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.

A paint bucket filled to the brim with blue
Sitting on top of a ladder
Right before the earthquake

the type of girl
who will say "i love you"
first

I am filled to the brim

My thoughts leaking out of my ears in rivulets in an attempt to find your abode,

A salty little stream running back down the calf
(From the soaked swimming trunks of a toddler as he makes his way up the shore)
Sliding through the sand
Downward toward the ocean (you)

With zero effort on your part

I mean

We haven’t seen each other

Really seen each other

Since July

I am still leaving pieces of you behind everywhere I go

The bridge I’m trying to build is so scattered, with such wide spaces between the slats

That it’s impossible to get over you.

so
maybe i've spent all night cementing myself between words

i've never felt freer in my life

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.

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

swear a lot
yell with the loudest voice
take control of the media
make very loud and convincing claims that everyone is a racist, bigoted, hatemonger
dodge every question that has a "yes or no" answer

congrats
you just won the votes of the ignorant idiots of America.

Remember when I ran a cheese grater over the maps
Told you traveling scared me to death
- I changed after you shipwrecked my soul against the walls of your heart
How lucky I am that
Souls can't be created or destroyed
They are always something, in one form or another
And I am so happy
Because this raft of driftwood has made an adventurer of me

Does the beta know
About life in other fish bowls

closing my eyes will surely block out the sun entirely

matter can't be created or destroyed
and something inside of my head tells me that i matter
or at least
tells me that i cannot destroy myself

i have always existed, in one form or another
it's just that i've only had a body for 21 years
and the rest of the time i was a little less than human

i have two choices
to be
or not to be
but i don't think Shakespeare ever took a science class

we have-- to be
and we can decide what to be
but we cannot decide if we are or are not

we never chose that

our existence
is a beautiful mystery

one that i wish to understand

there are only two choices
to be
or not to be
like God

we are the pilots of our own experience

where will we go
what will we look at
who will we look up to

will we absorb everything the night scene has to offer us
or will we open up in the daylight like the flowers growing from a dunghill

we are stuck on a planet poisoned with
pride
****
pieces of the devil lodged in the crannies of our soul

but who am i?
i have to be--
i have to be--
something
(but my choices haven't defined me all the way yet)

let's show the children what it is to brush our teeth and wear deodorant
halt the habits that made my fingerprints as flat as Nebraska and illegible as kindergarten drawings
own up to the grown up that started creeping out our fingernails when we realized our souls were too big for these bodies and our love wasn't a Velcro heart that could detach from a sleeve as easily as all of those parasites wanted us to believe
.we were trees. -and i was a match-
but i couldn't tell if we were huggers or lovers, could never decide if your kisses were breath mints or frost bite
i knew what i wanted you to be
i would always pretend to be a dragon in the winter, smoke escaping my nose with every exhale
but once we grew up i realized that hot air means nothing
if you never find the fire

Early to rise just brought frogs to our throats

We spat them out along the perfect cobblestones lining the sidewalk

And watched the thin, old ladies clutch their pocketbooks closer to their chest as they skittishly sidestepped to avoid squashing them beneath those perfectly pointed heels



We laughed and laughed at their doings

Until the frogs were cleared out

And we realized then that we hadn’t made plans for the rest of the afternoon



Well, we followed those cobblestones until they gave way into tiny pebbles at the end of the road

That is where you first took a funnel to my heart

Beneath our favorite tree

Emptying the juicy trills from the beaks of the mockingbirds

That will never taste the same in my ears again

You will ask me where it hurts
Like I can point to a map and say
There
That is where depression slipped a bag over my head and made off with the sunshine that I carried in my pocket.

You will ask me why it hurts
Like I can say
Well,
At 3:00 pm this afternoon, I was sitting in traffic, minding my own business, when Anxiety cut in front of me. I slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision. I've had pains in my neck all evening from whiplash.

You will put on white gloves, want to examine me and fix it.
I will let you listen to my heartbeat with a stethescope.
You can put a popsicle on my tongue and I can say, "I'm fine. It's fine."

Because the pain isn't tangible.
And nothing seems wrong.

