While everybody else is getting out of bed, I'm usually getting in it
.. Why am I up this early? Right. He needs to get to school.
I'm not in it to win it and there's a thousand ways you can skin it
I wonder if this song makes him sad, because of her
My feet have been on the floor, flat like an idle singer
He seems more focused on driving than the song, though
Remember winger, I digress, I confess you are the best thing in my life
This could be the last time we ever have a chance to talk one on one, and we're silent
Just... listening to the radio.
But it seems normal.

But I'm afraid when I hear stories 'bout a husband and wife
Me too. That's why my best guy friend is my brother.
There's no happy endings, no Henry Lee, but you are the greatest thing about me
... Bro.  There are a million and a half things I want to say to you right now
If it's love
This song is a lot different when you think about family bonds instead
And we decide that it's forever, no one else could do it better
Really, though, Train.  Dallin and I.  Friends for life.
If it's love
And we're two birds of a feather* *he's been my best friend since the age of 1 then the rest is just whatever
And if I'm addicted to loving you and you're addicted to my love too
We're both sort of forever alone now. Since she broke his heart...
We can be them two birds of a feather that flock together
That's us. Right now.
Love, love, got to have something to keep us together
Love, love, that's enough for me
I wonder where we'll end up.  In 2 months, I'll be in Argentina.
Took a loan on a house I own, can't be a queen bee without a bee-throne
I wanna buy you everything except cologne 'cause it's poison
I wonder if Dallin still wears Axe...
We can travel to Spain where the rain falls mainly on the plain side and sing
Why didn't we have more adventures together?
'Cause it is we can laugh, we can sing, have ten kids and give them everything
I wonder how many kids we'll have... and if our spouses will be adorable
Hold our cell phones up in the air and just be glad that we made it here alive
On a spinning ball in the middle of space,
I love you from your toes to your face
Seriously, bro.  If this song makes you sad, I'll turn it off.  But I feel like we're both thinking.  A lot.  So it doesn't matter.
If it's love
And we decide that it's forever, no one else could do it better
If it's love
And we're two birds of a feather then the rest is just whatever
Really, though.  She doesn't matter in the end.  Family matters, though.  Family matters in the end.
And if I'm addicted to loving you and you're addicted to my love too
We can be them two birds of a feather that flock together
Love, love, got to have something to keep us together
Love, love, that's enough for me
You can move in, I won't ask where you've been
Really, though. I'm always here for you.  Except that I'm leaving.... But I have to leave.
'Cause everybody has a past
There's a lot I never told you.  And I know you'd understand if I told you. But I don't want to disappoint you as an older sister.
When we're older we'll do it all over
Again
Will we still be close when we're older?
When everybody else is getting out of bed, I'm usually getting in it
Truth.  Why am I up this early again? Right.  He needs a person.  He needs a human right now.
I'm not in it to win it,
I'm in it for you
I'm up this early for you
If it's love
And we're two birds of a feather, then the rest is just whatever
Then the rest is just whatever
If it's love and we decide that it's forever, no one else could do it better
And if I'm addicted to loving you and you're addicted to my love too
We can be them two birds of a feather that flock together
Love, love, got to have something to keep us together
Love, love, got to have something to keep us together
Love, love, that's enough for me
*My brother.

We're like birds who've lost
our voices.  Trying to tweet,
but no sound comes out.

i will cram myself into a goldfish bowl
because it's awkward inviting people to look at me if i am perfectly normal
maybe everyone will forget to feed me
and one day you'll find me belly side-up

or perhaps i will dig myself into the cheerios in my bowl
i need a life preserver
and there are several stacked up in there

maybe i will get bitten by a computer virus and morph into code that nobody can decipher

or maybe i will write a poem
and it will preserve a portion of my soul

(so that my ideas may die without such a struggle)

Today is the day
We dress up like the skeletons in our closet

We will see witches
But we will not remember the normal women in Salem
Accused

Today is the day
We let the children dress up like goblins
Wrap their arms around our necks
As the demons from our past leer just behind
Breathing down our backs.

Punch
******
Stab

Pouty
Moody
Sad

Pudgy
Munchies
Stop.......

