had to ask somebody for toughness today
*** the skin they had grown
for 54 years
was not enough to deal
with my *******.

had to ask somebody to let go today
*** their closets were
like 9/11 towers and
i did not want to
be the first plane.

had to ask somebody for a vacation today
*** i can't stop thinkin' about the ocean
and the fact that i'm still not sure
where i'm heading;
gotta explore my options.

had to ask somebody if they remembered today
*** i saw the carpet coming off the floor
and i thought of the first time i stepped on a
nail,
and how i realized our blood changes from //blue to red\

had to ask somebody for a ride today
*** i spent too much time
reciting poetry in HS and
i'm scared i'll hit a mirror
or a rabbit.

see, usually... i just ask myself.
usually, it isn't even a question
i move my arm toward what's gotta be done
but today, i needed some palms to read.
i needed some help.

now i'm the meditator
moving in slow motion
try, see what the lights looked like on her cloud soft skin

how long she spent in front of a reflection
using mother's new eye shadow
labeled Midnight, adding to her moonlight glow

sneaking kisses behind their backs
has been something i pride myself on
ride myself on

i touch all of you in the same places;
the difference being when you need it
but there are so many connections laced under your layers
that i have trouble ignoring.

"How do you know exactly how to touch me?"
I was born all-knowing.

that secret spot along the back of an ear
(the curled fold on a leaf)
anywhere the bristles poke me
(pine needles brush my shins)
where hair meets the back of a neck
(that vast lake, meeting the sky)
the shaft meeting all that hair
(base of a tree that fits my back)

the crease on a knee
(cracked soil in the desert)
the palm of a hand
(an areal view of connecting streams)
the tip of a ******
(a mountain peak)
the bottom lip, slightly tugged
(the opening of our damaged atmosphere)

That is how I know;
from singing to atlas'
saturating maps in my wetness,
staining myself with ink ...
and knowing exactly where to feel.

The hole in my chest spins with the phosphorescent white lights of my eyeballs
They go out in an instant
Reverse, counterclockwise
This house is toxic and I can't seem to shake the feeling that this black-hole feels more like home than anything I've known.
It isn't because I know you best
It's because I know you worst
And if I had learned that and never repeated the lesson,
Then my candles wouldn't be nearly gone
And my lipstick wouldn't be stained onto my lips
And I would have been asleep hours ago.

See, I have a problem with saying no.
A vortex approaches me and I'm excited, not afraid
I invite it in to my rib cage just to feel it knot all of my torso into a ball
Tensing it and tensing it until I release
Into the blade and into the lack of my senses
Tingling and wet incisions that taste like bitter mangoes and the bad nights in summer
Hot nights,
Sticky nights.
When you can't close your eyes and you can't feel your legs but the hair on your forehead could be glued on

The last time I was sent away, I had cat scratches on my hands
They're back again
My knuckles were the prettiest shades of red, black, and blue.
These appear in my head
Which might be a step toward heaven
Or what everyone tells me normality feels like.
Ignorance, bliss, and most important,
The avoidance of disappointment all together.

That's what I'm filled with.
Pens with missing parts, smudged nail polish, burning your hair, not having a family to have Thanksgiving with, knowing dad wants to die, waking up from a nightmare, being ****** into adulthood, having no money, being stood up at 3am by your ex
Darkness
The light has to be in there somewhere
Or else I don't know what I'll do.

I don't know if I'm more afraid of the future or the past.
I don't capitalize "I" if I'm feeling low.
When I call myself the ocean,
it means I'm crying.
Half my phrases are made up
about things I see
but don't understand.
I'm a jungle-gym.
Thoughts climb me
pull out my hair
Nestle in my ear drum
Sing until my fair skin
shines in snow.
I don't know why you still matter.
Why gravity hasn't taken you
smashed you on the side of its bowl
mixed, poured
served you to your mother.
I don't know why
I still know what your door
sounds like when its opened
or slammed shut.
I'm scared because I couldn't handle it last year.
I'm scared because
the Christmas tree in the school's court yard
looks just like the one from my hospital window
I'm scared that you're dying.
I'm scared that I lost so many
that I dyed my hair purple
and yet you still don't see me.
I'm scared because September
lives in Seattle
and he's the only one okay with
me not shaving my legs.
You see,
it feels as though
everything is miles away
I've never been a runner
and I don't know how to drive a car
I don't know how I'll get there.
I'm afraid of trust.
I'm afraid to trust myself.
What if tall windows aren't enough?
Will the library be big enough to hide in?
Will my favorite color stay green?
What if I lose myself?

