when I was born and named a girl, my older brother decided he hated me. there was nothing to it; he wanted a brother because that way he could take out all the anger planted in him by my other siblings, and he got a sister who idolized him because he could make friends.

when I was three my mom, in a moment of clarity, took me to a doctor after I was sick for three weeks. a nurse heard my heart not beating right and sent me to get seen, six months later I was cut open and sewed clean, a hole in my heart to match the one my father had sealed up by modern medicine.

my mom never forgot that "miracle" or that I told the surgery psych that I was getting my broken heart fixed, and that my father was more worried that I'd live in constant agony than that I might die on the table, in mind or body.

at about four and a half, my dad came and took my brother and I out of my mom's care, because he had a home and didn't want us on the streets if he could help it. it never lasted, homelessness was as commonplace as walking to school for us. I didn't know it wasn't okay to live in a car until I was six.

when I was five I missed most of kindergarten because I lived in a shack on a ranch and had lice, and by the time I was back in class, I was the only one who didn't get basic math and couldn't read, but California doesn't hold kids back unless they have to and I got pushed ahead.

in second grade I made my first friend, and a few months into the school year I made another. I was a girl back then and they thought it was cool that I wasn't girly, so I was allowed. one day on the way in from recess I got called fat and ugly to my face the first time, and when I looked for support, I was told it was true.

I was nine the first time I wanted to **** myself. I ran my fingers over the blades of my father's razor and I wondered how much it hurt to bleed out and if blood stained linoleum and how much it would cost to bury me somewhere, and then I closed my eyes and remembered that my father would **** himself if I wasn't there.

by fourth grade I didn't care what was happening, I just wanted to read and sleep. I never did homework and my friends were only interested in me if I knew an answer they didn't. the teachers were convinced I was learning disabled but I was busy growing up two-parts ignored and one part abused, because the day I brought home my best grades was the day my uncle decided that he'd punish me himself.

when I was twelve I was told my dream was STUPID because I was never going to be good enough, not me, to write what people want to read. I was told that, with the grades I was getting I shouldn't even be allowed to do anything but schoolwork, despite my constant requests for help they wouldn't or couldn't give.

the first time I cut myself, I was in seventh grade. I stayed in my room all day and stared at the scabs, and then I scratched them off and did it again. it felt better to be bleeding outside and crying than to be collapsing inside and crying; there was a physical reason to my methods.

when I was fourteen, I was hospitalized for two days after I threatened to **** myself, and the doctors told me the "rosy glow" I always have was rosacea, and that I was depressed but not depressed enough to take up space there, and sent me home.

I wish I could say I stopped cutting then, but I didn't. it got worse when I moved in with my mom again, because she told me everything I secretly was was disgusting, and the two months she kept me medicated lamented over the high price of $50 for her child's sanity and well-being; even if it never worked, the thought that it wasn't even worth trying hurt more than the razorblades she kept around to tease me with.

I was fifteen when I carved HATE into my left forearm.

it took me time to understand that humans smile and the whole time I tried to learn I was ordered to STOP SCOWLING. it took me time to learn how to talk to people, to understand that unless someone starts a conversation I'm probably not wanted and to trick myself into thinking of character flaws as quirks and of the shattered pieces of myself as ripples in a pool instead of the breaks that they were

I learned to hold my face in a smirk and my arms around myself and that if you laugh loud enough no one looks too hard at the scars that keep multiplying, that if you joke often enough the tearstains on your cheeks are normal and the way you bristle when someone puts their hand up too fast or hugs you first will become afterthoughts, just like I taught myself to be and that no one worries about you not sleeping for a week if you memorize interesting things while you're awake.

Pray for me,
God knows I need your prayers.
Amen.
Wish better on me,
God knows I'm beat down by naysayers.
Amen.
Eyes and hearts so vacant,
Starlet-smile empty shells.
Amen.
Easy words, complacent.
Open lips and full-up hells.
Amen.
Amen.
God is love, take me to church.
He knows I need something in my heart.
Hallelujah.
Accept me, catch me in this downward lurch.
God save the poor broken thing, this heart.
Hallelujah.
God is light, take me to church,
Darkness never scared me this much.
Hallelujah.
Please, don't hurt me, aide this search.
I can't think over the loudness, it's too much.
Hallelujah.
**Hallelujah.