A decade from now,
            My words will only be a carcass even birds won’t want
            To pick at anymore.

I won’t be able to keep track of where my similes skip off to,
And maybe I’ll discover later that they crossed the street like a chicken
That wouldn’t know to look both ways,
Causing a six car pileup,
But never making it to the other side of the road as I intended them to.

Maybe my metaphors will age quickly,
            And ten years down the road
            Their doggy jowls will quiver with one last yawning breath
            As they collapse beneath the nearest tree from hip failure
            Resting at last beneath a pleasant summer sun.

I don’t like to think about it,
But I’ve entertained the idea
That perhaps I will neglect my words,
            Letting all the quatrains pass me by.

Yes, that is how my structured sentences will meet their end:
            With no periods
            But a blank space
                        Where your name should be.

I’d like to think that someday
            I won’t have this horrible need to write anymore
I’ll describe my perfect days because I want to,
Not to fill this void I made
When I handed out my consonance like candy
            And scattered similes in the air like skittles
            During that drought we had a while ago
When everything was black and white
And I thought everybody wanted
A taste of the colors I’m made of.

I like to entertain the thought that someday

Someday
            People are going to reach back through the decades and excavate my words
            And try to find deep meanings beneath all my poetry.
            Scholars will slit the throats of my similes,
            Claiming there was some philosophical point pumping through the jugular,
            And I might laugh somberly [a little] if they do.

            They’re going to find the rotted carcasses in the most random of places:
            A passenger seat,
            The floor by a bathroom,
            A stairwell,
            Under a tree.

I know that some might try to find the cause of death.
In fact,
I know they will.

But I’d much rather people look for the only reason of birth,
The only meaning behind all my metaphors,
I want these people to catch the quatrains I let pass me by when it hurt too much.

When it hurt too much
To just write-

I love you.

(the most thought-provoking thing in the world is a soul--)

skin cracks
mud ***** on his feet
shuffles when he moves
barely hanging on
so thin

dry, rough
the skin breaks
but does not bleed

he is rusty
flakes off slowly

he could tell me that he's gone mad
that it's a slow and painful way to go
could say he cannot handle the itch
drives him to hysteria
can't i take him out of his misery

and i would,
but i won't

(that is not dying,
but growing)

you are the sunrise of my smile. :)

103 days
until we start a private nudist colony

take me to a swimming pool that has not been peed in
with no grass or dead wasps floating around my bare skin
one newly installed that hasn't corroded yet

take me to fresh snow that has never been walked in
let me feel the crunch beneath my feet as i step into fresh turf and smile
knowing that they are all my footprints
knowing that i am the only one who has ever touched this ****** powder

take me to a coffin that has never been opened
a faceless, nameless beauty
one that nobody else knows about

and i will treasure it
like it is my own
because i am an old nobody, too

If you can escape me in little thought bubbles
Like I am a bottle of carbonated soda
((And you are the hiss that escapes me when I'm too shaken up to remember
We should have digested our feelings by now))
Then perhaps I should shovel my fist deeper into my mouth
To keep all of these words from dribbling out

caught in little fishing hooks
pierced ears gone awry
its scales scrubbed viciously from flesh
hacked open
gory madness
soaking into the oak table
not very hygienic
not much of anything
congealing, drying
still wet enough that to touch it would be
to spoil everything
(makes such pretty colors in the wood)

bae:  breaking and entering.

you are my biggest sin
wrath
greed
envy
slothfulness
pride
lust
gluttony
rolled into one
simply because i want to be the one that decides your fate
want to shove all this poetry into your face when you reach the pearly gates
make you read about the greed that overcame me when i realized that you are all i want and all of you is something i will always be envious of in the arms of another girl
i want to laze in your gaze forever- is it prideful of me to think i am deserving of this, your kiss and the way your voice carries through the darkness when we sit in an empty parking lot with nothing but our words touching, the sentences rolling into each other and tumbling in perfect rhythm like a slinky down the staircase is it wrong of me? to have the need to stuff myself till i'm full of the million and a half things i will never be able to choke down and handle and that's why you are no good for me but i still delight in indulging in you anyway

You pulled away my pinky toe

Rolled it like a cigar in your fingers

Daring me to love you



I almost lost my balance then

But I don’t suppose you noticed

I watched it sniff at the smoke in your hand

And I’m quite glad you didn’t give my balance one dog biscuit of your attention

For it quickly ran back to my widespread, flailing arms and licked my beaming face as I listened to your lack-of-depth discussion

I know butterfly band-aids sound *****

And stitches sound weak

So I don’t really blame you all that much for simply puffing up peppery, gray clouds that stung my open wound as you exhaled,

Speaking to no one, instead.



