Before she got on the plane
She wondered what the Andes would be like
High in the mountains.
And she worried
That her silver-spoon belly wouldn't handle
Whatever it is they eat there.
And she worried
That the kids would cut her pack and take
Whatever it was she was carrying.
And she worried
That the hot Amazon air would scorch her lungs
Whatever the temperature is in the rainforest.

But she didn't expect
That Avocado ice cream
Would be the best kind there is.
And she didn't expect
The shy village girls
To play with her long braided hair
And she didn't expect
That the sweet, warm jungle air
Would turn her city into a castle-
Princesses don't belong in towers.

You didn't have to cut me
In my room that night.
My father's multi-tool knife to my neck
"what a funny joke!"
But it wasn't a joke at all, was it?
That blade never broke my skin
Yet you course through my veins
I carved a place for you
All on my own
More proof that I didn't need you

I spent some time thinking alone
Until eventually I work up enough of an opinion
To put in my two cents.
And I think of my mom and dad
Working their fingers to the bone
Dark circles under their eyes
Shifting around on unsteady hips
Working
Because, they tell me, 'hard work pays off!'
Working
Already old at 45
Working.
But I stare down at those thoughts of mine
Pennies, in an otherwise empty jar
And I wonder if those thoughts
Will ever add up to enough
To be worth a ****.

Dreams of you
A dark forest wedding with your scattered,
broken congregation
Envying your faceless bride
With hateful remorse.
Filling only the space beside you
She is untouchable;
A sole mortal at a ghosts’ masquerade.
Your presence is children’s Tylenol
Thick and sickly sweet
Filling my throat.
Coating my naïve conscience
You treat only my symptoms
Your absence?
Astrotravel. I have
No
Body.

The only thing about you
That never changes
Is the small opening  your mouth makes
When you fill me up.

After the hours with you
That she stole from me
I hope that if nothing else
That face is still only mine.

L
  L
    L

That scratch is from the woods
Pencils, after all, are made of wood.
That scratch is covered now
In layers and layers of skin
One layer
For each piece of the puzzle
He put back in place
Its a shame there will always be one missing.