
it still lives in
the threads of your hair woven
into my carpet with the stain
from when you puked up
the alcohol
we bought together from
that bottle on the shelf we
had *** against and
then left the ****** in
the trash can
that still sits next to
my desk
where you taught me definitions
of words like 'wanderlust'
which still slip into my
small talk and
when i'm not careful
they come out sounding more
like heartache.

lost my **** last night. keys, wallet, id. i have a theory that this is the universe in which i take every wrong turn. i walked down high street until i hit a dead end and kept walking. with all this midwest in my mouth i’m lucky i made it this far, but i don’t feel lucky. my friends keep bragging about how dumb they were to end up here. they almost make me miss hating myself for not breaking 2000 on the sat. really, i miss addy. i went back to the white boy, but it isn’t the same. i left that version of myself in michigan. leaving myself was the first wrong turn, but when i tried to make a u-ey i spun out and ended up here.

he smelled like you
so i let him kiss me
thinking it would be
just like home

spoiler alert;
it wasn't.

*i miss you

i roll
my hope
into a joint
and light
up.

if you deleted my number
it would hurt more
than every ****** thing
put together
and here's why

when i broke down on you
in february
i said i was just another girl
and you told me no,
you were you and i was me
and right then
we mattered
not as a unit, but as people
separate entities

here's the catch
you said ten, fifteen years from now
sure -- i might be just another girl

it's only been two
two years
if you started blurring me together now
with the other people who are just
taking up space
in your memory

i
think
i'd
die.

i saw a quote the other day
about emptiness
and how no amount of love
on this planet
can fill it
when it's sincere
and i couldn't help but think
of myself
as a black hole
gaping and bare
stealing kisses in the dark
and words out of the mouths
of babes
just for the thrill
just for the reassurance
that i am desirable
but nothing more

because he took
the rest of my capabilities
with him.

there's something scratchy in my throat. behind my tongue. between my lips. it's ever-present, ever-changing, ever-clawing to be set free. it sits solemnly as i wake, stretching its own claws as i wind up, holding out for the moment i realize that i am conscious. once again. for another day. holding out for the moment i'm smiling, thinking this will be a better day. then it howls. scratches up, up, up. itches my tongue. pounds against my teeth, slithers between my lips, hisses. **maybe not.