i will crawl into the cradle made in "g" and sleep until somebody finds me here.
in cyberspace.

03-03-15; 12:18 am
sent from: Kate Lyn
may you dream of a world
in which money is used as toilet paper
and being a millionaire means
breathing in
and breathing out
a million times a day. <3"

I climbed a mountain yesterday
In my favorite pair of heels

And how I wish you’d been there
To see the looks on the faces of people who don’t know me
Who didn’t even care

But there I was with blisters
And when they asked if they hurt
I quietly shook my head.
And I hid my tears in my hair,
Because there was plenty to soak them up,
And there was no other use for my curls at the time.

But I climbed a mountain yesterday
In my favorite pair of heels.

I know you watched me from the bottom,
And I’d wished so badly that you’d come following behind
Telling me I didn’t have to do this by myself
Even though we both knew I did…
If I ever wanted to be happy again.
If I ever wanted to love again.

So you didn’t chase me…
You didn’t.
And I know why.
I guess it was enough to know that you were watching
It was enough until today

Because watching isn’t the same from that far away
I think there was a moment when you thought I was happy
With someone else

But a smile isn’t the same from that far away
And I don’t think you saw the number of times I looked back
Trying to find you
Because this boy wasn’t you

I think there was a moment when you saw us kiss
And yes,
We did
But kisses look different from that far away

And they were never planted anywhere special
Like ours
This boy and I,
We planted them in rocky places along the edge of the mountainside,
Where nothing grows and no one will stop to admire them.
They’re already dead today.

This boy,
He found me on the mountain yesterday
In my favorite pair of heels
And I’d wished I hadn’t hidden so many tears in my hair like that
Because it looked limp and loose and ugly.
But he said I looked pretty when I cried,
Even though it broke his heart.

He carefully took those heels off
And softly caressed the blisters
I could tell by his face he knew that I hurt
And why I was climbing
And why I was crying
And why I knew I couldn’t make it all the way up there,
All alone,
To the top of the world

So he scooped me into his arms
And whispered so many wonderful things
I think you thought I loved him, because I smiled a little, sometimes

But he carried me farther away from you
Until I couldn’t see you anymore

But it shouldn’t have mattered, because we made it to the top.

We should’ve been at the top…

But I missed you still…
I don’t know if you ever knew that.
But I want you to know that.
And I wish you could hear me say it:
I missed you.

The boy left today.

And I don’t know why I let him run away with my favorite pair of heels.
Well.
I didn’t let him run away with them.  I only meant to let him take them off...
It’s impossible to get them back now.
I don’t think you know yet what those heels meant to me,
And why they should be important to you.
But I will tell you someday.
Because it is important.
And I think you should know.

My feet hurt.
And I really don’t know why I tried running that day.

Maybe I didn’t understand what it meant to just wait for a while.
I think you know I hate that word by now.
But I do.
Which is ironic.
If you think about the conversations I have with you.
Where you pick my thoughts like cotton
And leave me empty, telling me nothing.
But I don’t really mind.

It was a mistake to leave my heart down there
I forgot to pack it before I set out to get over it all-

-I’m looking for you,
You know.
I left my heart down there for a reason,

And I’m just stuck now,
Dangling my feet over the edge of the world,
Scanning the bottom.
Wondering where you went off to.

Sigh.

I would suggest
Staring blankly at the wall
Matching socks or playing cards
(Something like that)
Something important
Until I'm gone

I would suggest
Turning your heart over and over like a turkey on a rotisserie for three days
Until it's burnt all the way through and the nerve endings are too charred to feel anything for me anymore

I would suggest knitting earmuffs for the antennae of your tv
Because it gets cold at night
And I want you to get reception to your favorite Portuguese children shows
Maybe I'm a saint for wanting you to be happy
Maybe I'm a martyr for wanting to be the one that makes you happy
I don't think happiness and my soul can co-exist in your heart

I was made for something a little bit darker than the stars of your eyes
I think that much was proven when I fell from grace into the hell-scarred arms of another
I am a creature of darkness

Because you are light
And I have been driven away

but what of the men
who work hard
sacrifice
keep their hearts pure?

the age has passed where one would think to honor them

the only recognition comes

in being a working woman
or a man who believes he is a woman
or the man who has feelings for another man

but what of the every day men
who also do extraordinary things?

instead of the thrumming of crickets
cockroaches
and the constant lull of the frogs by the lake

instead of late-night parties on the other side of the wall (didn't they know we were always in bed by 10:30?)
the drunken laughter of strangers
the foreign tongue that made its way into the dialogue of my dreams

instead of keeping myself up at night from the terror of
wondering what poverty-stricken, starved man might break through our poorly-fitted door to violate two helpless girls

my lullaby is the hum of a dishwasher
the creaks in the finely-polished floorboards
the purr of the computer
the cracking of ice as it slides from the dispenser in the fridge
a symphony of first-world luxury and comfort

i am up at 1:45 in the morning

and i couldn't be happier

you are love personified.

i was made to break
the mold.

