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lemons and rain Sep 2019
one day I will be my own.
I will be my own and you will not be able to turn me
inside out.
you will not be able to
twist my spine and tie me
in knots.
you will not be able to leave holes
in my skin,
from where you pushed your needles through and
into my bones, injecting me with your
hateandguiltandshameandsadness and everything else
that’s on the bottom of your shoe.
You will not be able to fill me
with tidal waves,
your words the earthquakes,
our home the shore.
You will not be able to stand
over me and pick me apart
like crows on pavement standing
over roadkill.
I will not be your detached rabbit,
split open by tires and unable to
stop you from filling your belly with
my decaying heart and
fly filled lungs.
You will not be able to turn me
into a smothered fire,
flames licking my ribs,
smoke filling my insides
and begging my skin to
let it out.
You will not be able to break your teeth
over my bones
and have my forgiveness in the morning.
one day I will be my own.
none of me will belong to you or owe you anything.
one day I will be free,
and you will be dust,
and I won’t have to be
sorry.
lemons and rain Aug 2019
I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god.
it told me the world was better off empty.
there is no such thing as quiet
there is only overwhelming static
leaking into your skull
dripping from the ceiling
burning holes through the floor.
I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god
hand pressed to the third rail.
blue feet in frigid water
palms open to the sky.
waves echoed from its form
its whispers pushed a breeze through my hair.
I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god.
it told me we were better off nothing.
lemons and rain Aug 2019
the space between my skin and my bone is where I keep my teeth.
I found my dad's old drill in the garage, growing dust like fur. it had made a home on a shelf, its neighbor a pair a rusty pliers. the drill told me to pick the pliers up and put the end into my mouth, like the barrel of a pistol with ******* on my pulse. the pliers decided to bite, teeth digging into teeth.
I was back in kindergarten, sitting in the nurse's office on a thin white sheet, trying to fit my whole hand in my mouth so I could get ahold of that tooth. nose scrunched up and eyebrows creased in effort, blood and saliva spilling out of my mouth and running down my wrist. the nurse tells me maybe it's not ready to come out, maybe I should try again later tonight. but I feel the roots coming up like an old tree after a storm; and my tongue is a worm washed up onto the pavement, bleeding from somewhere but no one really cares. I dig my grimy little kid fingernail under the bottom of my tooth, and pull like I'm at recess, playing tug of war with my gums. I unearth my treasure with a disgusting pop, and hold it up to the light for all to see. fingers and chin coated in spit and blood, the nurse hands me a paper cup to rinse my mouth. I go to the sink and watch the metallic taste of my victory swirl down the drain. the nurse gives me a little plastic treasure chest for my tooth. I tie it on a string and wear it like a trophy.
I looked down at my hands, griping the plier handles. I did not decide to play tug of war with my gums that day, but maybe I never had a choice. once again my fingers were red and my tongue was metal, but this time I was standing in the garage, air of oil instead of hand sanitizer. the pliers did not let go of my tooth, instead they yanked and twisted and my gums begged them to stop, but the pliers did not have ears. they only released once my tooth was cupped in my palm, permanently helpless like a fawn left in the road. instead of succumbing to the reality of what I had done, I listened to the drill when it told me to put the pliers back in my mouth. like traffic lights l repeated the same motions. tug of war with rusty pliers, restless hearts know no peace. cracked molars spit out onto the floor, mind dizzy with static from the pain. my eyes were never truly open until all my teeth were laid out on the ground in front of me. idle hands are the devil's playground, but these pliers were the devil's hands, not mine. cheeks swollen and gums bruised beyond repair, I thought that was where it ended; laid to rest on the garage floor, stained rag for a wreath.
but the drill spoke to me again, this time it wanted me to gather up my teeth and bring them to it. it wanted me to hold it, red palm print on the handle. it told me to drill holes through my teeth. the whine of the bit spinning in enamel reminded me of a baby's cry, innocent eyes unable to comprehend the scene laid out before them.
I went to the closet and grabbed your favorite t shirt. I cut it up and spun it into string. the drill told me how to thread it through each tooth, like a string of christmas lights. my hands did the devil's work while my eyes watched. I dug through the drawer and found a needle. attached to the end of the string of teeth, I pushed it into my skin, and pulled it back out the other side. like traffic lights I repeated the motions. if only the lights had stayed red. I sewed my christmas lights into my skin.
the space between my skin and my bone is where I keep my teeth. touch me and you will be bit, by pliers or by lights. my gums are pudding in my mouth, but my teeth are armor in my skin.
sitting on the red garage floor,
I realize the devil can do no harm.
don't really know where this one went
lemons and rain Jul 2019
above the sink,
you feel familiar eyes.
fingers grip the edge of the counter,
knuckles like your teeth.
your eyes stare through you, disconnected
like a rabbit in the road.

eyes gray,
like the ground and walls
of a subway station.
under florescent lights,
toes on the yellow line,
facing the tracks.
fingers curled in your pockets,
knuckles like the snow,
fingernails dig into hands,
making your palms red
like your cheeks.
thin coat covers your shoulders,
frail breath in the air.

train flies past,
you stand like ghost.
eyes looking through,
eyes like rabbit.

everything moves past you,
the train,
your breath,
strangers.
you do not move.

hands at home in your pockets,
toes on the yellow line.

at home while you're lost,
calm in the movement,
lonely eyes like rabbit.
lemons and rain Jul 2019
bring me down over the concrete,
face first spine second.
let me spill out onto the floor,
every once of who I was
scattered at your feet.
this is what love looks like
turned inside out.

will you meet my eyes now?

stuck to the bottom of your shoe,
you take my throat with you
when you leave.

I am no better than the roaches
that chew on my lungs,
or the ants
that carry my pieces
away.

please turn the lights off before you go,
I don't want to watch myself
decay.
lemons and rain Apr 2019
sun
you talk to me on sunday mornings,
when my skin has grown
through my sheets.

you gave me a box for my chest,
told me to lock what I love,
but my insides are stretched
out on the road,
pulled farther away
with every passing car.

you tell me to peel myself
off my bed,
your breath falls through my window
and onto my cheeks,
but sleep holds me
when you won't.

you settle in my hair,
and leave shadows on my bones,
turning them green and they
soak you up like a sponge.

you tell the flies to love me,
and on the road they do.

take me away from ***** sheets and stained pavement.
leave me where the sun will love me too.
lemons and rain Apr 2019
I keep my guilt
next to my skin.
let it soak into my blood
whenever I need company.
tell me all the things
I said wrong today.
a string tied like lace
around each of my fingers,
too tight but I've always liked purple,
and maybe I'll feel free without them.
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