What if I don't go to India?

Someday I’m going to sit in the rocking chair I begged my mom to throw away because it was old and ugly and I’m going to be thankful that I’m moving. That scares me.

fans spin and breezes blow and music plays and
children fall and showers wash and fences
cover and kites fly and grass grows and railings
balance and bugs crawl and glass shatters and
cars go and fireflies light up and volcanoes
erupt and tides rise and planets rotate
and stars shine and hands hold and feet
walk and bushes rustle and birds sing and
kings rule and helmets protect and water
quenches.
these things remind me of what you do
  to
     me.

K.K.

burn in a bonfire
sell in a garage sale
throw at a mirror
feed to a pack of dogs
eat with your mother
offer to the Gods
pin to a tree
drown in the ocean
flatten in a book
bury under your floorboards
hang like a chandelier
donate to science
kiss before bed

The binding on my  mind is rotting in the forest floor
Planted there to never be found
I now realize the dead doesn't stay dead forever
and you can't quiet a sleeping darkness
because it whispers in its dreams
and the nightmare is coming to a ******
it's beginning to sob
the binding on my mind is rotting
how do i reverse nature
and make myself whole again?

i began collecting my hair in April
it sits on the tops of pillows
weaves itself onto scalps of my loves
sets itself on bathroom floors and
swirls onto the walls of showers
wraps itself around your tender parts
and leaves me pounds lighter.
i find it on this very page
soft and breakable and shines in lamplight
that is harsh
like how you pulled the strands
because i asked you to.
i shed so much because i secretly wish to vanish
and my vanity  has not taken over
and my vapor sits still behind my gums
even when i am left alone
taking bristles to my head
to relax because
i have no one to play with me
and no one to look into
when the sky is a combination of both day and night.

We're a shuffled deck of cards
and while I play these games in the dark light of my bedroom
the tree branches reach through glass
and scrape down my soft, fragile womb
marked in three slashes in the sign of the devil.
We are twirling in a  sea of
romantic era art songs
written off of clouds and
20th century paintings of eyes
in the sky.
We meant to go right
veer right
swerve right
but wrong is the way the storm has pushed us.
Floating on rooftops
I am waving my pale arms
pleading for help
I try to map out the swells of tides in my chest
with chains of rusty necklaces
handed down from my ancestors
who would shake their **** heads
if they could see the effort I throw into
waking each new, bright morning
filled with crowing doves
that follow me like i resemble an angel carcass
in a world of dreamy humans
climbing down the street
under a ceiling of umbrellas
engulfing ****** features
i        used        to       identify     you.

We carry these things on our shoulders
and we're strong for a little while
but then the water jugs begin to strain.
Every world has these issues
of things being too heavy
babies being too light
a feather in a universe of stones
she said she barely felt me.
The light is gray
I can hear the pitter-patter of rain feet
scampering across the roof
singing a song that matches my very being
we are one, you and I.
my brother is in Seattle
today feels like i am there, too
he dives in for food
comes out with signs pocked with words
you don't even have the strength to think
Feminism, Gay Rights, Free Speech, Pro-choice
I am American, hear me roar.
I burn candles painted with the ****** Guadalupe
because they are long and thin
like the girls I kiss but do not love
I am a contradiction
I pray to the God of an agnostic
I pray to the moon
Her pale, luminescent body mimics my own
and on nights where she takes up my horizon,
we gossip and giggle.
She is my only best friend.
I write poetry about boys
the way they move makes me move
and then everyone is stepping
flashing lights and music no one likes
  (unless they're ****** up)
my life only consists of nights like these in the summer

i have been shivering for months now
trying to find an ounce of warmth
in your arms, my mother's arms
  (i seem to forget i am the closest)
but the trees are cold, too
they are naked and exposed
and the only thing I'm thankful for today is that they are not being *****.
People seem to forget I live in every slice of nature they consume.
Every dead branch burnt in a bonfire,
every loaf of bread eaten at a church feast,
every pet fish killed off by being fed too much
or not at all.
I am infinite.
I live on Mars, home of the Twins.
I don't need a telescope to watch you commit adultery.
Don't underestimate my power.
I break down at the sight of any irrational thought.
My emotions will crush you
My fears will find you in the dark.
Crawl up on you
DON'T turn around.
I am always watching
Hiding at the base of your neck
Feel my ghostly breaths chill down your spine.
I'm behind every gleam in your eyes
I'm there even when I'm not.
I will be with you
Every one of you
For the rest
of
your
lives.
And the best part?
     Sometimes we'll stay in bed together.
Like on rainy, hazy days
When your stomach hurts
And panicked breaths are inevitable
I'll be there
Keeping you company
because you love me.
Because I created you.

