we lay on our backs smoking cigarettes
the summer sky full of stars right above us
and i wanted to kiss her *****-tainted lips
and trace the curves of her face
of her collarbones
to lie between her hips
and taste her
i reached for her hand
fingertips away from hers
and she held it
and it was enough.

we sat on my bed
her head in my lap
and i braided her hair
her warm laughter spilling out
her budding lips, rolling off
her sweet tongue
and she played with the hem
of my skirt
i wanted to lean down
and press my mouth to hers
and make her mine
i pressed my lips
to her forehead
she beamed
and i thought
it might be enough.

we sat on the swings in the park
the wind played with her hair
her tiny feet in mary janes
scraped the dirt
and her arms wrapped around
the chain of the swing
i wanted to grab her face
to bruise her
to kiss her hard and
angry
to leave her
breathless
i pushed the swing
she squealed and my name
was on her lips
and it was
quite enough.

she cried in my bath
her cheeks mascara stained
her hair sticking to her face
wet
her words slurred
mouth delirious
she shrieked and sobbed
and i held her body
close to mine
pressed my lips
to the top of her head
as she screamed
and it would
never be enough.

we danced in my backyard
barefoot on the grass
her sundress swirled around
her knees
her sunburnt skin hot
and rough and
salty
we drank strawberry daiquiris
she said, "tell me what heartbreak tastes like"
i told her
i loved her
i told her
i wanted to make her mine
i wanted to show her the stars
i wanted
to be enough
i wasn't enough
she kissed my cheek and left
heartbreak tastes like her.

For her
he was always the man
on the other side of the table.

He was fond of it that way
so he could see her face
read the shades and lights
crack jokes through the grim times
when on the table was little
brimmed plenty in their hearts
and her tears when flowed
were not of unfulfilled needs
but a happiness she couldn’t grasp.

She doesn’t know
what she misses is love
or a mere habit.

She only knows
food doesn’t taste the same
without the man
on the other side of the table.

Weeping willows hide the child, that sees beyond this time. Veils and shadows taking shape, within the forefront of her mind.

Her hair is in disarray, she's just woke up from rest. Darkness all around her, heart beat quickens inside her chest.

She lifts her voice to the darkness, and sings to fill it with light. Bursting colors stream forth, pushing back the night.

Home she can't remember, it's begun to fade away. Like erupting colors, the sunrise brings each day.

Clutching her doll to her chest the trees soothe her with song. Wind blows through her hair, and passes hope along.

She is the child of morning, a sign for better days to come. Shining in her innocence, to beckon the rising sun.

Stay up all night thinking of you,
of cigarette kisses that never happened,
the after taste of mint in my tongue.

I'm drunk,
But I know clearly all I've wanted is you.

Goodnight,
You're head on the pillow
the dreams are out the window,
In the morning you'll pretend and continue your day.

Cigarette kisses,
I'm addicted to the the nicotine hanging off your tongue.

Good morning regret, remember me?
You know me too well,
I'm here at the back waiting on your bed.
Let's stay up all night,
I'm the only company you've got.

You're drunk,
drowning sorrow with some stranger's warmth.

Hello,
I'm back;
tell me about how lonely you are,
I will try to kiss you and pretend,
when the sun breaks through the window,
about how bad we are for each other.

Cigarette smoke, mint kisses;
we're addicts to this cancer but, ****,
I need you at night when I'm most lonely.

We're drunk, love,
let's drag this in the covers and
burn our fingers with the ashes.

It’s 2:39 in the morning and
I’m sitting on my fold-in couch
with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.
This is not a poem.
This is the realization that hits me
out of nowhere
so suddenly,
so unexpectedly,
in the midst of something so ordinary.
This is not a poem.
This is me, at 2:40 in the morning,
realizing that you were never good enough for me.
That I chose to put myself down, to ignore
my wishes and desires
so as to please you.
That I made up all these excuses for you,
that I came up with all these reasons to justify
why you were manipulating me,
that I kept telling myself you’d eventually
admit to having loved me all along.
This is not a poem.
I do not need a metaphor to tell you
that I realized I do not need you.
That I realized I never really did.
Right now, at 2:43 in the morning
I have never felt more alive
than in this very second
now that I am free of you.
This is not a poem.
This is a goodbye letter to the me that thought she loved you.
This is me, at 2:45 in the morning,
knowing my worth.
I am made of a billion universes
scattered inside my eyes,
I am a billion trembles,
I am nebulous,
and it’s 2:46 in the morning,
I’m sitting on my fold-in couch
with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.
This is not a poem.
This is the realization that hits me
out of nowhere
so suddenly,
so unexpectedly,
in the midst of something so ordinary:
I am so much better than anything you’ll ever be.

Болиш ме -
разяждаш ме -
течеш като киселина във вените ми
и разкъсваш всички тънки връзки
между мен и моята същност.
Изгаря ме всяка целувка
като пламъци стапящи плът:
аз съм малка восъчна фигурка
в ръцете на качулатата Смърт.
Ти си беладона във виното,
бели пясъчни лилии,
змийска отрова по устните,
конник на бяла кобила -
вестител на всичкото зло;
ти си разпятие
и алена ябълка,
ти си грях,  
ти си нощ.
И разпилявам се също тъй алена, кървава,
разпилявам се като стъкло.
Скиташ в дъжда, като просяк омърляна,
в рокля разкъсана
и оглеждаш се в локвите,
мокра, мръсна прелъстителка
в ръката с нож.
А душата ми е затворена
между четири стени катедралени
брои минутите
до твоята поява -
точно
тридесет
и
три.
Ти си пясъчен часовник, запращам те,
разбивам те на хиляди стохилядни стъкла-
изтичаш като пясък между пръстите ми,
сол в раните
по китките,
които сама съм издълбала --
не спираш гласовете в главата ми,
ти жалка просякиньо
с кърваво червило
и ириси със цвят на нощ
и ереси
се крият в твоите ириси,
и белези
като влакови прелези
раздират кожата ти
кожата ми -
аз и ти, нима сме едно?
Пророк на всяко мое минало
и всяко твое бъдеще,
жрица на богове и богини
отдавна загинали -
в небеса мастиленосини
удавяш се,
ти, моя Атлантида,
порок (пророк)
и грях(и бях),
пречистване(потъване)
и крах (и бях).
Къде си? (Няма те.)
Къде съм? (Няма ме.)
Накъде сме,
не знам защото всички пътища
преплитат се,
кръстовища и скитане,
и
пъкълътсееопразниливсичкитемудемонисатук,
ах знаех си--
Тишината е оглушаваща,
валят куршуми
от страдание
по тънкото стъкло.
В главата ми си,
под кожата ми -
отмиват калните води от тебе мъката,
удавник съм
и диря
зов
покров.
Като мъниста по кристален под
и като белите пера на гълъба
обагрени във алено -
Устните ти шъпнат в ухото ми
омразата,
разкъсваш плът,
къде е  б о г.
Отразявам се в кристалните води на твоята повърхност.
Разкъсваш всички тънки връзки
между мен и моята същност.
Течеш като киселина във вените ми -
разяждаш ме -
Болиш ме.
Любов.