i want to nurture the little girl inside of me
the one that held my mothers hand when she crossed the road
and asked for my aunt to play katy perry from the back carseat

i come from a family of women
who fed me girlhood on a silver spoon

sometimes it was hard to swallow
sometimes it was bitter to the taste
but i clenched my fist and allowed myself to bathe in the flavor

i watched my grandmother smile, and i could still see the little girl inside of her peering out through her kind eyes
girlhood has not destroyed her,
girlhood has made her strong.

i hope i age just as beautifully as her,
and that the skin lines around my mouth tell stories to my children about all of my laughter throughout the years,
that they can see how many times that my palms have been held,
that they can see the endurance of womanhood through my body just as kindly as they see the endurance of girlhood
i hope they can see that the little girl inside of me still looks out into the world with innocence and purity, rather than with anger and resentment

i watch her, and i welcome age with a sweaty palm, for hope that when my years have passed, i will glance into my vanity
and see a resemblance of her
and a resemblance of all of the strong women that i come from

for womanhood and girlhood are one in the same, and i open my palm to reach for the silver spoon.

people often say that i resemble my father
and sure i might have his nose and his crooked smile

but she is who i see in the mirror
when my hands fall against my waist and push inwards
i see her
in my hands
when i am cleaning up the messes that the men i love created
i see her in my lips when he is too drunk or ****** to comprehend a word i just said
i see her in my bones when they crack under the weight of a man
i see her i see her i see her

i
am
her.

maybe its because my father was never home enough for me to take after him that i began to mimic her actions instead
i spent far too many hours watching her back down from a fight than to ever turn into the instigator
but ******* sometimes i wish i took after my father instead
i wish i knew how to be the rock thrown at the window pane instead of the ******* window pane.
but im not.

i didnt grow up watching him in the reflection
in the mirror

and when i look in the mirror
i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways that ive loved them.

i am just like her.

who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.

so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.

you cant steal a heartbeat from someone who stole their own from their mother

i picked your grief out of your garden like fresh strawberries
and let them rot in my stomach
i inhaled every rotten word you spoke to me,
and swallowed them like shards of glass down the back of my throat
i spared every last breath
attempting to console you for the parts of yourself
that you damaged me with

what right do you have to tell me that i was the one who cared less

i forgot to place a return address on all of the love that i gave you
could you send it back to me please?
sealed with your saliva in a heart shaped envelope
i need to inject it back into my skin

because i dont remember the girl who fell in love with you
i know only of the one who begged on her hands and knees,
pleading with god
to learn how to hate you

and now she is a bag of rotten bones pushed into the back corner of your closet
collecting dust and dripping out remnants of infatuation;
infatuation that you scoop into a jar and leak out into any open ear that will listen

could you please send me my love back?
seal it in a knapsack and tie it with a bow,
scribble  your apologies on the outside with deep black ink
i need to inject them into my mind.

i cannot swing by to pick it back up
for there will be beautiful girls lingering outside of your door
with smiles that scream much louder than mine
and hearts without bridges built around the rim

and i am jealous of them because you were able to touch their skin
without having to slice it open first
and they got to walk away unscathed and unharmed
and if your palms ever tried to touch me with that same delicacy,
i would still feel the pin pricked knives of your fingertips  

yet i would still bathe in that blood once more if given the chance
because you can’t reopen old wounds if they never healed in the first place

could i please have my love back?
before you give it all away
throw it at my doorstep and watch it trickle all over the sidewalk
shout sweet nothings at me as you finally waltz away
i need to inject it into my skin

you are hallowing me out and turning me into your ghost
i can’t walk away if you don’t return all of the parts of me
that you so graciously stole
i gave you all my flesh and bones without ever knowing
that you were a crematorium
and now what is my body if not yours to hold



could you please send me your love back
could you spare a drop or two?
drain it into a medicine bottle
and feed it to me on a silver spoon
i need to remember what its like