I could demand an x-ray
And you would see the bones of a perfectly structured life
A house
A job
A family
A purpose
A white picket fence of a ribcage to match those pearly whites I flash for show, because

I don't know where or what is  hurting
(I can just tell that it hurts)

I suffer from failure
Well
What kind of failure?
You would ask.
Liver failure, heart failure, kidney failure-
No

Something inside me has gone out
I'm still walking
Still seeing
Breathing
Dreaming

But the light is gone

Somewhere between my chest and my head, a wire's been cut
The power is dead
I know that as long as my spinal cord is intact, a current is running

But where is my present self?
Why do I feel like I'm dragging, slowing, sitting down until someone finds me

Illness consumes me.

in a room full of peacocks
i am now an ostrich
and i don't know if any of you know how it feels to be a splash of grey in a room full of brilliant blues and greens
it's like being a lonely, pitiful cloud against a blue sky with leafy trim
maybe i have my head in the sand because i don't want to be shallow
but you'd be right if you guessed it's because i actually don't want to be seen when my face looks like this
which is such a cowardly thing to do
(i really shouldn't care)
i read Journey to the Center of the Earth in middle school,
and the only thing i remember is that it was the volcanoes that erupted (like the hives that erupted across my face this past week) that led them to find it-
the heart of life and natural beauty; more breathtaking than the flawless plumage of the peacocks

i want to throw up all over my auto-biography
want to set a timer for 3 seconds just to be able to say that i started at zero

my heart is just that

but it doesn't measure up to its intended purpose

if my heart is on a swingset, the metal chains are too hot or all of the children lost their shoes and are forbidden by their mothers to walk on wood chips
if my heart is a sock, the match got lost in the dryer
if my heart was soft
i wouldn't feel like a hollow tree
withered branches shooting through my veins
i've lost all will
to love

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

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 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

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?

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 am the moon
the rise and fall of your chest is the tide
your breath in my ear is the ocean
the waves spill across my lobe

i see the salt, taste it on your skin
you finger the stars strung through my hair
(this all fades ((usually)) in the morning)

we will blow on the sun like a dandelion
so it never rises
we will never be blinded again

i look back on the past
the demons jeer from behind the glass
but they cannot reach me now

i have moved far beyond what i ever thought i would

i remember when my legs were broken
my fingers were cramped and swollen from crawling across hot pavements, the thorns of life i left behind.

i must look back
to reclaim the glowing embers of memories
but not the ashes

i don't much want asthma
we are not stuck in the twentieth century anymore
there are child labor laws now
and i am not required to stoop down and scoop the **** from my past
it is gone now
fossilized

what is the lesson to be learned from Lot's wife?
don't look back.

Once the hum stops, I’ll take the mold from your belly button

                        And knit me a droopy pair of bunny ears

                        I’ll wear on my heart to make it throb again

                        Because you always have such rotten things to say

                        But I’m so buzzed, I can’t hear them

                                    So I will bug your rancid body soon

                        And I will memorize every souring flavor in my condensed milk

                        As I tap into a clearer signal



                        But our pulse will stop before the flies drop

                        Like all the fruitless calls I make to you

                                    Their driveling buzz doesn’t thrill like before, so



I’ve peeled back the skin from my fuzzy navel

                        And looped it into a noose

                        We wear around our sappy necks to keep our heads

                        Because I’ve told you we’ve gotten too heavy

                        But you’re too hung over to reach

                                    So we will ferment from the stem now

                        And concentrate [on] ourselves to a pulp

                                    And no one will be there to hear us congeal



Because our oozing flesh will rot beneath these buzzing ear muffs

                        Till the dregs drop like flies to our grave

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.

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.

i'm about to open a casket of dead things that i never wanted to look at again
but the fact that you've walked all over the grave makes me sad so i'm opening it and i'm showing people the parts of me that died and why i'm alive but still broken (a little)
you asked if he'd ever defiled me in any way, shape, or form
words count, right
well
i was honest and told you the ways and shapes that my body had gotten away from me a little
in his hands
and you
well
after we stopped talking you made light of everything
and this is just a nonsensical rant jammed between dirt and worms in a can
but i wish i'd known that i meant more to you than those things
if not right now, at least in the past
but i guess i shouldn't expect so much from you anymore

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

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 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)

You keep your promises
I like that.

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)

saying goodbye is the hardest part
(but i will see you tomorrow)

we are products of our pasts
creators of our futures
and maybe that's why they say that history repeats itself.

I would very much like God to write a book
           on what would have happened tonight

If I'd stood on the table at Olive Garden and shouted:
           "there is no proper etiquette for slurping spaghetti"

blank stares? (especially from that awfully annoying girl I knew in high school who waits tables)
applause? (from myself. like a giddy two year old.
                   after throwing my noodles at the wall to ensure proper stickiness- which could make or break
                                                           ­           the reputation of an Italian restaurant, you know)
cold shoulders? (probably. it was twelve degrees outside tonight. you saw the way our breath mingled
                                                         ­             forming a smoky veil across the stars as we walked)

nah.
i don't care to know any of that, really.

mostly, i just want to know
if the night- well, if I -would have been found a little bit more beautiful by you
had i made your life a little more colorful
and a little more human
by just-

being myself

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....