the rush of orange and purple
backwards seats
leaving you behind
leaving the deep skyline behind
leaving my breath and the way you filled my fingernails with flesh
second love
proving every inch of mind to the depths of the ocean
and i hope and wish and pray
that you will sit in my opposite seat
and we will look up from our newspaper puzzles
and laugh on how
we have no capability to do anything we wish
because we skipped every opportunity we do not regret
and skipped every rock we will never regret
over the pond of swans
that look elegant, but bit my cousin Jack
that look elegant, but broke my aunt’s heart
that look elegant
but violently
purge
up
every
meal.

the cars approach in rows
carrying burdens heavy as themselves
ants on a sand dune
wishing for a living passenger
to carry home

i stood there in your shower
feeling the beads of water
cupping it
drinking it
as though it were the fountain of life.
i stomped in those puddles
filled with water
filled with gasoline
and wondered why the stripes from
the prisms in your eyes
aren't enough to keep you sane.

i have stretch marks
and dry skin
and when i cry, mascara turns my face dark
half the time i want to take an iron to my stomach
or a scissors to my thighs
but i am not a butcher
and the one time i burned myself,
it wasn't what i needed.
i just want disposable cameras
and cotton candy pink hair
and sidewalk cracks to walk along
after holding a piece of glass
filled with a natural herb.
vertebrae of small mammals
bless this house
i'm rooted to these sheets
i can't get out.

pink dressers and
the way your eyes are tinged red after you cry
blue heart shaped boxes
i pictured purple
and saw the night of my first stay
shades of colors
sky yellow
sky orange
i prefer sunrises
i prefer sunrises
i know myself
better than anyone else
you will learn
my appreciation for the earth
you will see my ability
to whisper into petals
catch dragon flies with the stillness of my being
support a caterpillar in his journey for the perfect leaf.
i may be in space
but i can touch you from there
light-years away and i promise the sunshine stroking your face is still very much alive.
i wish to climb rocks and run my
fingertips over lichens
sing to a bird
click my tongue
chipmunks running into the palms of my hands
i am free
in the shifting of the leaves
forest floor and tiny frogs.
star light
comets
i am the universe
and you love me.

thrift store blue roses
metallic nails and
sleep deprived daily.
A chalkboard with lines that
won't erase
spirits running past
in the elongated hallway known as
maze.
straight through
straight lost
portraits and swinging attic doors
a girl named Lisa
a boy named Frank
poems entitled "******"
soft, pink, cotton candy
organism, few
silver, purple, rubber
lining that
won't erase.
"I see you."
with my tiger jaw
with my shark eye
"I feel you."
with my sandpaper *******
with my speckled poison ivy legs.
with my view of planet earth.
with my hatred for auto shops
and greasy black bike handles
marker stained support
picket fences
picket signs
I wish, I wish, I wish.
I dream
I run
I away
I to
I the
I mountains
I because
I I
I am
I filled
I with
I dusted
I joints.

every light stutters
like when i try to write the word
"biblical" in cursive
or you accuse me
and i find myself smiling
even though i did nothing wrong
because you believe i could have
because everyone sees the exterior
and the interior
but not the center
of the earths crust
too deep
machines won't ever  reach my layers
sheltered from you all
no, you'll get a smile and a stutter
and you'll never, ever know.

come and kiss me
leave your fingerprints on my chest
imprinted
like brail
because i am blind to how you could
possibly
see me in any other way
than that reflection in the mirror
staring back
glaring back
swearing back
each morning.
tattoos of your every touch
black ink borrowed from the pen i wish
could inspire you
move you
grace your back
let me draw all over you
my doodles of 9/11
and how the people fell
my doodles of animals
and how they fall in love like the people
who fell.
let me make constellations
from your scars and moles
name them after the names I'd name my children
because i wish you had come from me
simply because i have always dreamed
of creating something so beautiful
it took my breath away
*just by blinking.

