He loved me once
With exuberance and joy
He loved me once
And saw my flaws as perfection
He loved me once
And helped me to love myself
He loved me once
With all that he is
He loved me once
With an honest soul much like my own
He loved me once
And made me believe in forever
He loved me once
With neither question nor doubt
He loved me once
And in a flash of perception
All I can say is...
He loved me once

Armed with empty sentiment and kindness
Sharing just enough to weaken defenses
A whiff of insecurity
And trust disintegrates
With one swift blow

If only there could have been
some type of an in-between
That could take me for awhile
to a world that I've never seen

It's not that I want to come
It's just I don't want to go
It's not that I want a high
It's just I don't want a low

I don't want myself without
But I don't want myself within
I don't want to commit to good
But I don't want to commit to sin 

It's not that I want to win
It's just I don't want to lose
It's not that I want a mystery
It's just I don't want the clues

I don't want to say hello 
But I don't want to say goodbye
I don't want myself to live
But I don't want myself to die

If only there could have been
some type of an in-between
That could take me for awhile
to a world that I've never seen

©

weight behind my eyes
i'm tired
tum tum drums and craving cries
music in my ears
words whistle-swish through my brain
i'm thinking
I have never felt this way
and I'll never feel the same
so Just this once
this is what a moment is
passing to the next
just this once
and then i'll let it slip
sleep will subtly sweep me down
and then i'll lose my grip
sight will  fade out of my eyes
my head will be a cloud
but for now...
for now Im young and alive

The only thing I’ve ever been able to see without squinting through bad eyes has been ugly
and stupid
and worthless
each adjective another bullet to the body of someone who is already dead.
I left the bullets where I thought they ought to be—right where they were—lodged between vital arteries and anything dangerous; they were equally acidic beings occupying the same profane space.
I allowed my skin to grow over them as much as it rioted.  
I wanted to remind myself that they were a part of me now
that the least I could do was let them be
the way I had never been.

I have always been a non-believer,
naturally a very-much-believer slipped into my line of fire the same way the sun peeps its shy face out of grey.
But it took more than prying me out of my pad-locked shell to make me a believer too.
It took swimming the length of the ocean to find me in my shell first
then slaying the eight-legged monsters that shielded me from all things good
and every time I unwound the bandages in front of you that encased my wounds
inflicted from the sour tentacles of the beast you had to fight away
I expected the sting of your fingers fresh with sea salt to sting like hell
but you would remind me of how often you wash your hands
only not after touching me--
never after touching me.
I wasn’t familiar with the smell of flesh without it being doused in sanitizer;
The mess of my pain was just more dirt on their skin.

You were my savior
the only hero ever willing to carry a dead body with the same caution as someone who could still thank you with their lips—not cold.
You were red wine and I was holy Sunday
gnawing at the body of Christ
but you learned how to consume me still
without just swallowing me whole
instead savoring even the most overbearing bites of me that reeked of its expiration date.
You taught me how to let myself be consumed by something other than ugly
and stupid
and worthless.
You taught me how to let myself melt in the warm safety of your tongue
that vowed to speak of only sweet things.
But trying to recall that lesson was quieter in my ears
each time I urged myself to complete the daily routine of supplying you with a special pair of scissors
expectant that you would dig deep into my body
like everyone else always had
knowing that the gashes you created would heal slower and leave scars uglier than scars inflicted by the hands of anyone else.
I pushed my already-open cuts in your face
shut eyes and gritted teeth
awaiting the familiar feeling of the people you love
making their marks
in the center of your back.
But I watched your mouth form something that I didn't know could sound soft, something like "n-o", the first no that ever sounded as sweet as a yes.
No new stab wounds,
no tearing of tight flesh.
All you did was re-stitch me.
You caught my blood in its vanishing act.

With every stitch I watched as past words lost their dictionary meanings
ugly: beautiful
stupid: smart
worthless: worth it.
You drug me out of my grave and took the time to dust me off the way no one else had
hushed the knives in my own hands dripping in my own blood to fall to the ground
spoke the magic words that opened the gates of my chest so that you could squeeze the life into my heart again.
You took the eyes from your own skull for the sake of making a better scenery out of myself.

I don't have to squint anymore.
I can see "worth it" taking form of "worthless" miles across the street
and as you place your petal hands on my head and tilt one last time
I am watching myself do the same.