I woke to darkness, and I ran.
And the sky didn't fall.
I looked to the sun, to the lights.
And the sun screamed that I was the dark.
And the sky didn't fall.
And I looked around myself, at the darkness.
And the darkness welcomed me home.
And the sky didn't fall.
And the sky didn't fall.

Fire licks at my heels
Blood, thick, black and brackish
Spills over my lips
The eyes of one thousand lost souls crown my head
My wings
Black eyes from an inhuman face
Watching
My sword, drawn, drags
I am monstrous
I am deadly
I am immense
I am celestial
I am godly.

we, all of us, are born to die
some just get to tell a better story before they do.
the end is never dignified, never clean
we cry, we bleed, we scream, we beg
we lay, silently, beside our loved ones, all praying we'll open our eyes just one more time
just one more time.
one can only hope there's more beyond it
something else, something different
a new life, a continuation, a god to smile and say you're here
you made it, I'm so proud of you
even a nonbeliever can hope
someday
that you can find the end you're meant
that you're not forced to be martyred to meet someone waiting for you at the far end of it all

Being a freak isn't what makes me sad.
Being the kid who doesn't even have to think twice when swallowing three pills dry doesn't bother me.
Being the kid with long sleeves on all year
Because you're tired of people asking stupid questions
I'm okay with it.
I don't really care anymore.
I hate people saying I do it
Did it
For attention.
If I wanted attention, I would have started smoking.
If I wanted attention, I would have gotten an STD.
If I wanted attention, I wouldn't have hidden so well.
Showing my parents after the fact wasn't a bid for attention.
I wanted help, because in that tiny moment
I actually felt like I was worth it.

I want to let your fingers walk over my skin
See if they bleed on the broken pieces of my body
I want you to open old scars and snap bones unbroken before.
It turns me on to think you'll break my body like you broke my mind
It makes me hate you
It makes me want to ******* too.
I'd never let another person over me
But I want your hands under my skin.

it spills out of a closed wound
a hole carved in you that you've covered a thousand times
you gag it down, but it come up anyway
pours out of your eyes and ears
tastes like smoke.
hot tar, sticking to everything
***** again, ***** again
filthy, immeasurably filthy
you want so badly to be cleaned
sticky and thick, you're choking
stop it up, close the hole again.
you're choking, close it up.
you're choking.

you turn them over in your head
over, over, turn it around
every angle, every reflection
every reaction,
you know the sharp edges
it isn't a surprise when they cut you again
you don't pick up a razor and not expect to cut something.
carve away the old scars, deeper in
cut them down to bone.
you'll heal again, close up over the infection and need to be cut away.
if you weren't the infection, you could be cured.

sticky, thick, you're choking again.
close the wound.

we'll never be clean again
the angels in their spotless robes, glaring down untouched
the first hand put on our skin was filth forever
lick their lips and **** their teeth, rosaries and morals clutched
we'll never be clean again
no soap washes away the stain of men, having a body, the ultimate sin
never asked for, but punished anyway
nothing cleans away the memories twisting behind your eyes, but forget or they win
we'll never be clean again.
never speak of or think of it.
never be like them.
prayers writ and wrists slit,
and wonder where from it stems

I wish I was cold-hearted and frozen
if it was frozen I could cut it out and let myself be empty
but it beats hot with the smell of wood fire in stone hearth
hot like embers in a pyre
I wish I was spring, new and clean
frozen hearts of ice in the streams
but winter's all I have
with fires burning in lonely homes
an opposite that's less attractive
melting from the inside, I wish I could freeze

Did you know
That in a few billion years
The sun will implode in on itself and **** everything in this galaxy?
Or that
More people die each year
From falling coconuts
Than from shark attacks?
Maybe you knew that
The word for the phobia of very long words is
Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia?
Did you know
That the stars are always watching you?
And that I miss you, too.
Did you know that those sodas I like
Come in glass bottles
And the broken pieces taste like heaven?
I'm sure you did
You always know.
I'm sorry.
This isn't about you
Not at all
I could care less
But you're the only person who listens
Sometimes
This blood is staining my shirt.

I'm lost.
Intensely so.
Lost adrift or on land or in any place between.
Lost like the credibility of someone when they judge a stranger on the color of their hair.
Lost like a tan when you move to Ireland.
Lost like that scrap of paper that cute person at the club who sounded like your soulmate might gave you their number on.