Must all beautiful moments
Di appear like th s?
Bef re I ev n          .

I wish my poetry was more real
That I could be more willing to use my pencil as a scalpel and scrape out the gangrene infection left from the pieces of your soul that sit in my chest like shrapnel
We weren't very good at open heart surgery, were we
I didn't care that you cheated your way through med school the way you cheated on the promises you made between breaths as we read each other's minds with our lips
I would give anything to know if it's my heart that is the puppet in this chaos, or if my body is the one being pulled by the strings you wound around my waist before you told me that we couldn't be together anymore
Who is the major player on this stage, anyway
With clouds as curtains and stars as spotlights when we need them most
We are but actors
Living separate lives
We haven't exchanged lines with each other for nearly 6 months
Well
We did
But that was off-book, backstage
Where nobody but the cockroaches and dust bunnies could clap beneath our feet as we realized-
I still love you

He was a drug addict, they would tell me
He was "malo," they would say
Until a policeman lost his patience
beat him
so bad that he was in the hospital for months
And never walked again
"He had it coming" was the way they'd end the story

But as I visited with him
I discovered more

He read through the entire Bible while he was getting treatment
His spirit changed
And when he was well enough to leave the hospital bed he was taken home just to be laid down again, yet I suppose that
Sometimes he had a wheelchair

He had a job
wheeled himself across miles of dirt road to get there
people would come in, greeting and asking him, "che, como andas?" which is Argentino for "dude, how are you doing?" but a closer translation would be, "dude, how are you walking (or going)?" he would always smile from his chair and say jokingly, "i don't go, i sit."

He was married and had a little boy, Alejandrito (which means little Alexander)

And i would watch him and his family
in their little tin house patched with plywood
His wife loved him; she met him after his accident
and she was never cross about doing everything for him
they had nothing
yet enjoyed everything their poverty had to offer

my favorite phrase he ever said was:
"if your problems have solutions, why worry? and if your problems don't have solutions, why worry?"

Don't they see that I see that my eyes are blind, that I'm mad in mind,
And hurting in the heart?
That I sense that I'm just one scent in the flower shop, just one cent in the charity box-
I sense that.
But they don't know that I was blinking just to whisper I was sinking, I could tell by all their winking they couldn't tell what I was thinking
When I wished to call myself the name that all professed I had.
And what I saw in the heavens above
Were celestial bodies that called themselves what I thought I always was.
But in the sea it's hard to see your own reflection, hard to see nature's selection, so I floated on, not knowing my complexions imperfections.
I was always trying to speak to them like I was one of them,
Like I was friends with them.
I didn't know that they were far away and had nothing to say,
But when I found out, I
F
  E
    L
      L.
And didn't know then it was the one time when I would most be like all of them,
But still so different.
I'm the smallest star in a sea of sadness
Melting in the madness
Of a mind that went awry when she found seashells were the closes show-and-tells she'd ever have the means to do.
When she was taken aback by the endless black she'd never beautify in sparkling skies and wishful lies
But found that she was forever free to float in salt
As a star
Who'd never start
To find a dream
Or waltz with wishes on the moonbeams.
You see, I've always been different
I don't think I should make sense,
Here I am comparing pennies to scents
In the flower shop, in a charity box,
But it all makes sense to me.
I'm the saddest star in the sea.
I know that I've been broken by these simple things I've spoken,
But I'm no sea star. I do not grow arms
When they snap off in the dark.
I'm just a girl
Who is different.

I just have to speak my mind, ok
It's this dysfunctional need I have to be heard
Otherwise I leak out everywhere and it makes a mess and it stains people's hands in these beautiful hues but they're colorblind
so all they can see is gray and black mud spatters
and my heart shatters at the thought that nobody will ever understand me.

There are bags under my eyes as heavy as the loads they carry through the streets (I was designed to help them)
It is easier (always) to carry burdens that are not your own
But the more I ask, the more they cling
To those one dollar bills
Fake reputations
The dead men that can't save.
Children play with dead birds in the street
And their parents roll up cigarettes from torn pages of their book of life
(They don't have time to teach their children why the trees sing sometimes)
People walk with their ribcage wide open
(Unashamed of their heartlessness;
unashamed of the slammed doors in our faces)
Sometimes I see the stars and ask myself how many times the moon had to sneeze in order for them to spatter across the sky like that
(People are moved by fear
But I am moved by lifting my legs)
I think I've forgotten who designed it all in the first place.

i
am just waiting for five o'clock to get here.
and you
are over there hoping five o'clock never comes.
we
live in parallel universes for a moment.

my bones
ache from the weight of your soul.
and your bones
can't survive without a crutch called me.
we
live in parallel universes for a moment.

my eyes
open the rising of the sun.
and your eyes
widen with the waning of the moon.
we
live in parallel universes for a moment.

i
no longer love you.
and you
finally fell in love with me.
we live in parallel universes for a moment.

