I can't risk it
I won't let myself
Put myself through all that **** again
I won't.

What?

You don't believe me?

...

It's how I look at you, isn't it.
The hope.

I didn't think it would show so plainly on my face.
Never wanted it to.

I suppose now that is has you expect me to explain myself
I refuse.

well, maybe just a little.

I parallel myself to the man who drowns on a boat in a freshwater lake
Surrounded by love
And somehow distanced from it.

I have grown to slap the hand that reaches for the water
And that hand has learned to remain
hidden.

I am a lost soul who speaks in metaphors because the truth would hurt you
and God knows I don't want that
Playing with words, toying with a melody
It keeps me sane.

So if a glance slipped out from within
I apologize

It won't happen again.

My phone lights up and goes dark.
An "X" with your name beside
A missed call.

I return.
You pick up.

Flash:

It's the eighth grade again.
It's 4 am.
I muffle my voice so my parents won't hear us talk
I refuse to hang up until I hear a click from your side
To preserve what I can, savor the moment

Return:

Tonight, we talk.
We discuss what went down on your side of the world this week
And remember old jokes
(your cat is only fatter)

Tonight, you're tired.
You and I both should go to sleep.
We sign off, say our good nights

And I am the first to hang up.
As I was that July, three long years ago.

*People change.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

Is it blind to see from different perspective?
Perspective is reality.
Reality is what you make it.
Make it....your perspective.
Respectively we decide to make it ours,
Ours which can't always be theirs,
So should theirs always be ours?
Or is it ok to be blind?
Blinded by theirs, blinded by ours,
Stuck in a single white-rabbit hole of clarity,
Thinking it's reality.
Waiting for the smoke to clear,
So we can see which way was ours again,
So we can see which way was theirs.
Then blind ourselves to every-which-way but one--That One.
Self-blinding vision,
is this reality.
Now hand me the ******* mushroom, please.

i.


dear poetry, we met when i was four,
you were count lestat, and it was love
at first sight. you were made of bone
and bane, and razors, i was a mosochist

and you were a black widow, i would
know, i was there, trying to pry
open all of your eight legs, looking
for the amrita.


ii.


dear poetry, if i were to answer all
of the thirteen questions you have ever
asked me, the answers would be,
no, no, yes, march the thirty second,
"how frail a human heart must be -",
diacetylmorphine without the butterfly,
mother, yes, barely, jolene, you don't
love me, contractility, and no.


iii.


dear poetry, you have pretty legs.


iv.


dear poetry, i am an ugly archetype of denuded
adolescence and i think you smell
like teenagers and a leather hacked smothered
in *** and black labels and ck perfume,
and a pound of god.


v.


dear poetry, if sleep is the brother to death,
where does my mother lie,
before ribbons of aubade
seek the flower in the sky?


vi.


dear poetry, today i don't think i love you anymore.


vii.


dear poetry, if you were humanised,
you would be ugly. you would be defleshed,
you would be ugly. you would be marked constantly by
ugly people and you would bleed ugly people.


viii.


dear poetry, today i might ******* my muses,
i might make them wear fishnet leggings,
with ****-me heels, i might give them *****
to suit others that **** them better than i do, and
it is all your fault.


ix.


dear poetry, i promise myself i would not speak
to you anymore, at least not in words, but
we both know poets are nothing but
liars, don't we?


x.


dear poetry, i am not a poet, all the poets are dead.

they died for you.


xi.


dear poetry, i am writting you thirteen letters
a year, they are ugly, like i am, they spell
an ugly word you would never speak of. you
will be anatomised, i will stuff you with
consangunuty, i will re-invent you.


xii.


dear poetry, you are older than me,
i am twenty, but you are only ten,
i am ripe, bruised, plucked from purple lips,
nothing is ageless.


xiii.*


dear poetry*, i am going to break you,
grind you in a mortar, roll you up,
into a blunt, and i am going to smoke
you along with the angels.

Take my hand, friend
just for a sec-
let's leave this ****** land of
SATs, PSATs, APs,
and college admission essays and guidance counselors
and homework and pop quizzes and exams and whatever else-

                                          behind.

Let's be two again.

Let's make Pringle-chip-duck faces
and grin with orange peel smiles-
I'll paint my nails yellow and we'll read Dr. Seuss with British accents
in the dimming light of the old
falling-down fort of pillows and blankets (that's almost too small for us)

Let's pretend
              Let's pretend
                            Let's pretend

That we've never seen the glowing screen of
televisions, computers, IPods,
that we haven't spent weeks wearing down our thumbs on text messages.
              Let's forget fights over boys that weren't even all that hot.

Let's sit in my yard and eat raw cookie dough behind my momma's back
And make too-sweet fresh lemonade, and blow dandelions
(into other neighbor's yards, of course)
Spray garden hoses at each other
and laugh and scream and giggle and make mud-pies.
Let's make twenty different secret handshakes,
Eat wild raspberries and hide sticky fingers
And pinky promise- again and again- BFFs forever.

Let's lose ourselves in the bliss of childhood
just one more time- please.

                            Just in case Peter Pan decides to visit.

;when you cut me open
at least nurse me.


until I perish with my eyes open.


" don't play so innocent. it's great being you. you are pretty and good at everything.
who wouldn't want to have miss perfect luny juny."

can we stop? i don't like this game. it reminds me of guns. hide and seek wit guns. everyone is dead. and mad. but moar dead. the rain is gone. the sky is pregnant.

" you are love in flesh, angel."

tell me where the rabbit found you. tell me how it was amputated it's foot so it would survive with luck.