that night i cried into your back
after kissing all of your moles
i whispered secrets into every single touch
each being a new word
a new syllable
i thought about how drunk i was with him
how i cannot remember who was on top
how in that same setting
with those same running veins
i cried into the floor
after kissing my cell phone
about how pretty she was
and how pretty i was not.
i thought about the night i went into the hospital
and how all of the others told me about the writing left underneath the desk in my room
how i explained to them
that one of the first things i did upon arrival was hide underneath it
i found it on my own.
i have found so much on my own.
i tried to climb the shelves
but i fell and almost broke my elbow
how interesting of a story that would have been;
and how lovely it would have been to tell you
on that first evening we met
i first noticed the deepness of your voice
like the scariest part of the ocean
filled with fish with lights swinging from their foreheads to lure in their meals
filled with silence
and an occasional wisp of a breeze
i next noticed your height
the tallest boy i have ever gotten to be with.
your eyes that night were the most beautiful
i felt my existence looking into them
i realized where i was
and who i was with
I realized that I was Kalena.
I realized that because of this fact, I had Dylan.
I realized that if I was no longer Kalena,
or in other terms,
I was Kalena after she took a knife to her veins,
I would not be Kalena with Dylan.
and that broke my heart.
it broke my heart that the fact that we might not be together was a possibility.
the fact that that might be occurring in a different reality
right now
i don't want it to exist in any part of the universe
in another galaxy
i want you in every reality
i want you in every cloud's memory
seeping from every pine tree
and inside of every cave wall, veiled behind a rushing waterfall that people are afraid to get sprayed by.
that is how much i want you, Dylan.
every single tile on every single bathroom floor
every single calendar
every single full moon
every single sunrise
every single loon calling out to its mate
no matter how terrifyingly alone that cry sounds
i want you there.
i want you everywhere.
i want you.
i want you.

it pains me to swallow
like my saliva is a ball of yarn
like i could pull it right back out
hold the end between my teeth
and right when i start to panic,
pull it out layer by layer
unraveling everything i've worked for
everything i wanted you to see
everything i wanted you to hold;

and in that moment:
when i had decided to shove it down my throat
realization set in that i was throwing it all away
every inch of myself was once underneath you
we were crocheted together
one loop, two loop, three loop, four;
flower milk honey
i think of the country and lawn chairs
i think of the way people's bodies swing from trees
and how when that occurs
it's disgusting until you are a child
free of white moons formed into your fingernails
free of bruised knees and pale, pale afternoon cuts in the delicate afternoon light.
free of a humans eyelashes
moved onto your dog's
because that's all that matters as a kid, right?
your dog.
and i remember how when you walked to your van
that full moon hung right above your head
and i could have sworn there was a red line threaded between the two of you
and each step you took down her porch
the piece of the string i held
was  dragged further from me
until you were long lost and long gone
and i ran into the house
because the one thing i trusted in the entire universe
took the one thing i loved in the entire universe
away
and i was left with callused hands
from holding so tightly onto that rope
for four long years
of angry boys with angry fingers
of soft girls who moved their heads in the direction of my own
because they had no idea where to place their hands
or what to do with a pink tongue
against my rib cage.

i never needed those to scar, anyway
i took care of that myself.
my ankles bled and my arms shone and my bones sighed and
at times, my entire being creaked
in need of oil
from the pores of you, my love.
like the way that you held your head up with your wrist
even in your sleep
just so i could watch you
and when i would pressure it
it creaked.
a door
your wrist was an open door
and when you pressed into my neck
i held the door shut tight
making sure no one could get in or out
to destroy you to destroy us to destroy me to destroy "           ".
because if we face it
run head on
the only thing he remembers is that
first kiss across his eyebrow
because it was requested.
he could not recall the drunken 2 am slurs of poetry written on his name
how exotic it sounded coming from my white, sad, little mouth
simply because he could whisper languages into my ear and i would breathe a little differently.
he could not recall the way i grasped his hand
so tight so that he could never, not once...
run, run, run away.
i could never run my fingers through his hair
or curse my family under his breath
or scratch at his arm to push him off of me
because no, i didn't want that.
no, i'm not ready.
for the love of god
was i not ready.

i continually ask for you to leave
and for the first time
after we held hands in that triangle and shouted
"GRANT US THESE WISHES"
on 11:11:11 at 11:11:11
i received my present on my door step
on a rainy day in mid-january
you were no longer there
and that was okay.
but i must admit my journals do not agree
four years ago
"OH, I GOT WHAT I WISHED FOR. HE IS GONE AND I AM ALONE."
i want to take it back
i want to take every wish back
and every phone call
i want to stroke your arm
and his and his and his
and hers
maybe.
you may think i don't understand.
because at age 13, we care so much
but at age 16, we care so much
let me tell you
i have cared since i was 1
i have cared every single year since then
and i am capable of falling in love with each and every single one of you
if you cry
or if you scream.
I'll hold your face for eternity, baby.
I'll do it.
Just watch.