the world never fell out from under you, no
you constructed safety nets like trampolines because you were always paranoid about the end of the world and since i was your world you wondered about the end of me
but i don't think you thought very hard about the end of you
the one that got tangled in dreams bigger than yourself; the ones that validated you and made you feel you had something worth struggling for, a rope on your back to secure your insecurities as you scaled the molehills you made out of mountains
did you ever think about the girl who had nothing to prove
the girl who showed you everything and for some reason that made you the bigger person
it's just that-
i was peanut butter and you were two years old
i guess your mom never told you how to grow up and decide if you had phobias or allergies
because i wouldn't have minded the way the hives erupted across your face like volcanoes without a cause
i would've rubbed your back with chamomile lotion and tried to read your sores like braille--
but i was peanut butter
and you were two years old
and i guess your mom never told you how to grow up and decide if you had a peanut allergy or commitment issues
(perhaps you had both)
perhaps you were so scared of the reaction you would have to someone who would lace your veins with her own blood if you needed, someone who was so willing to hand over her perplexities and let you examine them like a rubik's cube- is that what i was
because i always made it perfectly clear that i loved you
because i don't like seeing you sore and angry like that
i hate the way i hear your bones sigh when you move
the sticks and stones were never really a problem for you
but i think the burdens of my words broke you a little
the words that always made it perfectly clear that i loved you and
i guess you would always ask why but i always thought that some questions don't need an answer
and the only thing i could think of was that if people really are dust like the Bible says, then i was a molehill and you were a mountain

A soldier is stripped of everything but his will to live

I nuzzle my head into your chest like a child
You ask if I'm okay
"Yes. I just wanted to hear your heartbeat."

A human being is stranded in the middle of the sea, forced to watch a comrade stop fighting to live.

You run your fingers through my hair,
Cradle my hand in yours
We are still lovers, still breathing

He makes it to the shore of the enemy
Is immediately demoted to POW

I wonder if you know that I'm a prisoner of love; it is quite the wonderful setup. We kiss with the lips first, and you ease into tongue because you are patient; you are okay with waiting

Beatings
Torturous conditions
And then--
He is liked and wanted
Is allowed to leave camp to tell his parents he's still alive
And in that building he sees "a woman for the first time
In two years" you whisper
Something I hadn't thought of
And I wonder if men need women more than I recognize

So I planted a flower garden, just like I always wanted darling
And I’ve sat in it every day since
Talking myself up to the white roses and making them blush because they know that they aren’t really the company I’d like to be keeping
Not really, anyway
And I feel rather terrible about it because I speak as if I’ve wallpapered the world with my words
But it’s just my own skull and your thoughts, I suppose
And I think they see right through me
Oh, they can see all my thoughts, all right
And I wish I resembled sterling silver, fixing all my failings as I go- so none could ever know all those mistakes
No one can judge a piece of duct tape-

I planted a flower garden, just like I always wanted darling
And I’ve done my best not to peek over the courtyard walls
Just to see if you’re finally coming to greet me like a stranger
But I never let my eyes wander farther than the second cobblestoned row from the top
Just to be proud of my ability not to think on you
I shouldn’t feel quite so terrible about those white roses knowing ‘cause deep down, somewhere in that same place where my love for dancing and ketchup and all of those other terrible things are, I think white roses have finally taken root as well
But it- isn’t my fault
I don’t think
Oh, but now my memory is a continuous roll of clear scotch tape that I run my fingers over always, trying to find the beginning so I can break off the pieces so nothing blends and examine them more carefully to the end
But I can’t find that teeny, tiny ridge that will show me how this all began
Do you remember- can white roses turn brown?
-I thought not
Oh, you always knew what to say but never quite how to say it
I’d take your double-edged words and be grateful for them now
Just to know if my favorite color turned brown
If my favorite thing about me will never be found

So I planted a flower garden, just like I always wanted darling
And I water it whenever I think on three-fourths of my favorite things
They don’t know your name or the name of my love
Because I empty the bitter tears concerning those things in places I never visit anymore
-The idea of producing one-fourth sour-faced and wrinkly roses makes me squirm-
I wonder
If someone gave you the stem of a daisy could you dip it in ink and draw the face of your favorite anything
I thought not
I forgot (oh, see how I am forgetting things) that you don’t have any favorite things
Dash it all (to pieces)!
I doubt that I was ever your favorite, not to say I was the least favorite
But all of this is beginning to make more sense now, I think
But, back to the most important thing
The white roses
They’re lost in that place full of things I’ve learned to despise
Or perhaps just things I’ve lost a liking for
Oh, how I despise you
Is that why I can’t find you (or the white roses)
Anywhere

i listen to "pompeii"
as it burns itself to pieces on the radio
and rises like a phoenix (with no beginning) from the ashes when i repeat the lyrics to myself over and over again

"where do we begin
the rubble
or our sins?"

where did i (the phoenix) begin
in the rubble or
my sins?

are we taken from dust and returned to dust ("how am i gonna be an optimist about this?")

