Sometimes I smell your hair
and pretend to lay my
chest against you

like on those nights after
building  a pine  fence
around the yard

of  a Baptist preacher’s
house in Georgia
forty miles

from cold beer and café pie,
and then I remember that
was 20 years ago

before you and me
drove different
highways.

Beth figured she’d marry a man with a full tool box
capable of building a house anvil strong,
                              
a man who’d plug her good and help raise
children with squares jaws,

he’d  praise her Christmas fruitcake,
provide every American good thing;

she added
wrong.

You thought you could spread your legs
to the first stranger who spoke your name,
but even then you were so ashamed of your skin,
the marks and scars of the body you were born in
that you eloped.
You never came back.

You asked what you had to do to be loved.
To be wanted.
It was all you've wanted.

The first boy whom you confessed to smiled, amused,
and asked, so?

It's the question you've been trying to answer all your life.

so?

Your first kiss was at eighteen, ugly and untouched.
He only wanted your body,
but you've forced yourself to think otherwise.

Oh, love.
It is so sad to live in your own body,
to watch him watch her,
watch her link her arm around you and starts
telling you about her problems

Problems.
oh, you had them too.
but you were just a listener,
with ears always, always open.
you felt like a mute. your mouth filled with sand.

Do they know how much you love yourself?
You did.
You had to.
You were trying, but no. You were not enough.

At night he is always there, in your bed.
Your brother, i mean. Whispering how much he loves you.
But in the morning he is gone
and you have not seen him ever since.

This does not make sense.
No, no more questions.
Nothing will ever make sense.

Today, you texted a boy who used to love you,
and when he didn't text,
you nodded to yourself.
it's alright. you expected this. be calm. don't panic.

your friends call you the queen of sarcasm, of loudness.
Some asked why you were always so depressed.

Depressed. Empty. Sad. Vulnerable.
It's all you've ever been since the day
you saw the front door close behind your father.
Since the day you left your own country.

But your days no longer revolve around your mother's sadness, or your father's violence.

And you are too old now. No more lighting candles. No more days of fresh hotel sheets and smells of sunscreen.

In December, a boy confessed he liked you.
You didn't want to choose him because you were lonely.
And when you wanted to choose him
because you were lonely, he was not there.

You thought if he comes, you would give him all your love.
All the yellow light you've been hiding in your heart.

You wanted simplicity. Love and his eyes.
Stop, this is getting too long.

Depression is when the clouds leave you for a while, but they stand, hovering, remnants of it leaked into the atmosphere, and if one little thing goes haywire, well, then it comes back. And hard. It is not something that can go and stay for a little while. It's always there, hovering, waiting for the right time to strike.

There is a place caught between this one and another.

Found in cracks running along walls and in the space between trees during the night.

Hidden in the deeper dark, held in endless twilight.

A place, where in looking long enough, you may find the shadows looking back.

This small world, filled with the skittering and scuttling of small things and the glint of small eyes in the everblack.

Do not worry.

You are welcome in my realm.

If i told you i needed help
would you listen?
Or would your silence
Echo off the walls.
See my life is like a car,
Sometimes moving fast
And other times so **** slow.
If i told you i feel hurt inside
would you not just hear
but listen
to what i said
I need someone to care.
Im tired of trying to fight alone.
Im tired of trying to survive at a table for one.
If i told you
I cry all over my body
And each tear is a knife
And they are leaving scars on my flesh,
Would you cut me a bandage,
Sop up my blood,
Or leave me to bleed out.
If i told you
I was alone and my demons are taunting me
would you get me out
Or would you keep walking
or keep scrolling...
Im not begging for attention,
But one cannot be expected to be alone and silent like a life long detention.
If i told you
I was ready to confess everything
Come clean from my secrets,
Strip myself naked so you could see my imperfections
would you care even the slightest bit
Or are you so selfish
And so ignorant
To walk on
And leave this person to die.
If i told you i was ready to die
would you blame it in cliche,
Or believe it and save me from damnation
Its time to think.
It could be up to you
This isnt just my world,
Its yours, too
and dont you want to be
somebody
To someone?
I need you.
Because all of these "if i told you's
Are becoming
**im telling you