the time you leaned across my back and i felt
your adams apple
and the time we watched movies
and kissed throughout most
because we just loved exchanging body heat so much
and you were so warm
and he was so cold
and i haven’t worn someones sweater in months
and i haven’t kissed anyones eyelashes in years
and i haven’t felt you in decades
and i haven’t felt myself in centuries
and i just want to disappear
into the noise that’s voicing itself outloud
like i wish i could.
i want to spin
and spin
and JUMP.
off of your shoulders
and into the universe
and onto a star
a hot
heated
star
and i want to get burnt
and i want it to hurt.
and i want to watch your face
as i die
and i want you to smile
because that’s what I **love

i want you to scream “SHUT UP!” in the middle of one of my ramblings

anyone?

anyone?

no, no one.

i want you to do it and i want you to slap me and then i want you to kiss me

and i want to be FURIOUS with you

but i want to taste your lips

i’m so far gone and i’m so long lost

and i feel like a million dust particles flying in the drapes of your mothers house

the one that wears the bright pink lipstick you hated as a child

it’s what i’ve always wanted, isn’t it?

to explode.

and surround you in the most literal sense

because that’s the only sense i’m capable of fulfilling.

i am not overwhelming nor am i beautiful.

nor is my voice or my pale, pale skin.

even when it’s torn or taunt

or bitten or blackened

from your anger kisses

and your frustration vacuum

******* up all of me

all of me

goodbye all of me

why is it that i can only form words

about idiotic people making the most sense of their lives

and me hating mirrors

and me hating me.

why can’t i speak about

the way the clouds graze over my ankles when i’m laying in a field

or the way you TOUCHED my hand

and my heart fluttered like an angel

if only my innocence were that strong

and my skin that pure

i have rashes and wounds and heals and brokens

and i am not happy with any of it

but there i go again

ignoring how soft my blanket feels or the way the dust on my fan sits

even though it goes every night

to drown out my thoughts

so i have hope in falling asleep

because you know i can never sleep in silence

or with the television on

because i’m afraid of quiet and i’m afraid of loud

and i am a contradiction in every sense of the **** word

and i love it.

life was so incredibly vivid the day i was released
like a butterfly from a cocoon
i could not yet see my wings
but i knew they were there
and that they were ready.
i flew through the sky
like a shooting star.
millions made wishes on me
and i carried them each
until i was covered in tears
and desperate for rest.
but yet i cannot relax.
i sit in a bathtub and create shadows
with my body
and my hands
matching with the music i hear in my head
and your voice just keeps interrupting
a blockade to serenity
which will be my daughter’s name.
i wear a necklace from my brother each day
but i’ve learned i can live without it
even though i cannot live without you.
i’m so heavy.
i’m so desperate.
please do not be afraid of me.
don’t be ashamed.
i only want to be good enough.
and now my wings have drowned
in a basin of tears of wishes
and i don’t know how to dry off
or if i should.
all i know
is that my kisses
mean nothing
and i’m afraid
that they never will.

Someday
I’m going to be able to recite the line
“My favorite life is…
mine.”
and I’m going to believe it.
I’m going to have kids.
I’m going to visit Asheville, North Carolina a second time around.
And I’m going to reminisce about the time I ran away the summer I turned 17.
Because I needed to see mountains.
Because their dust had floated into my bones and tied themselves snug around my joints, and the magnet pulling me back had started to hurt.

I’m thinking about the way you jump over things
And how you trip over guitar chords
And get angry
but that light in your basement
the one that reminds me of serial killers and lie detectors
it shined on you
and the dust that rose from your dying flesh
like feathers flying from a pillow fight
when one person gets more out of it than everyone else.
And how you believe in words like
“initiation” and “rad”
How you make me want to scream at the top of my lungs
Because I’m alive
And because you’ll let me.

the way that i sat with you today
in an upward fashion
with my bare back
being tickled by the length of my strands
and how my stomach was not flat
but you insisted upon making sure
i knew you knew
it was beautiful.
and the light was the most pale blue i ever saw
besides the photos of the sea
that I've never traveled to
because i had no one living down under
to visit.

when i visited asheville
no one noticed the calluses on my toes
or the way that that one hair would not stay down
or how i was too lazy to shave
and being near cockroaches was okay
and my brother walks like a dancer
years later
thousands of minutes later
he continues to bounce with each step
just like you:
i eat
and kiss you
and no one cares if i was too lazy to shave
or that i have calluses on my toes
or that my hair just won't stay down.