or are we taken from the ashes and redeemed

am i the city everybody loved whose "walls kept tumbling down"

if i was "left to my own devices"
would i even begin?
or would i "close my eyes"
"bringing darkness from above"

but
if a "great cloud rolled over the hill"

could my sins be forgiven
could my sins be forgiven
yet?

our generation should be known as the Meowlennials
because our biggest accomplishment was getting cat pictures all over the internet.

it is human nature to scratch
even though we know it doesn't help anything

you scoff as he rubs wings into my shoulders
and life into my mouth
i am free with him
he has cupped me in his hands like a butterfly
let me go so many times
but i come back
(because i was always his in the first place)

i wonder why you want to be tied around his wrist like a balloon
don't you have feelings, too
perhaps children cry when they let go of the string
up
up
into the sky
(too selfish to understand that you would be happy if you could just fly)

The hollowed-out hearts stick out of the sand like seashells on the store
But I'm looking for life
(and I know it's out there somewhere)

you wrote a poem once about how i was a flower and you were a monster and you dropped your grape juice on my white peddles
you spelled petals wrong
and that bothered me
but the idea that i was beautiful enough to be somebody's muse
well
i was willing to overlook the fact that you weren't good with hearts, so of course your faults with words meant very little to me
i dreamed in purple once
and grape was the taste on my tongue when i woke, which was silly
because your poem didn't really say anything about knocking a glass onto me like a paperweight to watch me suffocate as its juicy contents stained me violet
i just thought it sounded lovelier as a white lie
like you didn't mean to hurt me and it was just an accident

you told me later you made me a flower because they are at the mercy of whoever plucks them from the garden
and that's when i knew that you knew you had bruised me purple on purpose
i just don't like to think about the part where you are a monster

I am self-conscious about my body
There is something about strangers on the street
Looking me down, chasing me down, asking for my number before asking for my name
That I have never liked a little bit
Not even at all

It makes me more self-conscious than I already am
I don't have a perfect body
I pick at the skin on my thumbs and they're permanently scarred and that makes holding hands as difficult as finding my heart under the trees I planted in my liver to shield it from the sun of my lover because I couldn't bear the thought that I wasn't as beautiful as him

I have a small chest
I heard once
That the first thing men notice about a woman is her eyes, and the first thing women notice about men is that they are a bunch of liars
So these strangers must notice that
And it gives me anxiety to wonder why they would still have an interest

There is nothing striking, beautiful, or breath-taking about me
Until I speak (I think)
My personality makes up for everything else
At least, I try to make it so
But you don't know me

So why are you chasing a short, ordinary, nobody across the street
What am I to you?
What do you see in me?

what does your hand reach for
away from the power source?
why do you reach away from that which will heal and help you?
fame in the west
false sense of security and peace in the north
greed fuels the reach for the east
down south you will find heartbreak and misery
don't overextend yourself
give yourself a backache from reaching for a happiness that will never come
instead, turn inward for a moment
reach for the light that is within you
give the richest parts of yourself away
and there you will find true happiness.

what if we tried to weave words into my hair
and it all got tangled around our fingers
till they turned blue and had to be amputated
and we could never hold hands again

what if we tried to plant kisses late at night where the squirrels would never find them
and the rolly poly bugs got to them first
so we'd never get to sleep again
pulling them out of the roots until the sun came up

what if we tried to cook each other dinner and we had to put out a grease fire with my face
(Weird Al reference)
and we'd never be able to touch without my cheeks burning up again

what if we tried to freeze our favorite moments between bags of peas and tater tots
but the power went out and everything thawed and we forgot

what if-
what if we drew blueprints of our future
with footnotes and maps and sketches of beautiful things
just to lose them all downstream one day
like racing newspaper boats against our feet
and we lost our desire to dream anymore

all of these questions
keep me from stepping beyond what is comfortable with you

but
the thing that compels me to continue saying "yes" when you ask me out for dinner
is to think
what if all of that-
didn't?

(i)

It’s wrong of me, I know
            To wait around for you to say extraordinary things, sweetheart.
                      
But there’s something so enticing about true love
                        Wrapped up in fancy scratch paper
                        With half the lines crossed out
                                                [Those are the best kind of things to say, you know
                                                            ­‘Cause it means I’ll spend hours smashing myself
                                                          ­  Between those lines
                                                           ­ Trying to fill in the blanks
                                                          ­  About who you love,
                                                           ­                         And why.
                                                … I miss knowing those things
                                                          ­                          Just a little.]    
            All tied together with the broken guitar strings
[Where now rest those hummingbird wings?]
You’d tune for me
                        Before anybody knew who you were
                                    And I was the only one who listened.

I miss the you I knew

            The one who told me I was beautiful,
                        All mismatched and clashed,
                        Because we were the brains of this outfit,
                      
And how were we to know that
                                    Dreams and reality
                                                Can’t ever
                                                Be worn together?
                        [At least, that’s what Mother would tell me
                                    When I asked to wear her fancy pearls to bed]

I remember the day before we were expected to grow up
            [The day before the sky turned inside out
            And suddenly
                        We were expected to know why it rained sometimes,
                        Were expected to expect pneumonia if we played in the puddles too long,
                                    Were expected to know black from white
To stay indoors and turn gray overnight.
Yes, the day before all of those expectations rose to meet us,]
We were expected to go to a gaudy dinner party
To boast about ourselves.
And everything we planned to become.
            But I hated heels, and you hated lies
            So I showed up in fuzzy bunny slippers with my hair done up nice, and you-
Well.
            You didn’t go.
                        There’s something about growing up you never took a liking to.