Sometimes I find directions.
North, then west at the fork in the road.
Follow along until you find salvation at the bottom of a green bottle.

Now I'm not found.
I'm more lost than ever, really.
Lost like I have been the moment I could step past my home's threshold.
I'm just lost in another direction.

we, all of us, all these
kids
who make lists
and count, count doorknobs
and bus stops and fenceposts and cars on the highway
and scars and broken bones and illnesses
we make lists and reasons and categorize
categorize, organize, memorize
we know, we KNOW how many steps it takes to get to the mailbox
the bus stop
the garage and the car
we count the steps to putting on shoes
1. pick up shoe 2. open 3. pull on 4. tie
we remember the things everyone tells us to stop worrying about
like we don't KNOW
that the weight of this big big world doesn't rest on us alone
and that turning the lock three times doesn't lock it tighter
that going right sock right shoe, left sock left shoe
isn't gonna make things better in the long run we KNOW
we know we've got everything categorized and memorized
and then people have the audacity to say our mental states
are disordered

Take me apart
You called me your doll
I'm broken and missing some pieces.

Break me in half
It's nothing at all
I'm happier when I'm needless

Cut up my heart
And together we fall
Will you still call me baby?

"Dollface" may be my epitaph
But I'm not pretty, don't call
I need you, don't say it's a "maybe".

draft horse heart, walk on
till the earth of troubles
seeds of hope planted in may never sprout, but the roots reach further down
draft horse heart, carry all my sadness
one heavy step in front of another
a beating heart climbing the same hill
draft horse heart, walk on
carry the troubles, the sadness, the pain
heave through snatching brambles
there are greener pastures there
walk on, draft horse, to the stable you seek
your hooves a beat of a bleeding heart
each trouble precious and sharp, wrapped in gauzy nostalgia
each sin and lie another stone, tucked in silk, packed so neatly
my broken heart, my lost direction
walk on, draft horse, walk on
the stable there is not right, walk on
we may find the right one later, walk on
each step a beating of this heavy heart
walk on

In the dark,soft
Feather-light
Moments before my mind either shuts off like an old game,
With a click
Or becomes more vivid in my impossible dreams, splashing colors where white walls once stood, bare
A soothing float on a petal, swirling in the stream of my thoughts
I find that music helps me to avoid the latter,
Keeping the warm, comforting possible improbables from welling up in my eyes and mind
People and places twisting into threads tied at the middle and ends to each other.
Silence, in these instances, fill me with terror.
Dread, fear,
For impending calamity
For the dreams pooling behind my tonsils
Demanding to be seen and understood
For me to drop this eggshell life
To let all the small joys I work for shatter like cheap wine glasses
And to pursue the unlikely future,
Leave the definite present
And forget the shimmering past.

Don't write me off as apathetic because you don't understand me.
I am mountains sobbing in earthquakes.
I am rivers screaming in floods.
I am bridges laughing into splinters.
I am systems crashing and burning out with a wink of light.
I am a wildfire in skin and clothes and I would destroy you if I showed you my true self.
Do not underestimate my emotions because you do not see them.

People are all born empty
Hollow shells
Of what they wish to be.
They skulk
Walking with thier heads down
Daydreaming of being whole
They fill themselves
With things
Religion
Drugs and alcohol
Friends
Other people
Trying with all they are to feel whole
Real.
"If I get that new tv I'll be fine"
or
"I know MY God is right and that makes me complete"
sometimes
"If this makes me happy, I can handle the side effects"
and
"When they love me, If I have them, I can be happy"

I hate myself
I want to die
I can't draw
It's 10 PM
This is all I know about myself.

It's so easy for me to fake-cry
To force tears in rivers down my face
Contort my brown and cheek to sorrow
But
Real tears are impossible, nearly
I can sob and shake and moan
With not a single drop to escape my eyes
And then it's over
Three drops, magic elixir
No more tears
Not for weeks or months
Or years.
Why is fake-crying so much easier?

You whisper poetry in my ear
While I cut the heads off flowers.
Your breath is satin and I'm using shears
Stems and bones break the same way.
You're warmth and light and wonder
A sun in the void of myself.
You are a thousand universes all compressed
Into flesh and bone.
You're terrifying
But I want to explore you forever.
You rend me limb from limb
Never laying a finger on my skin.
You're the death of me in an immortal soul
Perfection in the cracks of a vase.
You deserve my hatred for my pain
But I love you ever more with each ache.
You've left me helpless and
I only want more.
You're stars in the vastness of sky
Looking at the flowers I am, sprouting from mud.
You burn me with a glance
My petals withered and fell.