I had, I believe

A peppermint stick I had to use after that, to keep me all upright

[You told me once it smelled of feet

But I don’t think you knew what it was there for]

I never complained about it,

‘Cause I knew you were happy

Smoking my joint and talking to no one

But I knew how much you wanted that peppermint stick as well

So I wrapped it up in a hug one autumn morning,

And as we embraced

[again] there was a whispered dare to love you

By the time we broke away, it was December and our hands were growing cold, yours going numb around the peppermint stripes

And though I’d tried so long to prevent it

I fall anyway that winter

As soon as you walked away with more of my balance to steady you



I was very out of place



I suppose that is why winter is my favorite season

Nothing falls that is winter

Nothing moves that is frozen,

Including your fingers

That I can pretend were too rigid to close around my hand, since they were always wrapped around that peppermint stick so cold, their tips turned blue

But you knew that was my favorite color

And you only like dressing open wounds

So you never paid your bare hands that much attention



We made a snowman that season

There was no fire to be found except that tingling in the small of my back when our lips meet,

So I offered my two favorite bones in my spine as coal for the eyes

I winced as you pulled them out with your bare hands

But I didn’t complain, ‘cause I noticed that the pieces were so hot that your fingertips weren’t so blue anymore,

And that made me happy, though I had to walk much more carefully after that

I knew I’d long since lost my balance

There was no kindling to be found, neither

So you reached for the peppermint stick that we

Split

Down the middle

To serve as our snowman’s arms



We laughed when we realized his hands smelled like feet

But it subsided when you asked

If I loved you



I sat down quickly

Your question was too heavy and caught me off balance

And that is never a good place to be caught

When one has a pinky toe, a peppermint stick, and two spine bones missing

I remember you left suddenly after that

And as soon as you’d gone, I wanted to chase you

But I was finding it difficult to stand

So I looked up at our snowman’s beaming face

And pulled his right arm right out

But it was too thin and broke under my weight



And as I collapsed to the frozen ground for the last time

I wondered how he could be so upright and balanced with an appendage missing

And I wish I’d told you sooner

That as humans

We are constantly falling

But we use the joints of our toes and the muscles in our backs

To keep from doing so.



I had always loved you.

when you split an atom we all know what happens
so why do i doubt myself
being so small?

if an ant can lift a lot more than its own body weight
then shouldn't i at least be capable of lifting myself
of rising
of sleeping above the stars

You are the unbearable sort of thing that I wouldn’t want to wear on my feet, even with boots laced up to the knees, because wearing you would force me to cover my polka-dotted toes,
And anyone who would want to compromise my innocence like that is horribly patterned and dull,
                                              
Like the lone argyle sock with the tag still attached that I hate, gathering dust on that shelf in the rain, where the rest of my unwelcome thoughts have found place
                                                           ­     The ones that can’t cover my insecurities
                                                    ­                            Or don’t flatter my figure at all
              
                There’s an obvious scab on my ankle that won’t heal
                Embarrassing, really
                It came from my unwavering faith in open-toed stilettos
                                You saw it just the other day
                                And I blushed as I tried to pull my pant leg over the sore, but you knew (I think)

Oh, the puzzling urge I have to be made over by the brains of your outfits!
                                                So I can open a closet of conversation topics that would suit both of us just fine

I think
                                                I have shed 18 years of ideas in the past two weeks
                                                I starved myself until I could fit into the apparel of your approval
                                                Which I claw through my closets but still cannot find
                                                But I know that somewhere in my brain beneath an empty toilet paper roll or stuck on a dead branch of ideas is a match to your unbearable pattern-
              