Everyone knew who you were by then.
And I sat alone as they talked about you
                        And all of the wonderful things you were becoming.
                        And I just nodded, picturing the boy I once knew
                                    Yes,
The boy that no one knew
                                    With dreams so big they encompassed the entire sidewalk in chalk
                                    Whenever we sat down to visualize the future
we never really thought would come
                      
                        There was never enough room for me to color mine
                        [So I simply signed my name
                                    All small
                                    In the corner
                                    Of that sidewalk gallery of hearts and hopes]
                        And that’s the way I wanted it
                        Because-
                        Well,­
I didn’t need a dream if I had you.


(ii)

It was too perfect, really.
Well, I was, I suppose.
Perfectly innocent.

I now see how illogical it is
To assume that a heart can simply be cut away from the chest,
And given.

For it is impossible to do so
[Truly]

No,
You got so much more than my heart, my love

From the ends of my eyelashes to my fingertips
All of me was yours

Yes,
From the frantic way my heart beat against my ribcage        
[Like a tiny hummingbird
            Wanting to burst free
To taste you with my entire soul
            Swallow you whole
            Not merely glean a teasing sample with my lips]

To the way it melted through my chest
And slid softly to my fingers
Resting in your palm
Yes,
When you placed your hand in mine
            I was clutching the reality I’d only ever dreamed of
            [My heart and I were a package deal- and you held both]
            Yes, it was the closest I’ve ever been to happiness

Oh, love…
I loved,
With every part of me,
I hope you know.

But I never considered that I did
Not really

Until that moment when you led me in my fuzzy bunny slippers to the chalky sidewalk
And silently erased my name from that corner
            Whispering you were sorry all the while.
            But we were all grown up now.

[That was the day I stood with my arms outstretched
Mouth gaping open
To catch the rain
As the sky turned inside out
Because, well.
I needed new dreams if I didn’t have you]

Tears filled my eyes, then
For I felt my heart fall out of my chest
[Yes, I thought such a thing was impossible
But I’d also
(Naively)
Thought it impossible for you to ever leave]
To rest
Forever
In your hands
[A final parting gift]

What pain filled that void!
            [I would blame it on pneumonia,
                        -For I stood in the puddles forever that day
                        Making mouthfuls of promises to that empty rain-
                        But I think we both know better
                        Than to expect a little sickness to bring pain such as this]
For I was left with nothing
And you
            [You
With a tiny hummingbird you didn’t even know what to do with
                        As it lay
                        Barely breathing
                        Barely beating
                        But doing both for you]
You still had everything

From the tears that dripped from my lashes
To the tips of my fingers that brushed them away

To that empty ribcage
            [With the bones gaping open
            So barren, but for a couple feathers
            That blew about when you whispered
                        (Hanging on to a hollow kind of hope)
But fell to the bottom of my stomach once it was clear
That you were never coming back
With my little hummingbird]
And that flat thump in my chest
[From the pendulum I secured in its stead
                        Marking each moment I spent without a true heartbeat
No frenzy of feathers
No
Just a hollow, rhythmic stupor
That fell over my soul]
That reminded me
I had
Nothing to love anymore.


(iii)

            Who knows how long I stood
&nbs

My heart flat-lined yesterday
At approximately 5:28 in the afternoon
The time doesn’t really matter
Nor, I suppose
Does the fact that I flat-lined yesterday
(For; I’m still alive, though not living)
But I thought it was an interesting fact
And wondered if you, too, would be interested in knowing
That I hit ground-level apathy
For everything
And for reasons beyond my control

Before you go thinking I’m depressed over you
Or over something you did
Be assured that my heart flat-lined for reasons beyond anyone’s control
Except my own
But it had to be done, I suppose
In order to feel again

The funny thing is knowing
That I could curl up on my bed and eat my favorite things
While reading the letter you wrote to me a few years ago
And fall in love with you again
With the wonderful twists my stomach makes
When you look at me a certain way
Or when I think of your lips meeting mine

But the thing that scares me the most to think about
Is that perhaps it wouldn’t be me falling in love with you again
If I have to eat my favorite things to be feel a certain way

The thing about today is that I know God is up there somewhere
But I can’t find it in me to care
I’m neither sinning nor making good
Not being tempted, not being persuaded
I simply exist
With no plans or future or decisions to make
I suppose my struggle with my favorite foods is the one exception to what I’ve described