You don't give me butterflies
In my stomach
Fluttering and attempting to flit up my throat and into the air.
You've taken the darkest parts of me
And planted a garden of sunflowers
That grow more with each smile you give me.
The butterflies come on their own, now.

Us writers
Artists too
We're delicate.
Delicate to the point that it's disgusting.
We're hurt by small things
Little phrases
Meaningless things.
They mean too much.
Always too much.
We're made of glass.
Glass words.
Glass poems.
Glass breaks so easily.

I have glass wings
But I want to fly
I sit on a shelf
Too delicate to exist
And watch the world move
I know
I know so well
That taking a leap
Would break my wings
But if I can't fly
I want to walk.

what strange fruit grow in the shadow of the grown
strange, bitter fruit
inky roots grow up, gripping ankles to pull down
fertile ground, grown up children
each step through dark, muddy ground
those who grow in this soil plant seeds
more inky roots, bitter fruit
to reach forward and drag in the weaker
we walk alone together
the roots are in me, the seeds are in me
I could be a disaster and not even see it
feel the roots wrapped round my spine
I could be just as bad
feel the roots wrapped round my brain
I could be even worse
feel them drag me down deeper
I can't let it happen
feel them in the lungs
I can't let it happen
feel them in the heart
I can't let it
feel them under skin
I can't
I can't
I can't feel them anymore

I got tired of the beating, so I took it out.
that messy red lump of flesh, dripping onto the laminate floor.
thud-thud-thudding even removed
wet meaty smell and sticking to my fingers.
a cavern in my chest echoing through my ribs
miles deep and deep and deep
I'll burn this mortal heart
and cure myself of longing.

a rolling
thudding
ball of lead
rolling in the inside of my skull
pushing through my brain and pressing ******* the back of my eye
heavy, heavy weight of something
knocking everything loose
making it hard to see straight
heavy something, something
words and pictures twisted together
all thoughts and memories combined
into a marble of dark-matter heavy weight that rolls through my skull
leaves my brain to drool out my ears

tear me open
chew me up
spit me out
break everything in my chest
bleed me dry
make it hurt
make me scream
don't be gentle
don't be careful
it isn't suicide if someone helps

This time of year is so tiring.
Acting all the time.
I get tired thinking about it.
Talking about work and school,
Dreams I shouldn't be following,
Ambitions I can't achieve.
"Have you started dating yet?"
"When are you going to college?"
No, but soon, I swear.
I don't know what I want to study.
Merry Christmas!
Christ was born in August and this celebration is a Hallmark rendition
Of a Pagan sun festival
(But I don't want to go to any ****** where my parents might be present, anyway).
Maybe I'll figure out a major I won't feel is wasted on me
Next year.
But what four years won't be wasted on an untimely suicide?

I am allowed to be alone.
I am allowed to enjoy solitude.
I am allowed to not want to spend time with anyone.
I am allowed to feel like this for days at a time.
I am allowed to be antisocial for a month.
I am allowed to feel the exact opposite the next day.
I am allowed to not be like you.
I am allowed to do what I need to.
I am allowed to be alone.

I will not be pretty
I will not be quiet
I will not be small and female
I will not be what you expect me to be
I will not be all that is womanly and sweet and feminist
I am angry.
I am angry and I will not stop fighting.
My heart is fire and my soul is iron and my bones are ice and I am angry.
I will not let you decide what makes me who I am.
I am all genders. I am none.
I am not pretty.
I am not quiet.
I am not small.
I will not stop fighting
I will keep yelling
I will scream until my voice breaks and with that and the many like me I will fight again and again
My skin is stone and my hair is coal and my eyes are the waves that break you against the stones and I am angry.
I will not let you decide anyone's fate based on ridiculous ideals
I will **** and fight and kick and scream and I will not fall in love unless I care to
I am angry.
I am not a woman or a man or a human anymore
I am fire and metal and blood and the forces of nature that you cannot quell and my anger will not cease.
I will stay angry until everyone has rights.
I will be angry until women, men and anyone else are all equal.
I will not make myself **** for your enjoyment.
My genitals do not make me a toy.
I am angry.