The saddest things in the world are found between the lips that sip from coffee mugs
Trying anything to start their hearts
Up
Again

Come home, darling
Hop into your Jeep
And pray my soul to keep
I tire waiting day after day
But I will send you postcards
To keep you company.

Crawl into this space I made for you
Be the elephant in the room
I won’t think it odd when you snore like my father
Your head resting soft on my shoulder
All of us need to rest sometimes
Rest yourself on me

Race through this gap I hold open for you
Be the bull in the china shop
I won’t blame you for cracking my favorite teacups
Your hooves crashing down on the fragilest pieces of me
All of us need to be reckless sometimes
Wreck yourself through me

Shroud yourself in the cave’s mouth I hollowed out
Be the cat that’s got my tongue
But don’t scratch out that writing on the wall to the left-
(Because it’s about all I’ve got left)
All of us need to be left alone, sometimes
Let yourself alone in me

I’m not the strongest tree out there
My skeletal trunk is slumped over with moss
But green is your favorite color,
Make a bed of it
And rest your weary limbs upon my own
I’ll cradle you in the hammocked branches
Watching my fingershadows of you fall across the forest floor

It’s on nights like this by the light of the moon
I pretend you need me
Like I need you

I’m not entirely sure what you’re looking for
And I’m sorry if I don’t fit into the wardrobe you picked out
I tried cutting off my arms to fit into the straightjacket better
But it hurt too much
And I wasn’t willing to give up so many things
Just to be with you

I suppose I shouldn’t ask you to cut out your heart to fit into my hand better
I shouldn’t ask for things like that
The only polite things to ask are simpler than that
“Can I use your bathroom?”
“May I sit down?”
Yes
I don’t talk out of turn anymore
Because last time that happened I was a stranger
A thief rummaging through your things at 3 in the morning
And you shattered all of my intentions with that blunt baseball bat

I’m still not sure you recognized me

I would very much like responses to the questions dragged out of my soul when I listen to music
Like why people don't get married if they are in love
Must we all be logical like that
And wait for things to line up the way they do on notebook paper
Before signing a legally binding contract
It breaks me into pieces, the wondering
Hitting myself on the skull over and over
When it's my heart that needs the talking to
Because some things aren't as beautiful when you take that perspective away
No, when my heart is dragged out of me like that
And beaten to death as people tell me why he isn't worth it
Well, it works for a moment
But.. It doesn't work
It just doesn't work like that
Tell me:
why is the music written to stencil his footsteps; the very way he moves?
Tell me:
why are the notes plucked to follow the rhythm of his eyelashes when he averts my gaze?
Because we all know
Logic cannot give me an answer to all that

Oh that I believed in solipsism
All those fears of gossip would blossom in little polyps all over my mind
Making what everyone thought of me
Simply- everything I think of myself
Oh that I could reach the first impressions with an all-encompassing blindfold
And emerge from behind the curtain as the person I am in this moment
If ice cubes melt I surely don't exist anymore
Because that was years ago
So what am I?
Oh that I didn't believe in a God
And the only person to hide from was myself
Which in itself is impossible
But disappointing the only other person who knows of my existence
Makes it harder to find reasons to be permanent
Perhaps ice cubes are better for this reason
Becoming less and less significant as you warm them with your hands
Because
I don't want to be anything
To anyone
(Not anymore)

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

Punch
******
Stab

Pouty
Moody
Sad

Pudgy
Munchies
Stop.......

I think you set me on fire
I mean
We were a match, right?
And our kisses were gasoline
I didn't realize it sooner
But I am much more flammable than the others
But you struck the match
Instead of keeping it forever
You thought it would be beautiful to watch our passion burn for a moment or two
I am naught but ashes now
I can't sleep
But
Every time I close my eyes I think of you
And I sneeze so often from the dust particles left behind that it's a lot more often than you'd think
I tried to fit myself into an urn for you
But I have this bitter feeling in my dark remains
Because we both know I am no longer beautiful enough to be kept
So I will cast myself across the ocean
And perhaps I will rise
Like a Phoenix
And let the wind carry me on

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.

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.

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.