you took the finger you accuse with
you took it and accused my insides of the most punishable sin
adultery
because baby, i want you. i want you.
and while this took place, i left my body
and moved into my shadow filled ***
and grasped your neck
and threw my head back
because i am loud
and i am not controlled
like a broken electrical line
snapping and shooting at the ground in a mass of sparks
like the fourth of july in shorts that daddy would not be too proud of
and scabs on your thighs from that mysterious boy who lives down the street.
secret, secret. mom i'm a *******.
mom i like it when he hurts me.
mom he pulls my hair and bites my chest and i tnrill.
it isn't the same when i bite myself
because lord knows that's because i want to feel close to death
and maybe because he does throw
and kick and cut
when he loses it all
maybe i will come close to death.
maybe he'll just tilt that steering wheel
scream at me for everything i can't do
and then i'll be gone.
and you won't have a ******* for a daughter any longer;
what a heavy burden to carry.

i miss you now.
sitting in the light of a lamp on the floor because i have no the furniture to put the things on.
i was *******
and the way that my ******* separated down the middle
and how you saw that
was the existence of summer
in a cold, cold winter.

the minute that i entered your coven
i groaned about how tired i was
how sick
and i kneeled at the bottom of your stairs
waited for your grace to allow me to continue
laid down on your bed
and realized i could not find your scent
buried in the pillows without covers
like a piece of art in the rain
without a tarp
but you wrapped your arm around me
and all i felt was the meat
and blood
and so i scratched at them
to make you happy.
the hair on your arms reminds me of the way any living creature appears
when the sun grazes its presence
at just the right angle.
every piece of you is pale
and pale - fragile
fragile - weak
but i could feel your muscle.
and that makes you a walking contradiction, my sweet.
your collar bones have not once been freckled by anything other than my bite
and specks of sang.
you are not allowed to break them
because he did the same
and you are not him.

I like to think that sitting in a diamond
with these women,
    spitting tongues and
spicy hot
that I can follow.
that I hear their every word
and know it's meaning, context.
I pretend there isn't a
                                      |barrier|.
Because of their sun-kissed skin,
   thick strands like a horses tail,
      burly eye protectors
                       and long eyebrows.
The way their hips snap
                 and sway
to the beat of a bachata song.
   the way they aren't afraid of the
fire that formed the minute they sprung
from the womb.
      Hot (Caliente),
               fire (fuego),
                       sacrifices and (sacrificios y)
                                   respect (respeto).
I will sit here and listen
read their quick bodies
show my teeth as they do.
Because I want to learn
of that strength.

the experience
of a mouth filled with cotton
a warm stomach
and tripping glances
is null.
you set things to fire with
your warm, sweaty palms
and carry her strands
to avoid the acid.
stand me up and drive me home.
we can breathe in sync
like it sometimes happens with
slamming car
       doors.

my bright eyes
named after a band
named after a constellation
and i will let you know
that when i lay on that sidewalk
over previous ant wars and layers and layers of decomposed mammals
all i can see is the motion of this earth
and a past time i will never forget
is being dizzy.
that is what happens when i look at you.
i can see you in the dark.
you are my light
when your eyes are open.
and when they are not, i know you are there.
i will always know you are there
glassy and intelligent and heightened
senses
infiltrated when you kiss me there.
i will never not once
forget my star
living so close to my moon
who you know i love to meditate to
and remind that she is beautiful.
you share the sky with her.

"We kissed so much my throat is sore."
we kissed so much my lips are sore
we kissed so much my neck is sore
we kissed so much my back is sore
we kissed so much my thighs are sore.
we kissed so much my ****** is sore
we kissed so much my breath is sore
we kissed so much
i am soar
we kissed so much.
we kissed so much.

i have tea bags hanging from a tack
they are tangled
like our legs
and you whispering
"i want to hold something of yours"
i will create a *** for you
you're welcome to carry it
and ask for donations
because God knows
Lord knows
Buddha knows
that *** will never
never
never
be enough.

my innocence is unknown
and i do not see
but there is paint on my wall
that does not match the rest
and there is ink in my life
that does not match the rest
and there are hands in my life
that do not match the rest
and your eyes will never match anybody else's
and your eyes will never be mine
but last night, i know what you did.
i know that you kissed my eyelid
and i know that you looked at me
while i was as calm and simple
as you will EVER come to me.