I am ready to fall apart
and with a shaking heart I whisper:
"it's okay"
I know the taste of a blade
and the color of the sky as it bends and then breaks in that way
I am ready.
I hold my head steady and I step
forward, bringing no baggage with me to shlep
"I am ready!" I scream
the lights on a silver screen illuminating
my internal clockworks ruminating
this soul is weak and older than time but I am prepared
I can step into this light with all my anxieties bared
the scars are fresh
on this flesh, prison for the wispy not-quites
the things inside that make me me that give my eyes light
I am ready to fall apart and with a shaking heart
I whisper, "it's okay"
another time, another day,
I can look back because today
the pages of time flipped and turned
and everything synced into rhythm and rhyme
and falling apart seems scary until you do
it makes you wary, you don't want to
but you fall apart, all to pieces
only to catch yourself, not so much glass as puzzle pieces
put it all together and restart.
I am ready, and with a shaking heart, I whisper:
"it's okay"

What does the devil want with idle hands?
What makes them
The devil's playthings?
Like tinker toys
For a madman?
Such a strange phrase, really...
What could the devil want of my hands?
Boney, square things that they are
These blocks of bones and nerves I use to type and write
These hand who refuse to learn to fiddle or pick
Who cannot catch nor throw
Who, at every turn, bumble into doorways and people alike
Who cramp, because writing was learned improperly
What use, really, are human hands who listen as well
As Lucifer
The ex-angel
Ex-blessed
The lover of music and delights
When they cannot produce either?
When nothing can be done with them
Why bother?
Why even attempt to control useless things?
It seems silly.
But that's just me.

I dreamed last night
About having my mouth sewn shut
And living like that.
It was a surprisingly
Warm
Dream.

I hate sleep.
I hate dreaming.
I hate wanting things I shouldn't and I hate the word hate.

I hate sleeping and missing so much that goes on.
I hate dreaming and waking up in the same situation.
I hate wanting to sew my mouth shut and never speak again.

I hate hot summers and I hate damp springs.
I hate being nervous and I hate being unsure.
I hate the color yellow and I hate not crying when I need to.

I hate making decisions.
I hate white walls you can't paint.
I hate being alone and I hate having people know.

I hate that people don't know how great they are.
I hate that I miss my mom, even when she hates me.
I hate walking in the dark and I hate using an umbrella.

I hate hearing people sleep and I hate cold fries.
I hate falling asleep holding a pillow, wishing it was a person.
I hate the sound of chewing and the smell of melted ice-cream.

I hate the color my skin gets when I tan.
I hate not being able to help anyone, ever, at all.
I hate having to act like I know what I'm talking about.

I hate when there are people on my early morning walks.
I hate that my best friend is so much better than me and I don't want her to realize.
I hate how quiet the room gets when I walk in, because, what do you say to that weird kid?

I hate not writing stories and I hate not sharing them.
I hate that I hate so **** much and I hate that I write poetry.
I hate when my head itches and I hate when it doesn't rain for a long time.

I hate losing people.
I hate being left behind.
I hate that I deserve it, all the time.

I hate my inconsistent style and I hate rhyming.
I hate getting my nails painted and I hate wearing makeup.
I hate not being enough for anyone other than me and feeling like I owe them.

I hate being lost in a boring town.
I hate not having internet.
I hate me.

I hate death.
I hate the eventuality of it
I stopped being scared the first time I hoped for it, the first time I chose to run alongside the car and try to leap into the door instead of wait for it to get to the bottom of the hill.
the eventuality of death is horrific.
I have to plan for when I'm alone.
that far-off time when the people I love cease to be
and that's terrible.
I hate death
I hate losing people, I hate that someday
someday I won't be able to go to your house
and watch those silly alien shows and make bad jokes with you.
I hate that someday I'll have to stop saying "my dad always says"
and start saying "my dad used to say".
I hate that you won't be able to help me anymore.
I hate how much I miss you even though I saw you today, even though you're still here.
I ******* hate that I have to plan for you to be gone when I can't even fathom a world
without you crying over pixar movies and dogs
without quiet heart to hearts on the porch, the boxer circling our legs like our words are morsels for her to grab
I can't even imagine never having your grilled steak again, silly as it is
I hate death
because it will eventually take you

I hate myself.
This isn't a question of 'I like this
'I dislike this
'I wish I was more--'
I hate myself, simply.
My parents love me more each day.
My siblings would die for me.
My friends are beautiful people.
I don't want pity, religion or attention.
I don't.
I just hate myself, it doesn't really matter.
I'm not thinking that my me right now
Is worse than the me I'll be later.
My feelings are a constant ebb and flow.
Some days I only hate myself
The same way someone can hate a show.
It's a background thing, nothing that needs to be dealt with.
Some days, I hate myself so completely that I can't even move.
And I won't say it's okay, even though it is.
I've been taught that it's not okay to say it.
Recovery is a process, they say.
And the first step is to ignore your feelings so your parents and therapists can think they did it right.

