maybe sometimes, you are trying to fall asleep.
and my words fall on you like snowflakes, antarctic and weighted. an igloo of what used to be.
lay there, frigid, and remember when our hearts throbbed for each other.
maybe they still do.

people have developed the need for a crutch.
                                                         ­                   something, anything

so that they do not have to listen to themselves.
                                                     ­                       i am a rareity

                                                                ­            i need nothing but my own


truth.

stretched      across      two      rocks
theWaterunderneathandth­eMoonontop     enveloping my winter stricken body
                                                                ­        exactly the way clothing wasn't



i swear i heard your voice.

i look at you now objectively
and with a critical eye

a statue in the art museum of my heart.
              chiseled with sadness
              warped with never knowing anything but loose-end logic & promises                                 held up
high
like wire hangers in a dark closet      

i am the wailing wall of what was once terribly beautiful
              {a place where you saw through new eyes and pumped new blood,
              
               a place that desperate love was the architect of}
i am a remnant.

granite cheekbones and soapstone eyes unforgiving on mine as i ask:

               were you ever truly happy?

be as brave as you are bold
                                              he says,

i didn't mean to
                                             drag
                                             you
                                             through the mud.

and i wish i could have come bearing hugs.
                                                           ­               i say,


                                              the universe is always benevolent
                                              so i shall put another notch in my belt
                                              take another step

                                              find another heart that feels something real.

i see something in you. nameless. esoteric. incomprehensible, even to me. the backshelfcellarthought

itches in my fingers

          in my words

          in my restrainted interest.

you could be flawless. despite the offsetting qualities others observe

          i see it.

a dull shade of the most lovely glow. and i am too proud, or maybe too afraid
tosayoneword.

great  beasts
&  even  greater  beauties

swelling subterranean
slowlyseductively
scorching
my soul and asking the very good question:

why  don't  you  let  us  speak?

somebody told me, i said
that my laugh sounds like blues clues

your laugh? he said
i don't remember
what
that
sounds
like.

sometimes the heart breaks subtly.

i’m afraid of every place ultimately being the same,

different geographics, different politics, different blind religions

but the same

money

power

work

material-driven people

in boxes.

i don’t want to get married. i don’t want to reproduce. i don’t want a credit card. i don’t want a house. i don’t want a car. i don’t want cable t.v.

i don’t want to be in one place.

i was born in a house on 5th south
my mother nearly bled to death
                                                           ­ i guess it's only fair that i am anemic

i learned to write long before i learned how to talk,
probably because a thumb was always in my mouth
and we didn't have a tv
                                                            th­e librarians knew me by name

i was always scowling, couldn't find reasoning
for my parents being sad, for the eating of animals
for not having any friends
or a cat of my own
                                                            w­ords were my escape from the start
                                                           ­  a lonely girl's only constant.

comfort is pen to paper
                                   therapy is a journal so used the binding breaks
                                                          ­                                                    writing is home

sometimes you meet a person

briefly,

hardly more than hello.

and you get home

and you collapse on your bed

while your thoughts run rampant.

and you realize,

‘hey,

that person

might

mean

something

to me’

my tea is gone

my foot is asleep

my brain is messy

maybe now i will let myself

                             drift

muted, soft, numb

as snow in the night

if
moods
are
swings

i'm the kid who jumps from too        high

and scrapes both knees on the gravel.

in the quiet
and
the
           loud
in the spaces
and
the     crowd

i miss what we almost were

my heart is a ghost

creaking
invisibly
trailing
posterior
fluttering
its
eyelashes
on my neck

hurry (!) a glimpse behind  ---

nothing. cracked hardwood & a shadowysortofsorrow.

rainy through the window
he walks.
away from my desperate silence,
away from my wordless
burdened
                           fears.

torturously, this mindvideo repeats
why didn't you follow? echoesechoesechoes inside

could have;
ran through drops, grabbed his hand, buried into flannel,cried,grazed his face
              said things
          meant things

he scuffles away through soggy leaves.

quarter-heartedly, my hopes mumble: he will look back.

heart will pump slowfast
morning light and his breath still
breathing; lingering

we Need to talk

-why is this something saved for later? a floaty, indefinite time in the future: words that fester get no easier to say

we Need to take a break

-cracking open the distance between us like two halves of an egg shell only renders us broken and ready to run

we Need to be in love

-what if our ideas of love don't match?

the only thing worse than needing is
                                                                      greeding

the city we are obligated to call home:

'it's pulsing, like a heartbeat'
really
i          
just
want
to
feel
                            yours. a steady bassline to keep track of,
tap my foot to in this unsteady place called love.

'that? that's just gases rising and light being hit in the right way'

from where your arms are cold around my waist, it seizes my attention that the

                            moon is nowhere to be found.

meaningful in its meaningless:
windows rolled down
nightair canopied outstretched
fingers
memorized streets flushed with
the transience of our
itching notions

we spoke of the seemingly surreal future
getting out of this red, square place
and slipping into a big city blissfully
unnoticed

words became arbitrary
as we pulled into the driveway
kicked back our seats
cried defiantly
            the pending beauty
            the potential tragedy
            the growth spurt still
quivering in  muscle spasms


Clarity:
the world holds more for us

scrape me down
like ugly wallpaper in an outdated house
leave nothing but gray framework
until beginnings are easy.

make me stop
dragging my heart through a cactusfield of memories
the ****** have got this body numb
apathetic to the tearing of skin.

wake me up
from sweaty black rabbithole sleep
tumbling&trying; to grip anything real
hand hits smoke.

that call that never came
made me lose my appetite
                                                      for
                                                      spaghetti
                                                      and
                                                      for
                                                      love.

kicking you only means i'll run into you again, sometime.somewhere near cement
                                                                         bottom.

touch.

so cold it's hot.

longing.

a cat who almost       jumps     in the tub but hesitates and instead lets his
paw
skim the water.

tightrope hopes.

guilessly:   i find your beauty agonizing.

you motif my dreams. and your poetry makes me cry. and i'd call you mine if i could.

as you say
'i
can't
be
in
a relationship'
the light flickers quietly in your eyes the color of tree leaves reflecting a piece of pain like a swallowed shard of glass sharp enough to surface still
blind
me
and collapse my heart.

how do you    lose     something
you
never
                            found?
all that i thought i was wriggled away
balloons of identity snipped from their carefully tied place on my wrist
dissolving into a sky with no end

shock is simple.
can the same be said for
                                                   freedom?

runawaythoughts are   greyhounding my   restless/
wreckless brain,

we are all afraid of each other and when we say, 'how are you?' it is

hollow.

it is Difficult to not wander             away;
maybe elsewhere sincerity is still pulsing.

sometimes, the only need in the world
is to lie
on
the floor.

he stood there
skinny in the bad lighting
and his voice sounded like Modest Mouse
                       only better
                       because it sounded like him.

                        i was helpless: i swooned.

lack therof. i spend weekends with

stale popcorn,
hot baths,
myself.

they say the lotus only grows in mud.

my hair, or so i like to think
        my lips, when i want to feel(that the night is mine)
                someone dear once said, 'grace&ferocity;'
                         my motives darling, are rouge.

when you wrote a song but would not sing it because you were worried about it not being good enough for me.
i felt whole.
more
than
just
a
collectionofbonesandbobsledemotionsslappedtogether.

'i'm addicted to this feeling'
this feeling of: not being at school
not being sober
& being with you and only you.
windows down and the sun make it
amplified,
a moment without end.

with face hardpressed against the
                                    cold tile
it becomes an airplane window.
eyes flutter open to see a world i know
                                    nothing about.