i’ll wrap it in a box and tuck it away in a cabinet
use it for misconstrued comparisons
for the next false sense of security that walks in the room
because what could be great now has once always been better
so now nothing can ever be great again

could you forget to place a return address on all of the love
that you send me
because when it becomes mine once more
i dont think i can send it back again

i am shrinking myself to give you more room
i will stop eating
i will stop talking
i will undress myself with delicacy
to give you more space

ive been straining to grow flowers
back in the places of myself
that i set on fire so long ago
but now all the roots are charred with ash
and i keep scraping away at dust-
a hopeless endeavor to clean up the asphalt that i poured upon my own skin

and the people keep clogging my ears with clamor
of who i am now
and the parts of me that were consumed
in the deterioration
relighting embers that have sunk deep down in my pores

and i wish that when i became ignited,
i had disintegrated into nonexistence

life regurgitates death-
a vulture franticly picks at the perished carcass of a rodent laying on the hot cement
consuming the remaining vitality held within its flesh  

even after our expiration date
there are still jobs to be attended to
giving and giving and giving
until everything has been consumed
until there is nothing but thin fragments of bones
scattered across a box six feet under the soil

life
death
both appear one in the same

and i wonder if maybe i should just leave myself out for the birds

glancing across the table into eyes like stones
as a man outside smokes a cigarette
swearing to himself that it will be his last
and a baby cries from the other side of the room
silences that should be uncomfortable
but have grown far too familiar
and the moonlit ghostliness
bounces off the window pane

the delicacy of the world seen in an hourglass
sand leaking through the cracks
a ticking time bomb
of rationality and insanity

as dawn becomes dusk
and i gaze into the soul ******* pupils
of the man sitting across from me
not
saying
a word.

the moon stops slow dancing
with the stars
and packs up his bags
to give way for the sun to prepare his final act

and my mother is sobbing from down the hall
violently watching
as last nights fast food burgers and stale liquor
empties out from my stomach and into the toilet bowl

time after time again-

she says that there wont be a body left to love
once this is over

contemporary eeriness ricochets
off the dry wall
colliding against the thinness of my skull
like a soldier firing a gunshot from a mile away
without any deterrent about the damage the exit wounds would cause

the octave changes
and the slurred speech drenches out of your lips
consonants and vowels with no connection

knock knock
here it comes again

the same lifeless language that has been spoken
time after time

and the audience applauds as you waltz off the stage
and the curtains close before i can clamor for an encore

the crowd is roaring as if you were speaking in tongues
but the novel was written for only my ears to understand the detriment

the lights dim out and the people scatter

and i am left alone against four walls
begging for the show to start over

"i'm sorry. i'm unaware of why i am unable to fall in love with you," his whispers clash like razor blades upon bare flesh.

a life such as mine could only be stemming from the root of false accusations. his, however, a brain full of knowledge, yet not equipped to let it drain from his lips like water dancing along cool pavement, sliding into the depths of a sewer; sliding into the depths of my brain.

isn't it funny? aristotle once believed that the sun revolved around the earth despite the planet's elliptical movements in an orbicular orbit around its beating heart of fire? at the bottom of my soul I have the tiniest hope that some day you will build a contrasting conclusion about the depths of your emotions. but the sad and inevitable truth is, once that day has come where you have built up enough evidence, i might be long past gone.

i mean, people have found ways to map interstellar galaxies and travel at the speed of light to complete distant planets and yet you can't even go such a distance as to explain why your heart doesn't beat in the same intervals as my own.

your sentiment of emotion encapsulated within the larynx, pulsing a steady wall between conscious and unconscious knowingness.

oh, how i wish you would break me down with your words.

in grade 8 i met a poet who told me that the cure to writers block was to consecutively write down all my thoughts in a time period of 3 minutes. so i've been doing that for the past couple months and somehow they always end up sounding like suicide notes. the way they always start with a story and end in "i'm sorry." wouldn't you have thought that i would have been happier by now?

i've been carving your name into my wrists with silver blades so it feels like you are still a part of me. i have no more tears left to cry so i guess it's time i start bleeding. i'm replacing my emptiness with pain and the exhilaration of death never made me feel so alive.