See,
I know that God is up there somewhere
But today it’s that I just cannot force myself to care
There’s a wall between He and I somewhere in the lining of my stomach
(And though I never meant for it to be there)
It keeps Him from touching my soul
18 years of bad habits built up in my arteries
Clogging my heart from anything but apathy
But somewhere I found it in me to cry yesterday
As it flat-lined at 5:28
God made me human
With all these emotions
That I have a natural right to feel

(I know now
Why our Mother ate that which was forbidden)

So this apathy
Is a test trial of us
And though I still love you
Today
I don’t feel for you
Or for anything
Until tomorrow
(I hope)

it took me nineteen years to realize that sometimes
you are the five year old child with sixty cents of hard earned pennies in your sweaty hand
and even though you smashed your piggy bank and clenched your fist around your life earnings
and counted it out loud at the register one at a time
that little red bike with the horn isn't meant for you
because sixty cents can't buy love
and all of the tears in the world will never change the fact that every particle of your being wasn't enough for a soul like his

My thoughts are dangerous
I am the pilot of the plane
But I fancy the idea of plummeting to the earth in a beautiful ball of fire

Romantic, I think
Stunning, I think
Breathtaking, I think

But the only beautiful part about it is the falling
What of the melted flesh, burning hair
Fragmented remains of something perfectly wonderful
I didn't need to ruin

My thoughts shouldn't be dangerous like this, but they are

Trying not to be
A grump over something as
Small as sandwiches.

i am a windsock
that you found atop an abandoned heart valve, trying to catch its breath
an open-mouthed fish with air passing through the gills
drowning in solitude

you took me down
washed me up,
and i felt useful again

you never asked me to love you
never stapled me to the wall or made me into your sock puppet with googly eyes
but i would find myself nestled beside you, anyway
in the moments i wanted to feel a little more human

you listened, mostly
you would hold me up and watch me fill with air and when things got too emotional i would wriggle free and tumble off the mountain peak in a scatter-brained attempt to prove i didn't need you
you never raised your voice or shouted after me, and i never raised my hand to say, "i need you, too"

3 years went by

you never begged me to love you
but you whispered that feelings had sprouted from your heart so long ago on the mountain
and i could see the lettuce leaves protruding from your chest
and i became afraid
i had never kept something like this alive

(a list of things that i'd let die:
a cactus
friendships
hermit *****
fish
and tiny flowers)

so i let the wind take me again
i dont know why
i crawled back to the crusty heart valve
and tried to let my soul dry out
(a raisin in the sun)

but after a month of drowning in my own solitude
i heard that a frost was coming

i thought of the tiny leaves protruding from the ridges of your chest

(could i let something so innocent die again?)

and on September 27th, while you slept
i, the wind sock, slipped into the sheets
i covered our tender love with all i had

and we weathered the frost together.

You are salt and vinegar chips
Despicable and addicting
Hot chocolate that scalds the roof of my mouth
But I continue to crave the taste
Because those cute mini marshmallows soothe the burn as I swallow
Oddly charming

i love you
to reese's pieces.

I'm all spent
No, really
It's just that one boy wanted my love and one wanted my virtue
But I'm not sure which boy wanted what
All I know is that I'm all spent now
I mean,
I gave all my love to the first boy
And looking back
It seems all he wanted were kisses
And the second boy
Well
You can guess some of the things I gave him
But looking back
It seems that all he wanted was words of affection that kisses can't buy
I can only assume
I mean, I wasn't very good at balancing my checkbook when it all started payrolling out like this
All I know is that I'm staring at the bank account and realizing
I have nothing left to give anyone anymore

there is a boa constrictor
wrapped around my ribcage

there is an old story lodged in my windpipe
and i wish Heimlich had been a composer
so i could write it out without turning blue

i am lop-sided
but, alas
there is no one to lean on

it is heavy
(i must sit down)
where is the floor?

i long to talk to strangers
and keep my house clean
and run my hands across my husband's beard
just one more time

all i feel is a loss of circulation
my words won't reach higher than my chest
struggling to escape,
to wriggle through a sealed-off space

i cannot tell if it is my love reaching through my chest
or if it's....

You cut off my hands
You broke my brittle, blackened body to bits, searching
The hands of a healer.

I felt nothing.

The nerve endings no longer crawled with static
Worms dried out in the sun
Lumpy, hollowed tunnels where the monarchs would fly
Now concave, the ceiling falling in, my spirit in disrepair

You grounded me
When you had every reason to bury my remains
But what little life I had took root, worked its way around your wrists
Lazily laced the veins in your arms with the vines

Months to nurse me back to health
Now
Flourishing after the fire.