The bright white filaments
Burning behind my eyes
When I close them and lay down with
An arm over my face to block out real lights
Burned out brightness
Setting fire to pain receptors
Send bolts skittering through my pan like lightning
Or raindrops
A heartbeat multiplied tenfold
And reversed
Fluttering like butterfly wings
And mazapan
And fire in the wind.
Sleep becomes a fever dream from a nightmare
So I stay awake another night
And burn out my filaments.

I'm sick to my stomach because I'm sick in the head
There's no point in breathing when I'd rather be dead
Blood in my veins looks better without
A silent scream instead of a shout
I scar up so nicely, it's artwork you see
And nobody hates me as much I hate me
There are demons inside me who fight for control
I'm tired of trying, it's all so **** droll.
Weapons excite me and pain is my friend
It gets me hot when my arms bend on the wrong end.
I'm messed up and worthless, just leave me be
You deserve better company than someone like me.
My eyes do not sparkle, my hair has no shine
I'm worthless, a nothing, not worth your time.
You're better off with someone else, not me.

Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ******, I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******.
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...

I can't look back
And see the shattered glass of the past
Any longer
It seems so fair now to say
I was wrong.

the way you look through me
makes my heart drop
from my chest
heavily
to my crotch
I wish you'd lower your expectations
and raise your skirt
but it's nice to pretend
that you could ever care for me
when you share platitudes.

"I'm lost." I say, tongue heavy. feet wet.
"you're lost?" a question. open eyes.
closed hands. "I'm lost." an answer.
"my name." I say, hands opening. a mistake. "myself."
the lines of my form are taken in to account. a burning sun on dry skin, a glistening eye in an empty face, a thought of longing in an empty mind.
"you're lost." a challenge.
arms spread. menace, teeth, bigger, badder, predatorial displays of power. a weaker person. wooden splinters in an aging bridge. volcanic ash. I can't speak, my name is taken. my face. stone under water, washing away.
"you're lost."
closed hands. "I'm lost." acceptance.

when you're four and your older brother corners you in a bedroom after you complain about a loose tooth and wields a pair of pliers like the key to heaven's gate, you don't panic.

when he rips a barely-ready tooth out of your mouth with the precision of a little boy doing harm, you don't panic.

when blood pours down your front and tears leap from your eyes and your mother scolds you for "letting him" do that, you don't panic, you clutch your tooth in your fist and swish the saltwater in your mouth and ignore the prestissimo baseline of your heart at the sight of all that red on your chin, so you don't panic.

when you're nine and a man you're told to respect corners you in his home and puts his hands on you, you don't panic.

when you remember, suddenly, that your mother told you not to "let" your older brother pull your tooth out and your brain tells you that she'd ask why you let this man touch you like you were made to be his, you grit your teeth like a wolf about to attack, so you don't panic.

when you remember that your word won't be believed and it doesn't count if you stay in your clothes, you close your lips to keep from screaming, from biting him with your slightly-crooked teeth, and you don't panic.

when later the truth comes out and your family and friends ask you why you never told anyone and you feel the judgement of their not being told weighing on you more than the secret of never telling ever did and their eyes dig into you deep enough to cut out anything he hasn't already taken and the feeling of drowning overtakes you even though you're sitting in a dry living room, you don't panic.

when your first check from your first job comes to your first home away from family and your throat tries to close and your hands curl into fists no matter how hard you try to keep them open and you struggle to breathe, you tell yourself no, you don't panic.

when your mother calls you and tells you your dog was killed, you feel yourself start to cry and hang up, you breathe ragged breaths and choke on yourself, on your feelings, and you don't panic.

you don't panic, you bare your teeth like weapons and stand to your full height and take up as much space as you can without being touched by anyone because the not-panic of those years that man put his hands on you creeps up the back of your throat and threatens to scream out in a request of "never put your ******* hands on me".