i have never been good at anything. i thought that maybe loving you could change that but i guess it seems i'm not much use for that either. all i know how to do is make you cry and make you ***. i have never been much good at anything else.
and i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways i love them.
who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.

so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.
so i understand why you are leaving.
and the only words i can push out from my lips,
i'm sorry

I have a tendency to fall in love with people who mimic the seasons:

in spring I fell in love with a boy who's green eyes lit up when he smiled. he came quick and left even faster. he was much too put together to love someone like me.
everywhere he went, he left behind happiness and beauty.  when he spoke, it sounded like the night sky, peaceful and calm.
while I was chugging handles of liquor and smoking cigarettes on my back porch, he was studying for tests and falling in love with a girl who was no good for him.
i promised him he would find someone who would treat him like the stars treat the sky and let him go because I was a downpour and he was the eye of the storm.  

when the heat of summer came, so did he. his crystal blue eyes hid more mystery than the sky.
he only ever told me how he felt when his body was more full of alcohol than it was blood, although he promised me he spoke a sober mind.
his tongue was a liar and his heart was a thief but when he touched me, he illuminated my body and ignited my bones and I've never felt more alive and on fire than I did with him.
his kiss caused heat stroke and when he went away, the fire he started boiling in my blood left me in ashes.

then autumn came, along with a boy with honey brown eyes that glistened in the sun.
he was an artist and he decided to mimic the changing colors of the leaves, and painted my skin and my mind in dark purples and light browns.
he told me that I was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen in any museum, but I felt more like empty hallways than art filled walls when I was with him.
he made the temperature in my ribcage drop about one hundred degrees and I began to realize why my mind kept freezing up when I tried to speak to him.
when I finally cut loose of his heavy grasp, i couldn't see the flicker of color in my own eyes any longer, and I began to feel more dead than alive.

in winter, I met a boy who's eyes were a deep teal. I looked for months, but I could never see a sparkle in them, always empty, always seeming to gaze right through me.
his touch was like cold spring waters and when he kissed me, I could feel all the life inside of me drown under the pressure.
he whispered I love you while sliding out from underneath the sheets and his icy breath lingered against my skin. he made my every pore ache.
he was a blizzard and  I couldn't wait for his presence to melt away.

after a year had come and gone I found a boy who's eyes changed with each season.
his smile brought flickers of sunshine and his mouth spoke hurricanes and his kiss felt like forever.
when he loved me the same in the ferocity of heat and the desolation of coldness, I saw him as more than just one person.
he was everything; all at once.
and I loved him.

I am terrified of loving you; for me it is a reflex, for you it is a chore.
telling you I love you is more instinctive for me than breathing is, but you always seem to choke up on those three simple words.
and i will continue to let you to lie to me until your words reflect off of my skin instead of tearing it open.
I think it's because I've always had a thing for destruction and looking into your eyes felt a lot like staring into blinding headlights;
I could hear you shouting at me to step back but if kissing you meant death, nobody would never hear my heart beat again.
and maybe that's why it's so hard for you to love me.
I find at times your presence weakens and your voice becomes a nonexistent echo in the depth of my mind. and when you tell me you love me, it sounds like you're waiting for an apology.
so I'm sorry for keeping you here for so long; I can't bring myself to think about the moment you will leave.
you ignited a spark of electricity that pumped through my veins when you touched me and without you here my body is becoming numb from frostbite.
and next time you tell me you love me, I hope to god it doesn't sound like a goodbye.

my eyes were bloodshot. I'm not quite sure if it's from inhaling gusts of smoke or loss of sleep. buzzed nights kept me up until sunrise, most of them were hours I wish I had spent asleep.

your green eyes reminded me of the earth after a rainfall, alive but sad. they shot bullets into mine without ever considering the exit wound.  you should have known, you could gaze into my soul and see your reflection staring right back at you.