We spat watermelon seeds across the sidewalk
And I know that secretly we both wished that beautiful things could grow from cement
We would've weaved the vine into my hair, because green is your favorite texture
And you've never been able to run your fingers through my eyes the way you can this mane
Love
Sometimes
I took a pocket knife and cut the skin from tomatoes
Because seeing something raw and untouched like that made me wish I could peel your thoughts away just as easily
But none of my can openers worked the way they promised they would
So it's up to you to open your cans of worms, I suppose
Dump them in the dirt of my mind
I promise beautiful things grow here
Somewhere
It's just that you haven't planted any kisses in a while
And I'm waiting for the rain before I invite you to do something rash and wonderful like that
Can you believe I snapped the handle off my ***** today
The ground was just so difficult
I couldn't make room for the new thoughts I'd like to grow
Or even succeed in throwing out the dreams hanging from dead cherry blossoms in the yard
Well, the second is not really because of my *****, I have spares
But must I be distracted by your beautiful eyes glancing through the peepholes in my fence as I work
You have so many beautiful things to tend to in your own yard, love
Make a book of poetry about them
And send it to me when you get lonely for feedback or compliments

Can I tell you a secret nobody knows
I hate the part where I must follow the trail of realities to the back door where my dog is chained to meet me
Once again, abandoning my attempts to grow beautiful things from this paper
For you

There are just some things
That will never leave your heart after you see them
Like your 6 year old sister heaving a bowling ball all the way to the lane
Just to let it drop
thud
And watching in anticipation as it creeps towards the pins
It's not even those things, really
It's just the fact that I will miss her little smile
I'll miss
watching her grow up

i will open a lovers insurance company

15 minutes could save you 15% more of your heart

ten dollars a month to make you unafraid
for the assurance that if you ever collide with an oncoming **** at 75 miles an hour,

we will cover the cosmetic damage
remove the dents
paint a smile back onto your license plate
and send you away

i will open a lovers insurance company

put a lock on your heart
and a security system through your veins
so if anyone goes prying and poking into your bloodstream, we will know
like white blood cells, we will race to your aid
stop you from getting too lovesick
all at the small price of ten dollars a month

and if your heart is ever totaled
we will remove it
fill the gaps with money and ice cream and Netflix
(we cant replace hearts, but we can fix them)

i escape to the bottom of swimming pools
the harder it gets to breathe
the harder i kick
until my head hits the bottom

my ears pop
i am overwhelmed

i take naps on the freeway
the louder the horns scream
the deeper i sleep
it is relaxing 
to hear a chaos that compliments the white noise in my brain

my hangout is at the bottom of the stock market
but when the numbers come crashing down 
and everyone lowers their eyes on me
i disappear again

i walk barefoot on the asphalt, it's not my fault
that i want to know that searing pain can be caused by something outside of myself (my mind is not the only thing that's broken)

my finger hovers over the "delete" button
i feel better knowing everything could disappear

i don't have time
to accomplish anything

so i will scroll through facebook
scratch at my face
write a poem
and wish in my heart that you wouldn't worry so much
(i wish i wouldn't,  either)

the world crushes you to pieces
i wanted to be an altoid
because who doesn't love fresh breath
but everyone mistakes my dust for anthrax
and i thought we were way over that phase
but apparently short-term memory loss doesn't work with traumatic experiences
and everyone remembers
the chill in their throats, the cool air in their nostrils
when they saw
mad shoe and mailbox bombers
images on a news screen
hardly even real

i was real
and i was chewed to pieces

all artists want is to create something beautiful
so we created love
we scooped out handfuls of the sun and swallowed them like lemon sorbet ice cream
and the ends of our fingers glowed like E.T. because we knew that home was anywhere but the musty places in our cabinets where we stowed away all of our bad breath and fingernail clippings to keep from looking imperfect
but
we weren't beautiful
and we weren't perfect
so we shined till we
burned ourselves
out

I'll go under the knife
Operate on myself
Split my head open with the toothpicks I used to poke at leftover failures that weren't there

I'll take my own brains out of my head with my hands
Ask the doctor for a scalpel
And maybe a friend

Humans weren't always like this, you know
Maybe there was a time when the things we were most afraid of were outside of our heads, maybe there were enclosures besides our own ribcage we never wanted to be trapped in

I feel a mini version of myself
Pounding against the glass of my forehead
Begging to be let out

The key is around here somewhere, maybe
But I can't be too sure because at some point being stuck in my own head was all I ever wanted.

Let me out.

I breathe here and there
The rest of the time I feel lifeless
There is nothing in my body worth salvaging
I could call a suicide hotline and ask them why I would ever want to live

And they wouldn't know what to say
The world would be more or less the same without me

Why do I plunge daggers into my own legs and then sit on the rocks by the trail to mourn my fate
Unsuccessful
Worthless
Wasted
I could have been so much more
More what, you ask
And the truth is I don't know

Maybe I am a paper cup in a cupboard of crystal glasses and beautiful things

Maybe I'm the ashes after the rare and beautiful light of the fire has faded

How am I supposed to know what I am?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
But the beholder is broken because the beholder is me.

Maybe one day I will gather my postcard thoughts and have a thesis on why people hate, and why my face twists into ugly grimaces when I think about the bad in the world

I wish the good had as powerful an effect as the bad, and maybe it does but the good might not occur as often.

I don't really have a way to end this,
Even though I want to.