your teeth grow sharp and long and you rend yourself on borrowed blades like fighting depression is fighting the skin that holds it in this body you call a house and your shoulders get broad and you teach yourself to play house again because when you were a kid and your bother dared to pull your teeth, you played the dog in the house and bit anyone who touched you.

you close yourself up and pretend the fading memories you're unable to grasp are less important than the repetitive now and you ignore the looks and taunts of men who call you too big and too butch and refuse to call you by your name.

when you feel the creeping sting of panic starting in your slowly-numbing limbs and wrapping around your dizzy head, you reach for the razor and then stop, force your unwilling lungs to breathe and tell yourself no, you don't panic.

I want to crawl between your ribs
Nestle on your lungs
Breathe in deep and slow
Feel me there on your sternum

You broken cherry stem
Your body so divine
Your thighs my diadem
Your love as sweet as wine

Break my body down
Rip me into shreds
My skin becomes your gown
And on your wall my head

I wish it was easy
Love and stuff
Saying 'I love you' without fear
Its so strange to think about.
I love you is like a loaded phrase
Don't you dare say it too soon
Too loud
Too young
Too close.
Like a gun.
Aimed for your head.
Aimed for your heart, too.
A pistol with three chambers loaded
I
Love
You
Each a separate shot.
First in the throat, and you lose your voice while you wait
On baited breath for the rest of what they'll say.
Then the stomach, when the meaning of that word is suddenly
Printed in bold-face type on the backs of your eyelids.
And finally, your heart.
When you hear the last word, and you get a sweet, bitter ache in your heart
Because they love
You.
You, with all your flaws and cracks and fears bared to them
You, with every anxiety and heartbreak you put them through daily
You, who couldn't
Shouldn't, would never
Deserve to be loved.
But they say it, and the truth just hits you.
So hard, it hurts.
It feels good.
Why you?
Why them?
...Why not?

Love is lovely
To me.
Love is darling
You see.
Love me sweetly,
Love me kind.
Love me gently,
You will find.
Love me honey,
Let me know.
If you love me,
Don't let me go.
If you love me,
I'll never show.
If you love me.
You'll never know.
Love is darling,
Love is lost.
Love is startling,
Love does cost.
Love me sweetly,
I'll never tell.
Lovely darling,
I can't, oh well.
Love is nothing,
At least to me.
Love is empty,
Space I see,
In my chest
Cavity.
Love me sweetly,
I'll act so good.
Love me darling,
Just like I should.
Love is fleeting,
Love is kind.
Love is two hearts beating,
Love is blind.
Love is loss,
Love is gain.
Love, no double cross,
Love,  so much pain.
My lovely darling,
I'm so so sorry.
My only darling,
You feel that for me.
My precious sweetie,
My only dear.
Though I can't love you,
I'll stay near.
I wish I loved you,
Or you could see.
That though I adore you,
You only love me.
I love you,
As much as I can.
I need you,
This wasn't my plan.
My darling, me sweetheart,
Never forgive me.
Never, for my empty heart.
You can hate me.
That's okay.
Just be happy.
At least today.

Bodies bend, break, sink in the tide.
Everlasting tides that pull
Drag those like us under the water.
The cuttlefish watch
Bubbles surface, blue water, red water.
Light from the failing sun burns on the sea,
Clouds forming acrobat troupes
Burning
red, gold, orange.
The water is calm and quiet
Beats the stones into eventual sands.
Silent waves wrap
Twist snakes of currents around ankles
Pull
Pull
Until they fall
Join the sea.
Water in lungs, swinging low in the chest
Chests opened by stones cut by the floods.
Chumming the water
Drowning
Lost at sea and revived as sirens.
Blood on the water burns in the light.
The reflections make seeing hurt,
Almost as much as watching the sun die.

I'm a thing and I'm made to listen.
I cannot break.
pain is proof I'm learning too slowly, not broken.
I can never complain.
I'm a thing and I'm made to watch.
I do not speak.
unless in answering "yes, yes, always yes".
I'm a thing and I'm made to be used.
I don't complain. I don't feel. I don't breathe.
things can't die. inanimate things.
I'm a thing and I'm made to do everything I'm told and be silent and know what I'm supposed to but never too much and not hurt and never say no and keep secrets until I stop being a thing and start being a corpse.