treat yourself like a lullaby
soft and sweet
give yourself away to the restless
biting their tongues and twisting their bodies
(like I do, 'cause I can't help it)

attraction pulses through poison
I don't want to hurt you
attraction is deluded through conversation
I know your annoyance stems from over-stimulation
and that  maybe if I'm alone then you won't be afraid to be,
or at least if I am then you won't
'cause as soon as I need someone you're there.

here's where I jump from one thing to another
this isn't about you, I know what you're thinking
this is the problem with explaining poetry, or maybe it's just my problem
but I can't hold on to the same point, even if I were to die without one,
and if I were, I'd die screaming, "**** me!"

here is where all things I've never found inspiration in meet
where at more love than hate explains how I'm not alone,
and that after meeting a real-live-manic-depressive
(that I really hope doesn't own a gun)
can help me more than I can help them.

I had *** without love
and realized what a love meant
and the distinction between the two.

Without experience, there is no learning, for me.
without reading, there is no knowledge, for me.
without interest, there is nothing, for me.

caught up in the heart drop of loss,
I decide to learn as much as I can
and not give in to myself,
distraction is paradise, lately.

I know time is just a measurement from the way you looked at me,
the way you held my face, and kept moving no matter how tired you were.
sweet sweat tired breath repetition redemption saliva salvation
I love you, I love her, I love him, I love them
I love me, I love us,
I love all.

whoa there, you're so personal.
you're so jaded, you're covered in attention.
I'm not going to let go just because you want me to,
I'm not going to hold on just because I'm scared,
I'm just going to go in whatever direction I feel is best,
no matter what whoever thinks.
Rebellion on my finger tips
watch out for yourself and I'll do the same for me.

I'll send you sweet dreams while I can't sleep.

For Fear of Returning Home

I curl my hands up into little *****,
small concentrations of the frustration I'm boiling in.

I fold in on myself like a sheet of paper
I crumple and wrinkle
and I haven't spoken to you in a while, now.

I am a sad excuse
for a great many things.
But he loves me anyway:
saying those things are just things,
just that,

even if I have been through
"more than most people should."

And he still tries to talk to me
He still feels the need to tell me
things I would be better off not knowing.

"I liked cuddling with you,"
he tells me.
I collapse in on myself and forget how to exist.

We are traveling at 70 down I-55
tire treads and wooden crosses forgotten on the shoulder
and I think of the monks in Vietnam who
walk two thousand miles around a lake
falling prostrate at every third step.

And I think of how much easier that would be
than to pray at the side of the interstate
falling prostrate every third step
onto broken glass and all that litters
and glitters in the headlights--
and catches your tires as you slip into the shoulder

late at night when the moon is new and absent
and you are tired.

I think of how much easier it would be
falling prostrate every third step
down the fifty miles to my bed

than to promise myself that I will
wake up tomorrow at all.

I slept all day today, my love
and I know you are disappointed--

but sometimes, most times,
it doesn't really seem worth the effort.
I wonder what motivates a seedling to keep striving
for the surface at the promise of sunlight
after spending so long in the dark.

Is the sun even shining, my love?
Can you promise me that one thing,
that pushing through whatever
hell this is

that there will be sunlight when I break through?

I don't want to tell you--
your love scars the side of my leg worse than
his **** ever did--

but he haunts me worse than
anything before him

and I am afraid of going back home to look at
the God-fearing family that sleeps
ignorant.

There's some nights like these

When I can't resist the thought

Of your lips pressed against my cheeks

And your fingers dancing across the new ******* I bought

Saw him again...
Too awkward to say hi...
Probably doesn't remember...
5 in the morning...
Asleep on the basement floor...
Casually wave...
*Guess not.