one big sigh
one big cough
one big crouch and crawl and one big
swipe.
slice
scratch
cut
glass.
this is a list of things you gave me:
1 pocket knife and
1 more sharp
countless necklaces
countless rings
from your previous girl
from your previous baby
from your previous
pale.
a million grains of salt
and a few pages of smeared mascara
and one or two of smeared blood
that i pretended was yours
just because i wanted you
to swipe
slice
scratch
cut
glass.

we were in a moving vehicle
that was not a train or a plain or a boat
and she was the one with the control
and i was one with the scratched up vocal chords
because i wanted to pull your strands
until your eyelashes swept across your reversed eyelids
and your breathing changed.
she threw her blue red knuckles into everything
and we were not at a red stop light
and we were not at a yellow slow light
and we were not at a green go light.
we were at a dark road
in between cemeteries
in between bridges
in between where i release all of the carbon dioxide from my rib cage
with the force of a thousand french horns
and i whisper like a schizophrenic
to the decomposition and greed and dirt.
i only hope that because i have established a relationship with death
that it will be kind to me when i beg
more than i have ever begged before.

i have seen the insides of my sores
and licked and licked until i could not reach any deeper.
the white had faded and filled
like the slush that every car spits up from the ***** asphalt
that i love to skip through
while pretending i look like a fairy
even though we all know
that i am not graceful
or agile
and the negative effects of wings that i carry are impossible
my shoulder blades continually branch out of my muscles
in a feeling of need for you and your back bites
like bed bugs
like bat ridden cabins
like parasites
in your stomach.
taking away your ability to eat
taking away your ability to feel
but giving you your ability to float
and your ability to wear tight black fabric
and look a boy in his eyes
until he wants nothing more
to be looking anywhere else
that is not made of fiberglass and food coloring
eye droppers
to change your pupils
whenever you please.

mysteries
secret mysteries
hidden flesh
             hidden torn flesh
closed doors that shield red eyes
cold
        cold bodies
shivering in pain
just to feel it
cuddling cats with tickling whiskers
beautiful leaves that make you want to avoid this
hidden flesh
these red eyes
these cold bodies
that are formed from the depth of our connected minds
that aren’t so connected anymore.

I need reassurance

that the tides won’t

come in

      and

sweep everyone

              away.

I need solid ground,

   empty air to breathe.

A stronghold, a fortress

    that won’t crumble.

       I want it to be surrounded

  by lust

            and

                   red

                          in space.

“every time i feel my stomach convulse it’s a new wave of tears
take vitamins, she says
you should just eat, she says
you got skinnier, another says
“eat! eat! haven’t you been eating!? and this bandaid! quit cutting yourself, kalena”
and for a moment i think it’s truth
i think it’s honest
i shout “i do eat! they’re just cat scratches”
and if she would have lifted up that bandaid
she would have learned it was honest
it was truth
but it was melted away flesh that she would have found, not torn
but melted
and in the highlight of this moment i see all of my dreams come true
finally, someone notices!
finally, someone cares!
but yet she’s willing to stop eating. to make sure that i do.
my little thing. an entire 98 pounds, not by choice.
so unhealthy, so sick. all the time. so **** tired.
she would stop eating for me.
and though it doesn’t help, the thought is comforting. it should be disturbing.
it is. in the way that if she stopped eating…
she would lose weight.
and then i would fight harder and harder until my rib bones were sticking out so far they were larger than my chest.
emaciated.
bony fingers that boys don’t want to hold and girls don’t want to kiss.
hair that slides out with the slightest tug.
no one wants that.
except me, of course.
i want that.
i want to weigh 85 pounds.
i want to die.
i want to be so high on the emptiness that i die.
i faint. and they cannot wake me up.
eternal sleep. forever peace. and the best part of all?
I would be horrifically tiny in even the smallest coffin. “

I keep going over it all
in my head. I read this letter, how
he’s jealous of a clock. How he’s
made of the tiny things he owns,
but yet he says he cares more about
me than he does his worldly
possessions. Does that mean he cares more
about me than he does himself? In
that case, I’m worth a lot more than
I thought. Everyday. Every day. I think of you.
I was hopeful that you wouldn’t hit me with
the palm of your eye again. Your lips
and arms make my stomach convulse. And
then she touches you and I’m screaming
“No! Please. Please let me give you another chance.”
But you never. hear. me. Never. You laugh. And
if it weren’t for him, you would touch
back. Even more, probably. “It feels so
weird, going from never being touched to
being beaten."