Perhaps if I’d kept my opinions more alphabetized, I would’ve found it sooner
                Blast, my scattered brain that can’t seem to produce any fashion but faux pas for you
                Logic and emotion were never meant to mix like this- trust me, I know well
Give me a summer to rearrange myself, hmm?
                Or will I have no use of you then…

If only I’d started to realize sooner
We’d be peeling oranges and discussing the oldest styles of thought, you and I
                Beneath an umbrella in the rain
                                You wouldn’t be able to see that odd scab on my ankle
                                Because I would have the other lone argyle sock with the tag still attached that I hate-

I feel that perhaps
you are only unbearable because I wish you complimented me better, that perhaps the reason I’m starving myself of all reason is because I’d like nothing more than to openly say
that I hate you, my lone, little argyle sock
                                                but that is only
                                                because right now, I could never possibly hope to wear you

i let
my lips
get chapped on purpose
so i wont
be tempted
to kiss you
on our date tonight

i let my hands get dry and cracked
so i will have no problem in keeping them folded on my lap

i took some heavy blows to the knees
so if i dont want to walk very far with you there will be no rational reason to be angry at me

and i would show and tell you all of these things to drive you away

but i know that you dont care
youre the first boy thats ever been in love with my mind
(beautiful, right?)
and im not scared to the point that i would be willing to self-destruct
(i am a little bit more logical than that, i value my thoughts more than that
they're the only thing i have power over, anyway)

youre the first one that has ever encouraged me to do what i love
(and maybe i love you for that)

i am a tumbleweed
i gather dustbunny thoughts and entertain them with a tea party in my living room

i am a scarecrow that doesn't want to be looked at
but the ravens all come
they stare and oggle anyway
making me blush

i am a girl with a huge heart who doesn't want to be loved
because things that are cherished and wanted hurt people more when they break

i prefer being a sock without a match

if i were in Paris
i would march for you
hold up a banner made from scraps of your favorite shirts

if i were in Greece
i would carve your face into a column of the parthenon with "God" written legibly across your lips
(for He is love, and i love kissing you)

if i were in China
i would cover myself in paper mache
disguise myself as a Terrecotta soldier,
move up to commanding officer and lead the whole army to guard your resting place
(because
you
are my emperor)

if i were in Israel
i would build a bomb shelter
and safe from the heat of those who hate us,
our bodies would discover fire

if i were in Argentina
i would lay claim on you
the way the country claims LAS ISLAS MALVINAS and vows to never forget

if i were in the United States
i would miss you the way that Obama misses his intelligence briefings
we would sit on our smartphones and text haikus back and forth as we sat back to back with each other

darling?
i love you to the comet Europe landed on
and back.

you're real
spill out your secrets like poured concrete
i know everything about you
and i'm never letting go.

i've scrambled
trying to find the whites of my eyes
(have i cracked yet?)
it all boils down to the thoughts i've poached from others
(i exist to create, not to consume)
i tried looking at the world sunny-side up, but the devil in me broke the yoke that i used to share with Jesus.

i am a Spidey red Pontiac
the ceiling is falling in and the doors are broken
(that you pry open anyway
but only because i want you to)

you ask me with your eyelashes
why i don't put thumbtacks into the parts of me that droop and sag along the interior

and the heater whines softly,
smoke spilling in from a mangled motor
because i ask myself the same question

we are cramped, you and i
the stuffing seeping out of the back seat,
the mangled box spring hearts dangling from our chests like metal slinkies that can't find the floor
because we've swallowed one too many books
and seen each other barefoot once too few
but we are happy, you and i
we find amusement in red sweaters and pull Pokemon from Abe's old hat

i wouldn't pass the safety inspection for your soul
(but you drive me anyway)

And who am I to think I should be loved
[When I’m not even sure what it means
Being me
Anymore]
So I’m tucking away the parts of me
[The Kate Lyn you know and love]
That shouldn't exist That love you
[You won’t have that frustrating child at your feet
Tugging on your shirt for reassurance
Anymore]

I’m closing off the eyes I only had for you
[Forever]
And
[In the meantime]
I’ll learn Braille
[So when you’re ready]
I will trace your spine with my fingertips
To see the name you’ve made for yourself
[Maybe you’ll even let me read your lips
With my own

But I get too far ahead of myself
By wishing that
Don’t I, Love?]

