It's like the kids on the white house lawn sticking flowers in guns.
Only this time, someone takes a swing for their friend
screams for their sister, brother, mother
and I can't bother to try to hold this back again without your arms keeping me in.
You want me to break through-
when it fades, it comes back stronger.
You hold every particle of oxygen between the gaps of your teeth
keeping me on the edge of my seat because I can't breathe until you speak.
Us verses the world or you against me,
something needs to break so we can rebuild it.
A rock isn't eternal, it erodes and the roads in every city
have heard someone cry at least once in their lonely lives.
Destroy the foundation, build up from the bottom.
Stick roses in guns and worship each other.
That's enough.

Sometimes I think I'd prefer an addiction to rain.
****** will either **** me or make everyone feel sorry for me
or bring me praise when I recover. That's a better life than constant
disappointment and showering others with the same. What goes around
comes back around so why aren't I happy? He said I saved his life, I asked when
and where is my angel to take me away and love my addiction to the rain and the city?
Isn't it a pity? How long have you felt this way? That there's a hollowing in your chest that
just won't go away. And are you all the way empty, or just evaporated slightly? I wish I was able
to aide you in the fight to fill yourself back up; it's something I'm working on myself, you know.
Or did you? I apologize too often when I really don't mean it. Say I love you before I can
look into the person's eyes. My skin is so thick I can't feel your heart beating as I lay
directly, face to face, nose to nose, breath mixing, toes crumpled-
I can't hear it.

When I've flown twenty-five minutes away from here, it is safe to thaw.
To chip off every icicle and let the glassy bits fall.
I'll warm from within and be as a nest
a place for those to strengthen their wings before they return to the world
but I think I'd prefer to stay here with a sign that says
"I will give you one dollar to tell me a secret;
pay you two for you to listen to mine."
Sit at the front of a church to proclaim that
"I listen more closely than god ever will and my answers come more swiftly,
as they do not need to travel all the way from heaven,
due to the fact that they have originated on Earth."
My mother tells me to stick to my faith and then yells
about my grades. I don't love god but god she loves success.
I want to ask her, on a sticky note, and leave it in her lunch bag
saying, "Mommy, what does god love more: money, or someone with worth?"
She'd answer in an email three days later
saying, "Be happy. Be yourself. But believe in god and get a well-paying job.
That is who you are
and that is what it means
to be happy."

I have discovered
the difference between
you and him;
I cannot write poetry about him
that includes bones and bruises,
breath and breaking,
fingertips and fire,
struggle and shouts.
All I can say is
he snores
when he sleeps next to me
while I lay awake
and his body is a heater.
He is comfortable.
I prefer the rapids.

I am more nostalgic for the roughness of your hands than
Christmas morning in a time when I still believed in Santa Claus.
The sound of your voice when you first wake up holds a bigger place in my heart
than Jesus in a manger when I was in 2nd grade,
signing in the choir as an angel and praying like hell that I'd get into heaven when I died.
And the color of your eyes mean more to me than
the authentic reindeer string and jingle bells I used to show off.
I want to show off your thoughts
to the world and scream "This is the greatest gift of all."
God didn't lift a finger to help me get it
and I didn't lift a hand to stop from losing it
again. I look at the music you listen to every day
more often than I think of taking naps at my Vovo's house while she made bread.
I need some holiday cleaning of my soul;
to kick you out, I'll burn a hole
straight through the walls of my flesh.
And I owe you this much because you were not once second best.
I need more room to love someone who loves without waiting
instead of breaking my jaw and constantly hating
the world. I'll make it better by kissing the wounds of those
who want more than anything, when they realize they've died,
to live.

There are pins and needles in my feet made of guilt and cheap *****,
bits of me are missing left in kisses and paint
                                            everything else I put my heart into
too early and yanked it right back out
too quickly. I'd make promises like icicles pressed hard to my tongue
as if it wouldn't melt. The tissues in my dorm were used up
before forget-me-not's toppled  to the floor,
the dirt strewn on my slippers that I just threw out
and left the mess there for weeks
stayed in bed above it all,
acupuncture can't cure this ache. Pumping my stomach can't empty
what is already empty. It's like a quarter on a string placed in a vending machine.
I get what I want and leave
with exactly what I came with
and more. But on rare occasions the coin is left on the floor.
I don't bother to pick it up because maybe it belongs there,
dancing among dust bunnies and clumps of hair.
There are needles underneath the first layer of skin on my fingertips
and they don't hurt. It's a feeling of uneasiness like a knot
in the chain of my necklace. I'll work it out later.
Pro-cras-tin-ation. You are the crab on an aluminum can, a moon lit with moths
a ninety year old man who burnt down his house from lighting too many candles.
Take it all in
                      for yourself.
It's not selfish, it's right. Because the sun burns the top of my head
even when my body is cold. Without you in my presence, my own hand I will hold
to cross the street.
Don't count your blessings until your hand is around their necks
so they have no way to escape without suffocation.

Color me green like my aura
and the needles of the Christmas tree.
Begged, color me free like the forest
and the algae beneath the sea.
Color me blue like the waves up above
and the sky even higher than that.
Pleaded, color me new like the bird's feathers
and the widened eyes of a cat.
Color me pink like a winter nose,
the blanket I clung to as a child.
Yelled color me sinking within myself
when your bloodshot eyes go wild.
Color me black like the darkening night
or the air cupped between my hands.
Screamed color me back into your arms
and I promise to stop my demands.
Color me red like the blood 'neath my skin,
like a rose plucked fresh from a plant.
Sighed, color me dead like a graveyard
as the final word spoken is "can't."
And color me yellow like sunshine
and the rising of christ from his tomb.
Spoke, color me mellow like dreaming
as I look towards my healing wounds.
Color me indigo, color me teal
color my sins. Not forgiven- still healed.
Color me ancient and reborn once more,
color me brighter since I'm still in this world.