"always wanting to be touched.”
“Please make me feel beautiful. I’m
begging you.” He choked me. Killed
some part of my torso. It was
important, what ever it was. Because
now everything is different. I’m so
sad. I can’t breathe. How am I
supposed to breathe with a broken
torso?” I’m not. I can’t.
I won’t.
I just want to hold your hand while giving you a black eye.

I’m just so tired of every day. I’m so tired of the gray and the way my body begs me and begs me for just a few more hours of darkness. And I never know if it’s asking that because it feels tired, or because it’s afraid that my thoughts and monsters might drag it out passed its’ limits like it normally does. It’s such an odd thing. I’m terrified of darkness, and sometimes it’s all I crave.

One half of me begs for summer days filled with shooting clouds and soft blankets that are hard to lay on because I’m sweating. The other half wants nights filled with angry music and dark clothing. Piercings and dyed hair, shoving my mouth against a stranger with tingling finger tips from what ever my ‘friend’ had given me only minutes before. One wants a calm surreal happiness. The other wants to get revenge on the world. Exhaust her body until it is filed down to skin and bones. Big heavy bags underneath my eyes that hold nothing but the reminder that I will always be tired. Splotchy cheeks, oh that’s right, I was crying last night. It doesn’t make sense. I feel so much more strongly on one side even though the other is so much better. For me. For me for me for me. But is it what I deserve? Is it what I see myself really wanting?

Who knows. I don’t want to care about me. I want to throw myself away, and in the meantime, hold someone else. Of course I wouldn’t drag them down with me… Or maybe I would.

Maybe I don’t deserve people.

Or at least I should avoid them.

But I can’t be alone, because a lonely life is a pointless one. And if I am pointless, then I am wasted space, and I should not wave my arms around in the air anymore. My lungs should not do their regular function, and maybe, just maybe, my heart could be given to someone who would put it to much better use.

My skin feels overused and overdone.

There’s sand in the cracks of my hands and I swear I will never feel satisfied in anything that I ever do. I am not soft to the touch. I am rough. No one wants to put their hand in mine, and wear me like I am the sea. No one wishes they could spin me around and push me off, so that I would beg and plead for the right direction towards them. No one wants me to love them like I so badly want someone to love me. And I won’t have it. I will never have it. I am not meant for anyone, because I am not meant for myself.

That is the problem. It’s right there. It’s right in my own face.

I am not meant for myself.

I draped a blanket across my window because my black curtains were allowing too much sun to file in.
I lit inscence which reminds me that I’m home, reminds me that my brother isn’t here.
I laid down, allowed my legs to stretch. Regretfully told them they were not allowed to curl up against me.
I just want to be unconscious for a little while.
I just need a rest. Only for some time, only for some time.
All of my teachers tell me that I can dig myself out of this rut that I was buried in, but they don’t know what goes on inside my head.
No one does but me and whoever is willing to listen
but no one really is
or at least, I tell myself no one really is.
Once people get to a point where they have heard your entire body saying things that make it shake and whine and cry, they build up fear.
They build up a wall. Because no one wants to take care of a shaking, whining, crying mass of anxious feelings and running mascara and bracelets that only feel comfortable if they’re on the left wrist because that body has been given everything on it’s right side and now the owner of it feels the need to repay the left.
There are wind chimes all over my floor.
I hear the sound of cars flying by my window, and birds driving by my head.
I can’t help but wonder how large the sky has gotten.
In this place, in this town, in this neighborhood, in this bed and underneath these blankets, I cannot help but feel as though the sky has shrunk around me.
I can feel its’ pressure on my chest, crushing my lungs.
This is when I go to a psychologist, and she sends me home.
I go home and I beg mother for lights that will make it look like I am surrounded by fairies, because everyone loves fairies.
I want to look up at night and realize that I’m not alone.
That these little creatures will always be there, even when I can’t see them.
But I need to be reassured that they’re real.
I need to be reassured that everything is real.
I need you to tell me you love me.

I just hugged Zoe and I saw her hickies and wanted
to kiss her lips over and over just like the day
we got high and danced underneath moving lights
and she was in my tutu and her blonde hair
felt right tickling my face and the boy
who is supposed to love her didn't notice
and it made us laugh and laugh because
if we didn’t laugh; we would have cried.

Why do we love to leave behind bruises
on lips and necks and arms and eyes
and teeth? It hurts but no matter what, no
matter how much I crush my teeth together to
hide my yelps, it always turns into this
beautiful, beautiful mark that doesn't want
pressure and looks like a sunset borrowed
it it’s colors because no one, not even
a bruise, wants to be ugly.

is so much softer
with melting rubies
slipping down