And who am I to think I should be loved
[For all that I am]
When I don’t even know what makes up all that I am
[I have yet to discover my favorite flavor of ice cream
And every stable person ought to know something like that,
I think,
Just in case.]

Who am I to think that you would love me

[I suppose that you did press your lips to my pages
Leaving kisses in the footnotes of my story
Burning away the definition of ‘just friends’]
There are four holes in my story now
[I counted]
When I tell people what happened to us

But love is more than that

[I think
That’s what I would like to learn
At least
By tucking myself away into an envelope for a while
Or perhaps into a bottle
I'd look prettier then
Knees against my chest
Watching my breath fog the glass
Taking my finger to draw hearts in the condensation
Letting it dry
Just to trace it again
Until you choose to see it
Getting drunk off my own message]

There’s more to me than the parts that love you
[I hope]

So I’m tucking myself away
Like I’ve said
[But hopefully not all of me
Because that would mean I can’t find any part of me
That cannot live without you]

Until I know the meaning of me
Until I can say I’ve left my hand on a stove for too long
[Experimenting with other love
Getting truly burned by a person that isn’t you]

I will not let my pencil be my driftwood anymore
[In this tempest we ignore]
I will wash myself up onto white beaches
Exploring the farthest reaches of my mind
[To fill those empty places I never take time to think about
With useful things
Like white roses and garden gnomes
Every yard ought to have those,
I think,
Just in case]

I’m going to stretch myself
[Until I’m thin enough to spread across a page
To be read like a book
Full of poetry that isn’t about you]
I hope you know how much it will hurt to do something like that
To let myself be put on display
[In some foreign library in a distant country]
To be looked through and seen
By eyes that aren’t yours
Because you’ll be somewhere else
[Doing useful things
Like matching socks
Or playing cards
Something like that]

I’m going to live without you
[For a while,
My love]
All those places that I’ve been wanting to see

I’ll see alone
First



[I feel that every person ought to be alone
At least for a little while
At some point
Before they can truly be happy with another]

And if you ever care to find me
[You know where]
Open me up on your card-playing table
[And if I've got white roses resting in my hair
And burns on the palms of my hands]
It will mean
[That I’ve seen all I need
And learned Braille enough]
It will mean
That I have learned what it
[Truly]
Means
To live
[Without you]

a hand.

my breathing slows
i fight back the throbbing in my forehead

"what's wrong?"

i bury my tear-stained face into his chest
he slides onto the bed
pulls me tight
rubs my back

"it's okay.
it's all okay.
it's okay."

sometimes it creeps into the bones in my knees and it gives me artist's arthritis
i massage myself with the dull point of a pencil,
listening to the soothing sound of my thoughts coming to life

and sometimes an idea will crawl into my ear and lay its eggs there
if my passion is warm enough, they are incubated on the inside of my skull and crack open without warning

and to clear my head of the leftover eggshells, i have to play minesweeper for days on end

wond'ring when my days will end
and if my poetry will still be breathing

i aced my history classes
they teach you about the war in vietnam
they teach you about the revolutionary war
they teach you about the battle of the bulge
the civil war
but what
of the wars you will face within yourself?
those
are seldom talked about
people blow their own minds
up
with destructive behaviors and terrible choices
one soldier fighting both sides
the post-traumatic stress of their own human experience
hmmm?
what of those people.
what of me.

i take on other people's fears
find their masks lying around
i put them on for fun

i pull threads from people's coats
make a cocoon of them
of the weaknesses
the dreads
the sadness

but why

i want to know what it feels like
want to have pity on their starving, naked souls

but they eat me alive.