And the lines above could refer to my life, this poem, these tragedies.

i saw a friend from middle school tonight
he looked different, his pants were so tight and he talked different

i wish that i'd said hi
i wish that i'd hurdled over my pride
but we were both too afraid to say anything

and it was in that moment that i realized
that neither of us have changed since 9th grade year
it was an awkward silence that has followed us since our awkward stage as teenagers
(and now im 21)

Sometimes, I want to beat you over the head with a hobo.

                                Or those ridiculous kiosk ladies at the mall.

                                                          ­      Eighteen times.

Sometimes, I want to stuff you into a bottle and watch you ferment in failure for a while.

                                Until the scent of success is gone from you,

                                And you no longer have girls pawing at your throat like the K-9 Unit, hot on the trail of bombs or drugs

                                Or at least until I have an idea of whether I’d really want to see you like that,

                                And trust me,

                                                If I saw you more often,

                                                         ­                       I’d try all of these things,

I’d take your biggest fears and sprinkle your mashed potatoes with them, and serve me up on a silver platter, ‘cause I know I’m the last thing you’d ever want, and seeing you get the wrong order for once would do wonders for my digestion.

                                But I never see you long enough to cook dinner anymore,

                                                And you’d prefer sprinkling airplane food with lighter conversation anyways

                                For reasons only I know



Remember the conversation we had a couple weeks ago?

-          The one that made me realize that I hate the idea of free samples and dates, because all guys seem to want these days is a Big Mac; heavy on the petting and light on commitment-

I quoted Shakespeare, for crying out loud!  And you-

You just sat there, and it was there in your car that I realized you prefer your “I love you’s” medium-rare; I don’t think you understand how raw I am despite that fact, or the conversation wouldn’t have grown cold and mushy like it did.  Picking at it with our forks until the meat went dry, I almost wish you had kissed me an 18th time, because-

                                I had leftovers yesterday, love.

                                I spooned him up on the couch, and we let our lips brush like melted butter 18 times as we spoke to each other, and we didn’t want to stop talking, because then we’d have to accept that we were kissing on purpose.

                                Oh, how I wish I’d quoted Shakespeare to him then! Because

                                Eventually, the words stopped coming, but our lips were still moving, and we had to accept that our kisses were stale and crusty, we choked on our re-heated passion.

                                Don’t be mad yet, love.

                                                It might be slightly comforting to know that this time he undid my necklace instead of a bra strap, and I felt protected in his arms, like I’d never suffer from food poisoning again, but I feel you’ll be mad, anyway; but you shouldn’t know for sure if my words make you angry yet.

                                Oh…

I wish I’d told you my biggest fear as you were explaining your own a couple weeks ago.

                                I heard once, that you have to try something 18 times before you really know how you like it, and I know all this probably doesn’t taste like chicken, so before I get too far ahead of myself, go on a love binge, swallow this whole 17 more times-

                                                         ­                                       And get back to me.

Are you raising plants from the ground
Are you coaxing foxes from their dens
Are you waiting for the sun to be confident again
(for it to stop hiding because it thinks the moon shines brighter
and it is ashamed)
I need time alone
Need time to sift my thoughts through my spaghetti strainer brain
You took a ****-whacker to my youth, too
And somehow I survived
So I will be still
And close up like a flower
When the darkness comes.

When I get bored
I dip my toes in pirhana-infested lakes
I walk through snow caves where knives hang instead of icicles
I reach my hands into a sky filled with nuclear gas and breathe deeply

When I get bored
And review my life like a *** tape you feel guilty for watching but you can't help it because you're mesmerized by all your failures

I make a resolution to get clean, I scrub the stains from the bathtub with toxic chemicals until my head swirls from the fumes

I stumble and stutter
I can barely get myself to stand up--

When I get bored,
I think of suicide.

Dear Boy,

If we are not in Texas, I don’t know where we are.
All of the license plates speed by so fast I can’t get a great look at them,
So I suppose you could be right.

But all of my souvenirs and the peeling sunburn on the back of my neck tell me we have been quietly touring Texas with each other for a long while now.
The mail has already come, or I would steal the contents of somebody’s letterbox to check the address on each envelope, just to be sure.

You say in a few months we cannot be in Texas because you will be somewhere else much greener and more beautiful than my eyes (like Ireland or Scotland)
But I think you underestimate the power Texas has to allow you to be in two places at once.

I know such things are impossible,
                Trust me, I’ve pulled out so many maps and globes (trying to make it more a matter of geography than history or chemistry)
                                And it defies all logic.

But how else could it be that I once found myself in Texas with you at the exact moment you found yourself not in Texas with me?
                Inexplicable, such a thing is.
                Explain it, if you please.
                                Explain why we cannot be in Texas while you are away.

You will find me under our favorite umbrella
somewhere in the lone star state you’d never be able to pinpoint on a map)
Until you admit that we are totally and completely in Texas,
                 That Texas is what you find with me. (as much as you wish you didn’t)
And, (most importantly)
                That someday you plan on making Texas (with me of course),
                for that is the only thing that requires you to be all in one place at the right time.

The other definitions, my Texas, have no boundaries.
I’ll be waiting.


Texas,

Girl