I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I told you I sleep with my stuffed animals (mostly to keep me company).

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you saw me bare-faced & naked (I don't like clothes).

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you touched me in places even God Almighty wouldn't dare to look at.

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I sang with the birds and played in the mud, losing my voice and getting my dainty dress and Mary Jane's as ***** as I can.

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I asked you, timidly, if I could sleep with you because I was afraid of the monsters in my closet and the monsters in the walls.

I am a child in your eyes,
even if I am not a child, even if I am not your child.

I am a child in your eyes,
and you, the real monster, use that against me, especially when the town is asleep and the moon is hidden and my teddy bear is missing and I scream, "No, please, not tonight."

I used to write about you so intensely, so determined that everything I said would somehow reach you and the ink would spill in your veins.  I used to write about you with a pinched heart, an ache that never left my bones, and a crystal tear in each eye that never wanted to stroll down my cheeks. I used to write about you, hoping that the missing-you feeling would pass and that the visions in my head would be diminished if I just ******* wrote down how I felt.

We were partners in crime. We were our own Bonny & Clyde, but you decided to get away with Billie Jean. My hair is falling out and the tears are streaming like blood down a pure river. I flushed my rosary, the one you gave to me, down the toilet and now the toilet’s clogged and I don’t want to get out of bed to fix it. I don’t even want to call your brother plumber, but maybe I will and maybe I’ll ***** him and leave lipstick kisses on the places I would leave them on you.

I feel so sick when I get in this cycle, when I start writing about you again and when everything just spills out of the glass. But I still write about you because the therapist tells me to.

I finally opened your latest letter.  You know, the One. The last one.  There haven’t been any since you’ve sent this one.  I will read it aloud to you, hoping you can hear me.

This is what it says.

“You are not pathetic. You are not a worthless burden I bear. You are not any bad things you call yourself.  You are lovely, you are kind, you are sunshine on pouring, black days.  I hope I will see you in the new house, soon. I miss you.”

Darling dear. I miss your very hands. I miss your sparkling eyes.  Your kind smile. Your elf ears.  Your calloused toes.  Your calming voice.  Those squeaky laughs. The soft and loud side of you.

I miss all of you.  And I hate you for leaving. I wish you’d come back, or at least write another letter.  I wonder…  I wonder if you’ve even listened to my voicemail messages.

cross my heart & hope to die
everybody knows i lie
when i come home tonight
make sure to turn out the light
cause i don't want to make you scared
i know i'm not right
i don't want to make you run away
look at me, i've covered in sins.

you make it look so easy
must be ******* nice
i'm alone and dying
looks i am flying (right)
cause i don't wanna make you scared
by saying i wanna hold your hand
cause i know that i'm gonna run
if i don't stay by your side

one more night, please let me stay
i don't wanna sleep alone
i probably say too much
but baby it's the truth
cause i don't want to be alone
you're my whole ******* world
cause i'm all by myself
throwing up my soul
i don't want to hurt you babe
but i'm way too much
for you to handle
but you'll love me anyway
cause you sold your soul to the devil
doesn't it make it right?
now there is no way
that you'll leave me all alone tonight.

his breath woke me up every night
we lay in bed; no, it wasn't
that his breath smelled of toxins,
but of dandelions and poppies.
his hair smelled like he rolled around in
fields of roses and he was
the single dandelion that begged and
pleaded to fit in.
he would never fit
in but he didn't know that, so
he kept trying and it was
so beautiful to say the least.
underneath his skin, in-between
his veins and his bones are tiny seeds that
i planted with kisses and they
grow with my love, when i wrap my
bony arms around him and
squeeze tightly - it lets him
know that he's not normal, that he's
not right in the head but
i love that. so when he wakes me
in the middle of the night, as
i lie between him and the emptiness of
the night, i think that i'm dying
but the moon light lingers and i
know i am safe with his flower breath
and the weeds growing in-between
us and the roots that grow out
of my heels and strangle the love
picture frames on our off-white
bedroom wall. i stare at those cookie-cutter
pictures and wish i wasn't right
in the head, too, but if we both were
psychotic, he wouldn't be a dandelion.
so i stay awake and watch
his beauty radiate in the darkness of
the night and wish that i
was that beautiful too. but he
tells me that my battle wounds don't
amount to anything to him, that my skin
is a ghost to him. i wish
he saw me for me, but his eyes
see the beauty that he grows.
but several nights he leaves me and
i am cold and i am worthless and
i pray to a god that he will
come back and taunt me because
i cannot stand it when he is
not here between my fragile arms
keeping me warm and safe.
i beg him when he returns to just
stay the night, just one more night,
because i cannot bare to
sleep without the dandelion amidst
all the rose petals. i need
my dandelion to keep me safe
and to be the needle in the
haystack - i need him to be in my
arms because idon'twanttosleepalone.