let them be keepers of their own darkness
i say
let them reach to you through the prison bars, the high bars set by society that most can never grasp
but i have to take off my shawl and drape it round their shoulders

it's all that i have left

there are two sides to me
one wants to give and give
the other wants to take and keep and scowl at the rainbows as they form overhead

one loves the sun
the other wishes that the rain would stay forever

how to pull me out of myself
out of the dark abyss i've created for my soul

i dangle my feet over the edge of hell.
i'll never do it,
but i wonder if i will ever be able to braid my hair by myself
tie my shoes
smile like a two year-old who thinks cookies are the purpose of having teeth and a tongue

if i search in darkness, i will surely find despair
and there is a cellphone light glowing in my face
as i write this
so i should pursue this happiness
this temporary thrill i get from internet existence

i'll pluck poetry
from the flowerbeds to read.
you are not alone.

you were never one for saying much
but you pointed out the moon in her faded yellow wedding dress
her veil covering all
but a thin
crooked
smile
across her face

i want to backpack across the ridges of your rib cage
see what keeps your heart from collapsing on itself
examine the stitching, the rivers of veins and where they lead
i want to put a flag
or at least drop a candy wrapper
somewhere
and when you'd bend over to examine it before throwing it away
i'd like to think that
for once
you were picking up on me

"is cutting a sin?"
you ask me.
only fourteen years old.
and you show me your wrists.
one line for the divorce
another for your mother's death
a 3rd to feel the sadness in a tangible form.
but there's a fourth line, it's the strongest
it's the lifeline
and I threw it to you the moment you told me.

My New Year's Resolution
is not to keep a running count of unfixed nicks and cracks along my foundation
i want to train myself to understand that the blemishes and smudges i see when i look into a mirror are not real because the beholder is broken and the beholder is me.
i want to sit down at a table with myself and have an honest conversation
stop telling myself that my accomplishments are amateur and meaningless
i want to stop wiping my name off the trophies in my brain with nail polish remover
give myself credit where credit is due
i want higher self esteem, don't you?

the doctor scratched notes with his pencil describing our heartbeats
our veins spread through our bodies in little lines
our bodies were a blank manuscript of life
pages of measurements
Mother's ******
Mother's stomach

still in the process of being written,
our DNA and chromosomes silently orchestrated themselves as we awaited our own arrival
suspended in profound silence as we rested,
counting down to the moment when we
would
break
the sound barrier



(ii.) silence
the doctor will scratch notes with his pencil describing our last heartbeats
wrinkles will be spread across our bodies in little lines
our skin a dead manuscript of beauty that once was and music that will never be heard again

so many
pages
with no blank spaces
detailing
what time
how
where

we will make no sound
our ultimate beat of breath (final word) is naught but a distant memory
suspended in the minds of our loved ones
as our internal metronome is laid to rest

I'm not the girl you think I am
Not really, anyway
There's a lot more to me than the girl in Dr. Seuss pajama bottoms, shrinking beneath the expectations you have set for me
I wish I knew what your expectations are
But it's hard to reach for a bar you can't see
It's hard to mold myself into something that you will accept and place on the mantle of a fireplace so that when strangers come over you can point to me and say that you are proud
I'm not sure if you want candlesticks or a picture frame or a book full of wonderful accomplishments
I could be all of those things, if you wanted
I'm not the girl you think I am
Not really, anyway
I'm stronger than my trembling bottom lip and the tears that break through the walls of my heart sometimes
I wish you weren't so logical and demanding of evidence you can hold in your hands
Because in my mind there's a gold mine of things I am trying to become
And none of them can be deposited in an ATM or withdrawn from a checking account
I'm sorry that I'm not real enough for you
And I'm sorry that you won't step into my mind for a second
So I can show you
The girl behind the numbers

It's like
I would give anything to be melting into your lips right now
To have you pull your fingers through my hair, ripping out the split ends and insecurities, wanting to make me feel perfect for you again
And I
Would take your face in my hands and press it closer, making me your mask as we try to unbreak the relationship that's broken
And the hushed, delicate murmur of our hearts would beat against each other's bodies in the perfect silence
*"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

hello, poetry.
the most bipolar part about me.

there are days when you burst into my room uninvited, 
i wonder if my rhymes are that rude, too.

hello, poetry.

there are moments when you lay an understanding hand on my shoulder,
i wonder if my words have ever been the comfort food for a melanchoy mind.

hello, poetry.

sometimes you go streaking across the traffic of my brain
and i laugh when i think that these stanzas are slaves to my nakedness as well

you 
hide under my bed
leave flowers on the doorstep
break my windows
steal all of my clothes
make it impossible to sleep
breathe on my neck
mend my mind, while
irritating the places that are already wounded

but i can't live without you.

hello, poetry.

