I told you I didn’t want
to go out with you again
you asked me why I changed my mind
I gave you no in depth explanation
because there isn’t one
I told you that
sometimes I just change my mind
and that it just doesn’t feel right.
you asked me when it would feel
right and I said
I don’t know, man.
most people don’t like taking
no for an answer
but when you give them no choice
it feels pretty **** good because
no is a perfect answer
and sometimes yes is a perfect answer
but there is no right or wrong answer.
All I know is that saying no
feels good and I don’t owe anyone
anything and I can do whatever
the **** I want. At all times.
you thanked me for inspiring you
to write a poem and I said
you’re welcome because I already know
I’m ******* inspiring.
we only went on one date but
I bet it’s the best ******* poem
you’ve ever written.
Or maybe it’s the *******, but
either way, I know no matter
what pretty words you came up
with, not one of them could ever
sum up my beauty or complexity
because words can come close
but in the end they will always
always
fail.

i remember when you handed me a cloth
and a bucket full of soap and said:
"scrub."
i started to cry and said:
"you're treating me like i am Cinderella!"
you got so mad i hid in the living room closet
for four hours before you realized
i was gone.

i remember going grocery shopping with you
just so i could ride in the front of the cart.
you would always let me eat a chocolate donut
from the bakery section and i would always
make sure to be finished it by the time we got
to the till so you wouldn't have to
pay for it.

i remember the first time i stole a pack of gum
you didn't realize i had taken it until you watched me
unwrap a piece and stick it in my mouth right in front of you
when we got to the car.
you took me by the wrist and made me apologize to the
cashier, you told me i was bad and to never
do that again.

i remember being little and not wanting
to go to school because i didn't
want to leave you. sometimes you would let me
stay home and cuddle and watch movies with you
when i felt especially sad.

i remember you giving me piano lessons
and telling me to count out loud while
i practiced, meanwhile i had already
memorized the entire piece and was
making up new songs of my own.

i remember you telling me that i could always
tell you anything, that you would never judge me,
that you would always be there to listen and
comfort me. i remember believing you
and i remember the first time i realized
you didn't even know you were lying.

i remember sitting in the backseat with your
head on my shoulder while my Father drove you
to the detox centre. you kept saying how scared you were,
lighting cigarette after cigarette, squeezing my hand
so hard it cut off my circulation. your tears stained my sleeves,
and your vulnerability stained my heart.

i remember deciding it was time to lose you, finally,
on my own terms, for i had so many times felt as though
you were already a walking crime scene without the yellow
tape to ward people off. i tried but i couldn't make
a home out of that. it was time to learn the meaning
of safety, again.

i remember hearing your voice over the phone
after not hearing it for what felt like years,
and although you were a mess of tears and withdrawal
and ******, i could hear the love in your voice
and for once i felt my heart fill
with the temporary thing it has always wished for
consistently.

There is a light trapped in her room
Where old cigarettes stain
the yellow walls
With a putrid
placidity
Not natural
not her own
like the rows on her hips
that wont fade
or the love stuck
to her already puckered lips
she can talk
but wont quit

It's deeper than that
she says
yet the atmospheric
pressure is still
and her mind

chaotic

  calm

      chaotic

             calm



                       crash

I started to write a love poem about you
but then it turned into a love poem about someone else
that’s what getting over someone is like
it comes in portions
one day
I’ll write an entire love poem or song about you
maybe 7 or 8
I hope right now
you can settle for half

a lot of people I know
are never really happy
even when they’re happy, they’re really just sad

a lot of people I know
settle for just about anything
they’ll settle for emotional abuse and then settle for a deep addiction to feel better about the emotional abuse they’re letting themselves prostrate to
as long as it can still make “living” seem feasible,
they’ll settle
because nobody taught them how to ask for what they want,
so all this time they never ******* knew they were granted permission to feel worthy of getting what they want
because this world likes to think that nobody is entitled to feel worthy or to give into clarity

a lot of people I know
get off on damaging themselves
because blood and burns and bones and ***** and *** and pills and puke
are such disgusting in-your-face secrets
and this world knows it’s not acceptable to just blatantly write
“I hate myself” on your forehead with permanent marker for everyone else to see
yes, this stupid, guileful world we live in decided to trick everyone into believing that secrecy and suppression are what make a person
interesting and loveable

a lot of people I know
have this wicked demon inside of them
and they like to imagine it looks like a fiery nightmare,
red like terror
with a devilish face; poisonous eyes and a heartless grin;
a face that says “I own you”
just so that they can reinforce their ideas of worthlessness
and the self-pity of not having true control over themselves
when really, they can always have true control whenever they want

what *a lot of people I know don’t know is that
that wicked demon thing inside of them
is really just a flower wilting, starving, dying,
waiting, hoping, longing to be watered
and wondering what the **** they did
to be tortured like this

your face is something like
rotting wood full of bodies of people i knew
(rough to the touch and cold inside)
and there's nothing 'magic' in the air of graveyards
or the morgue
or the funeral home (even though some people
feel that there is) but there is
blood and make up and
prosthetic chins  
that  make your dead grandfather (rest in peace) look twenty-eight
even though he was eighty-two.
please don't tell me that your spirit feels trapped
and your body feels wrong (even though i'd listen and nod) because
i already know what it feels like to be trapped  every morning (and sometimes at midnight) and waking up with my eyes shut and my
mouth sealed like a coma patient who didn't tattoo
NO CODE
on her chest soon enough and can hear her family whispering about what kind of
coffin and
what size dress she wears so that she looks pretty for
the reaper.

I don’t want to be something someone asks you about just because they don’t know any other conversation-starters.
I don’t want to be the last drag of your cigarette only for you to say “Oh well I’ll just light another one.”
I don’t want to be a suicide note you read over and over again trying to understand why you never understood me.
I don’t want to be the symbol behind your sorrow, I don’t want to be the last lilac sitting in a vase on your kitchen table watching you try to keep it alive.
I don’t want to be that song you listen to over and over trying to recreate something that you never even experienced to begin with.
I don’t want to be that picture you keep above your bed, I don’t want to be the half-eaten meal you fed to the dogs instead.
I don’t want to be compared to that thing that is killing you that I can’t control. But I am. I am. I am.
I’m sorry.

we must gauge how much we like a boy.
do you like him enough to spend three hours
trying on clothes
and tossing them aside
finding some tiny flaw
in every
neckline
do you like him enough
to have nothing but water
for a week
just to tempt him to explore
your craggy peaks
do you want him enough
to cut your wrists
in anxiety
an hour before
you'll see him
do you like him enough
do you?


do
                                        

                                                           you?