My night was spent freezing the fat on my body
and listening to a boy, younger than I,
speak about shooting his mother and sister.
Twenty-five minutes, scrolling through pictures
as I listen to a voice devoid of feeling
thinking about how I do not feel.
When I hear a gunshot, I flinch.
When I hear your name, I flinch.
And I repeat repeat repeat
I love your name in my mouth,
the taste of your tongue in my mouth,
the smell of you when I push my lips
scrunched up to my nose.
The scents on my body have changed,
and I flinch when I hear your name.

I remember when you told me my body would rot,
and I agreed. I remember when you told me I am
nothing. I agreed, and said it back. You are nothing
to anyone else but me. I will not leave. You first,
please. And you agreed. God my feet were bare
and you loved me, last. Early to bed, five A.M.
I didn't sleep. I remember when I told you
we have lived before. And will live again.
And you replied, we are nothing. And I said no,
you are nothing to anyone else, you are nothing now
to me. I want to help you bleed, but you scab over
too quickly. I will not agree. I am more to me
than I am to you.

Last night there were buses in my head,
a plaque above the door that said
"This will go anywhere for
(insert names here.)"
And I woke up in bed next to
not you.
Whoever it was
was not you.
My eyes stayed glued shut
from sleep tears and make-up,
giving me time to think this through.
If I traveled the country, if,
will I travel it with you?
Because anyone is willing to help
if you allow them to.

My nose hurts so badly it will be difficult to kiss,
my mouth tasting of Portugal,
socks smelling of smoke.
Did we gain an hour today, or yesterday?
Whichever, I know where I spent it,
in a room
filled with ash
and truthful "no judgment."
Where a pregnancy scare started in a closet.
Where that same scare ended on the couch.
And if I had an extra hour every week,
I know exactly where I'd spend it.
Next to you, in that room.

I woke up this morning, thinking my god I've gotten older.
The edges of my dream, knawed at the corners of my eyes
go back to sleep.
Happy Birthday, July.
I had ***** poured into my hands,
I drank it
for the soul purpose of not wetting the bed.
Let's go for a birthday dinner in November,
get a tattoo of a word I think of the hour before,
smoke a cigar til your lungs get sore.
"My god it is beautiful
that I can still believe in god,
if I choose to."

I like it when you **** with my head
and hope we never speak again.
Call me up, please, break me down
tear me apart,
bruise my bones and body.
I feel sick to my stomach
feed me more poison in the chicken soup.
Your eyes were warm once, I don't remember
when. You fed me chicken soup you
said, "I will keep you safe always."
And my throat warmed from the broth,
and I smiled as the poison was swallowed.

I have an unending need for people,
to feel flesh against flesh against sheets.
My blood pumps so forcibly, shaking my bones,
I have an unceasing need to find those I must meet.

Though the look in my eyes has grown weary,
and the feelings I have are short-lived.
Though I've never seen anything clearly,
and I've hardly felt more than a kid.
Though I've lived many lives before this one,
and none of them have reached their goal.
Not one of these facts can discourage
my constant search for shelter from the cold.