Utah is a bubble
And Rosario (Argentina) is the cigarette **** of Satan himself
Everything sacred burns
to the ground in this city, and it all started when the moths started to come out in the daytime.
They aren't afraid anymore.
The skeletal souls of men sense us in the streets, their scrawny hands ***** for reality through the haze--
But I'm not what they think. There is no price tag, no label, no packet of instructions- I am the very convincing candy wrapper with nothing inside (and there is an emptiness that swallows me up like a cough drop when the strangers tell me I'm beautiful)
Life doesn't come with golden tickets or rewind buttons
(I've sewed so many into my sweaters just to watch them unthread themselves and leave my soul gaping open again)
I imagine myself (in the end) trying to cover my existence with the filthy rags that remain of my life
By their fruits ye shall know them, but I prefer vegetables.
... Am I going to Hell?

i don't want to flatten you out
put you on a frame in the hall of fame
where people would go just to gawk and stare at you
that would be so cruel of me, because you-
you
are so much more complex than that
you are the foundation of a house
something everyone takes for granted because they cant see it
how many times have you slipped out unnoticed
by those looking for the shiniest, brightest stars in the world
if you look for those
you miss the planets
you miss the way that you sleep with a shirt over your head to "block out the light" so you can sleep better
you miss the ridiculous, pleasurable conversations
"did you know that Louie Armstrong would cut off the callouses on his lips with a pocket knife?"
"we should write a comic strip about a starch that smokes **** and call it "The Baked Potato."'

let's keep away from the photographers, the paparazzi, the artists, the writers

you hate attention anyway
said you would rather "sleep on the roof for a week" than give a presentation in public

i have discovered you
but i won't ever tell

the books will not mention you
there will be no statues of us
but the ones we build with sugar cubes on the privacy of our own kitchen table
where messes like us can be swept away and kept in no other place than our memories
and the storage on my phone

i will memorize the lines on your torso and back
but children will never study you in geography, they will never be asked the year you were born or at what latitude and longitude your chest muscles meet your abdominals

a search on Google will pull nothing about you

you remain undiscovered
to all
but me.

Every month when I have ***
It's like a hurricane ripped through my sanity
Tearing the curtains
Shattering the glass so I can barely see out the window
My perception of myself is distorted
I feel like a sandbag being carried through Arizona
Useless, purposeless
I lie in my bed staring up at the ceiling
My hormones are writhing, mixing, I lose my balance and teeter off the edge
Into the gulley below.

I am a turtle
And I don't much mind the darts of the adversary
I collect them after they bounce off this shell
Make Lincoln log homes out of them
And pretend that I live somewhere else and can come and go as I please
I'm not a 30 year old boy who sits in his mother's basement playing video games
But I don't feel that I've quite grown up yet
Don't feel that I've quite moved out yet
Why is that
Why is this sandbag heart sitting alone in a warehouse with nothing to safeguard, nothing to protect

Gall, dad
If I had my way with money
I would make something out of it
A house of credit cards
Write my poems on all that paper with no true value
I mean
You trade your thoughts for George Washingtons and Abraham Lincolns
Well
I keep mine
To help make more
People
Like the ones on our currency, but currently
I don't think you understand where I'm coming from
And as I sit here
Tapping away with my thumbs on an electronic device that you thought made up for my childhood
I wonder
What did you trade for me?