I learned the difference between love and lust. one takes your breath away and the other leaves you wishing your lungs would run out of oxygen. turns out, I can't really decide which one is which.

what I do know is, his eyes were filled with lust instead of love. he wanted my hands to fix every broken bone of his. and no matter how many times he tried to convince people he was okay, I knew he only used my lips as a way for him to feel better about himself.

but his kiss felt right. the ferocity of lighting and the calmness of rain all at once. baby, he was the whole ******* storm. every time the clouds covered the sun, I thought of the way his eyes closed.

but the problem was, he kissed her when the taste of me was still on his tongue.

and I tried to forget about him by forcing love on another who's kiss felt more like the vast, empty blue sky rather than the danger and wonder of everything held within the blue. nothing ever works out if you try too hard. my mind kept telling me that making love to this boy wouldn't be making love at all. so I held myself back and spent my night alone.

this is how December ended, more lonely than how it began.

we always came back to eachother

he resembled the sun,
and burned so violently that everyone melted away in his presence.
so full of anger yet everything he did was gentle.
he was alive with energy and every memory he made was so vivid.
the world turned into a living ember, a dancing spark when he smiled.
I was so intrigued by his beauty and ferocity.

I, on the other hand
have secrets hidden within every morsel of my body.
my mind is dark and mysterious and not the kind you would wish to explore.
I was the night sky,
so bold, yet powerless,
trying effortlessly to be the light in people's lives,
yet failing miserably and bringing a blackness upon everyone surrounding me.

but when we touched,
there became an explosion of colors you could only imagine.
we became something so beautiful,
people stopped in their tracks just to admire us.
everyone knew that together;
we could become something so breathtaking,
so empowering,
that we could not be stopped.

and we always came back to eachother.

*******.
If you had loved me you wouldn't have given up on me. Nothing has changed.
I'm still the one diving head first into treacherous waters and you are too afraid to dip your toes in.
You are incapable of loving because you are too scared to get hurt.
You look into my eyes and see roaring flames that you feel will eat you alive but baby you should know that's just the burning embers of a strike of a match.
I used to be stronger than this. I really did.
But I've spent so much time getting swords twisted into my spine fighting for you that it has made me weak.
When will you stop being so afraid to love me?
I loved danger too much and when I found out you were toxic for me, I wanted nothing more than for you to be the cause of my beating heart to collapse.
I knew just what I was getting into when I first met you.
But I loved too much and you didn't love at all and now I'm laying with my face upon cold cement and you are standing, watching over my fragile body and I'm not quite sure who won this battle.
I let you destroy me, but you destroyed the soul of someone who loved you deeply.

everything changes; I've learned to find that your eyes play different emotions with each of the seasons; I never knew a person could be so much of everything all at once.

I turned to liquor instead of facing myself in the mirror. it's hard to see straight when alcohol is buzzing in your brain. I think the only thing that could make me focus is if you were standing next to me.

I hated myself more than I could ever hate you and I'm left with the word sorry cut on my tongue. and I was too busy cleaning up the spill on my own clothes to realize how much blood was stained on yours.

I realized I don't want just one person. I wanted a piece of everyone, knowing the entire worlds darkest fears and greatest loves. i tried to be selfless and allow everyone else to take away every ounce of love from my body and keep it for themselves. instead I ended up being the girl everyone went to when they wanted to feel something, but not always In an emotional way.

I started placing my alcohol on the top shelf so It wouldn't be as easy to get down when I wanted to forget everything on my mind. or when I wanted the world to melt away. or when I wanted all my memories to stop dancing in my brain.


I met you and ****, the universe seemed microscopic compared to your mind. you thought it was too much for everyone to explore, and I began to find I didn't need an invite to know the names of all the stars and the galaxies within it.

I had plentiful people to supply me with pick-me-ups when I felt a little down but having a lot of friends who don't care leaves you empty at night with a handle of ***** and **** I've never felt so alone in a room full of people.

november ended, and I'm not sure if it was for better or for worse, having someone love you who you don't love back, or having no one to love you at all.