I spent my past few days sleeping through daylight
waking only to taste the raindrops collected on the outside of my window,
begging the sky to feed me more and the moon to lay me back to sleep.
Sweet dreams as pristine as snow grazed my cheek
screaming softly for me to embrace the weak and the months ahead
enveloping me in cool air, praying with cloudy hands that I'd stay awake, get out of bed.
But I looked to the stars and said please, I want to wake in the night
stay alone with my pen and my dusty floor, it's only right for
sheets to stay chilled without our bodies atop them
my heart lies somewhere else with a ferris wheel operator at the traveling carnival
bearded women and great lions that aren't really tame, only for a piece of steak.
But that's where I want to be- a traveling sales man. Buy my advice and keep me
close in your heart with each passing home. I'll sell you away and sail to the moon
with my traveling circus and on my name signed
wrote "Things do get better, it's all in your mind."
Award winning books with this written on each page
my friends and my lovers said it wasn't me that they'd need,
it was themselves. I agreed. It's myself that I want and myself that I hold dear,
I've gained enough courage to say this without a sneer. It's yourself you've got for good
with others passing daily. Sometimes stay for years, but you shed them like dead skin cells
and that's okay. Because the beauty underneath is worth all the rage
from losing a lover, fighting a friend,
missing a mother from letters unsent, unopened. Tied to balloons to get to her final resting place.
I'm rambling rambling lions tigers bears,
trees have been piling upon my back for years
but they're resettled themselves to build a home.
Everything I've collected makes sure I'm not alone.
Every memory and scar, each piercing word
ties me closer to myself and no one else.
"Things do get better, it's all in your head."
I wrote this on a book, I swore it. If it were a lie, I'd be dead.

There is classical music shaking dust from the ceiling tiles above
my bed warmed like a waffle iron, sheets lay in a disarray of the Rocky mountains
each crevice as hot as the bottom of my feet while standing on the sand of a beach
small summer shells tucked away in the top of my bikini
and you left to wait at your keyboard. Leave my head please.
I tried so desperately to write a poem without you hiding in each letter,
every word telling those hurting who hurt me before that it will get better.
I'm not lying to them, although I'd say it if I were. The music above me still plays
making colors swirl and bump together, standing side by side with my mother.
She called the other day, although I think I called her. Said thank you for
birthing me and raising me and feeding me and giving me a place to sleep
all in three words I haven't said before. Not in years.
I think I meant it. I wish I were sure.

There is nothing special about you and you expect me to write you a poem. Here:
You are waking up at 11 in the morning and still feeling groggy,
luke warm water left under my bed.
You are sea monkeys, a parasite, a slight sore throat.
You are what is created everyday, waste. Won't
you kiss me again, unbutton my jeans? Tell me to write for you
words that have meaning. But you're trying so hard to connect
while my hand has been on the plug and my mouth left your neck
months ago. That was months ago? Tell me again how you got that scar,
how anime is weird and I'm beautiful. You're nothing special to me.
Here is your poem. Stay in school. Fall in love, drink some more, buy a house,
I hope your father doesn't pass away.

I'm being pulled apart in two directions,
two people touching toes,
grasping hands with cracking winter skin
lean back
and yank with all your body weight and more.
Let the moon make you sway as if you're standing on the tides past the shore
leaning back further,
skin on the tops of your hands ripping apart ****** and dry.
I feel a furrowed brow with forehead muscles pressed together so tight
intensity in each other's eyes like there were forests that burned down
from a kitchen fire, a mother crying
begging them to save her family but they had already met at the mailbox
like they planned out years ago.
And the heels of the shoes are digging like crustaceans into the tile of the hallway,
little *****' sharpened legs endowed in seaweed and salt
hiding under rocks screaming so quietly
not a single fish in the sea heard them say
"stay."

There was a lemon tree that never bore lemons
still growing in the backyard of my grandparents' home.
Years passed climbing every tree around it
but never did my sister or I dare to yank on its branches.
"It's weak. Rotting from the inside out,"
but still standing.
The cherry blossom tree towers over it
sneakers often scuffed from the bark and knots.
Climb higher, so I did. I was the smallest.
Gaze down at the lemon tree from the highest branch I'd dare rest my weight on.
I have faith in you.
"Grow," but it didn't.
I spent all my years climbing every tree around it,
and the lemon tree stayed weak.
Stayed growing.
I stay faithful.

My list for this year:
No boxes or sparkles,
no red ribbons tied.
I won't ask for much-
1. Stay by my side.

It was the tears in my eyes that kept my vision blurred
so I laid my face down on a pillow and let it go, breathed
in through my nose, through the clean cotton, leaving black stains.
Did not replace my eyeliner, replaced my energy
with laughter
open windows
chubby fingers kissed constantly
laughter. I can take myself seriously
to the edge, but he can bring me back
down to earth. He can bring me back
to bubble gum lollipops and corny jokes.
Let me cry to you again, look up and laugh.
I'm sitting on the entire globe,
soaking up the oceans with my sleeves
forest trees stabbing holes in me
all the mountains raising me high enough
to look up,
thinking my god it's beautiful
that I didn't need to believe in god
to be happy again.
I just needed to believe I could be happy.