I was the kind of grime that made you hesitate before you put your foot into the shower
You watched the water hit against me as I refused to move.
You stepped into the shower, anyway
And I know you regretted it immediately because you ignored me
It was easier to pretend I didn't exist, pretend that I wasn't a mess that needed cleaning
When you would step out of the shower and the water threatened to suffocate me
I would drink it
I let it feed me and I grew stronger
You couldn't tell
But you stand in the same place every time you shower
And with each shower I grew closer and closer to you
I wondered why you never acknowledged how well I was doing

You were gone for some time each day.
I don't know where you went, but I heard your shiny black shoes against the bathroom tile as you brushed your teeth and hummed a song by the Killers

Somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend--
I loved hearing the music you made
You made me want to be more than what I was
I couldn't reach beyond the edges of the shower, for without water, I would be terribly dry and probably die.

I would entertain myself in the hours you were away. I counted the time it took for the water to dry. I would choose a droplet from the shower door and watch it race the others, hoping it would win. But my favorite time of day was that 15 minute shower. I lived for that, you know.

I tried to relay feelings I didn't know I had
For days
But you never said a word.
So I let you scrub me away
Out of your clean, white shower.

You're a ****
Most times I dig you out of the earth
The dirt gets under my fingernails, my heart beats fast because I dont want anyone to see-
And to think I'm a murderer.

But when I'm weak,
I water you
I pretend you're not there but I'll watch you out of the corner of my eye

Are you growing?
Is the sun treating you we-
No
Stop.

I'll ruin myself. Stop asking questions, stop giving attention.
I pluck you out again.

But you always come back.
I've planted other seeds.
I've gone months without looking at you.
I don't love you.

Stop filling my head and choking my tiny thoughts.

I'm sick of you.

i could tell you they're freckles but i'd be lying and i don't want to stoop to the level of performing cosmetic surgery with words
i don't want to pretend to be beautiful if i'm not
so i will tell you the truth long before we're married
tell you about the tiny white scars that will adorn my body
when you see me for the first time
really see me

Maybe if my therapist was a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I would feel more comfortable speaking out loud,
Knowing that he wouldn't understand a word I'm saying, anyway

"I wish someone had given me an instruction manual for myself... When I was 5 my mom was concerned because I had no friends and it didn't bother me at all...
It would have been nice to know about my self-destruct button...
One day, when I was 16, I forgot to put on my bullet-proof vest and a beautiful boy (who had my heart on a keychain) shot me straight through the skull. No mercy... Is there a mirror around so I can see if there's still a hole there?
(I'd point to a picture) ... He hit me once.
... When I was 12, two girls who were supposed to be my friends held my head underwater in the swimming pool. And the adults just sat there and watched from the sidewalk as I struggled for air...
You know, it would have been nice if someone could've explained the functions I was designed to perform...
Because at this point
It's all guesswork-- am I mentally unstable?"

And the T-Rex would look up from his book, glasses shoved against his nose
And he would say,
"You've just spent the last 45 minutes talking to a dinosaur."

Do you ever want to spit your own tongue out
Apologize to God for using it as a sword to slit your own throat after absent-mindedly digging into the hearts of others with your words

Do you ever want to shove your brain into a suitcase and "accidentally" leave it on a train headed for the bottom of the sea
Because you don't know how to use the thoughts that have grown from your own brain stem

Are you ever allergic to yourself?
Do you sneeze as you sniff your own stupidity?

Do you want to soak in a bathtub full of forgiveness
Wash yourself with the soap of solitude
(re-surface your skull)

Well
I need to remember that nobody is perfect
And that I shouldn't hate myself

But all of me has self-destructed for existing
How do you stuff a pipe cleaner into a soul

How to come back from that

How to clean out the inside of a straw

How to yank open a locked-jaw and leave it gaping
in order to be filled with the endless

love
mercy
acceptance

Offered by the Person who has created me

into more than I could have ever been by my--

self.

if i drowned myself
somebody would ****** their hand into my bowl of fruit loops and pull my face up

if i jumped off a building
somebody would put pillows on the carpet to soften the fall

if i put a (glue)gun to my temple
somebody would snap a picture with the caption "idiot pastes her hand to her forehead"

if i ate poison
somebody would rush to my side and ban me from eating fast food ever again

if i committed a fashion faux pas
my best friend would tell me to change my outfit

but if i pulled a trigger on an entire country
the world would go silent
just to watch