I'd like to tell you about my desire to have freckles on my face
that reflect the sky on the warmest night of July
standing in front of my parent's house at the top of the driveway
and of the people who have gotten lost inside my head
from too many sleepless night spent trying to unravel every word ever said
ever spoken from me to them, and in return.
I'd like to tell you about how I'll never learn
and how there was a snake in the grass in the eye of my childhood cat,
a man with an ax banging on the back of my wall,
I'd like to tell you about how I've seen it all.

I've been gone for a while now
though still waiting for your fingers to leave my body
as you hold to the shape, you
put words together to explain my taste
run your hands from my ribs
down to my waist, remark of the beauty
ask what it'd take to steal me away
from the place where my eyes go dim
but train has taken the light within my being
I'm just doing, now, going through the motions
with your mouth on my mouth
indents on myself.

Don't be a stereotype, don't be afraid of blood - I want you
to hit me in the mouth and promise me the moon.
Pledge to a different flag every lunch break around noon.
Kneel on rice and claim to the world that you've been praying
to end the hunger of the masses,
to keep the evil ones from staying,
to stay awake in all your classes.
Laso the moon and yank it down
one pull for every year
if you forgot the ropes at home
I'll lend you thread to bring it nearer.
If that thread snaps before eighteen pulls
I'll check my pulse and declare myself dead and gone.
Don't kiss me on the mouth, don't let your eyelids hide the life -
the scratches up and up your arm are symbols of your constant strife.
Not subtle like the rest, you take pride in every switch
that recoils faster than your mind can see the glitch.
The rhyme scheme is poor and getting dull
like the needle in your arm.
Don't be a stereotype, please,
don't be afraid of flesh.
Don't be hollowed out and full of air
what's inside you is the best.
Don't cause yourself harm.

I like how this all started - history notes then a drunk hike.
I like that I believe you when you tell me it'll be alright.
I like how we can talk for hours and neither of us get bored,
and even when I ramble, I'm still not ignored.
I like how much we laugh and all the inside jokes we have
like "sea slug," "guacamol," and watching awkward dad.
I like that when we argue, we always talk it out
and how you know that something's wrong by just the slightest pout.
I like all of the silly things you do to make me laugh
so that when I'm sad or worrying, it never really lasts.
I have never liked anyone quite as much as I like you
and I like that I'm lucky enough that you like me that much, too.
I love your smile, the way you think, and everything you say.
I'm happy I can call you mine and that I find new things to love each day.

Stop thinking it's romantic
to **** the girl who cries
writes poetry at 3 am
has scars cascading down her thighs.
It simply isn't beautiful
when she chews on her insides
through alcohol and cigarettes
beneath artificial light.
Don't place your hand on her lower back
pretending like it's fair.
Stop telling her it's beautiful
as she tears out her hair
bites down her every fingernail
til they're just ****** stumps.
You think you'll help by listening
with artificial love.
A knock at your door at 4 am
will surely change your mind.
"I want to **** myself tonight,
please let me in, I want to die."

Mom, I am an alcoholic and
I've been doing drugs.
I've had *** with over twenty men,
I haven't prayed to God in months.
Dad, I can't remember when
I went to classes last.
I stay in bed all day
avoiding my future and my past.
All my friends from home,
I need to say this once and for all:
eventually, at 3 am, please expect a call.
Mom, I can't stop hurting myself.
Dad, I'm really scared.
The both of you should listen
if you ever really cared.
This is depression getting a hold
of my innocence and smile.
I'll stay in bed a few more days
and won't talk for a while.
*******, once more, just listen, please,
I'm trying to get help.
This is the last time, I'm done, I swear.
I can't avoid the pills and razors glaring from the shelf.

There is text on tectonic plates
that reads “This was the time when
constellations would guide
every living creature to
death after life
Before ashes to ashes shone
light through the cracks
and to love and be loved in return
was pushed further back
behind survival and ***
above god and all prayers
there sat rocks under earth
before the growth of our fear
for the devil and sin
and not living like Christ
to reap the rewards of following advice
When the breath leaves my lungs
when I’m merely a shell
I’ll go into the ground
and recycle my cells.