Nobody loves her best and that’s okay
Because her car drives faster than they can run
And her sweater is big enough and her hair is tangled
Like she just rolled out of bed
But bed isn’t home
Not anymore
Bed is anywhere she can close her eyes for more than a second at a time
Home is the structure built inside of her chest
Not quite a human with a human’s anatomy anymore
The bones are twisted the wrong way
Scraps of the past caught in the joints
Wrapped up tight like a flag in the wind of a tornado
And that’s all she’s becoming
But it’s still hard to breathe
And she would trade it all,
Trust me,
She would trade it all
Give up the speed
Give up the power
Give up the ability to knock them down and make them wander around in the dark
For the chance to open a front door
And not fear what’s on the inside.
Fear doesn’t truly move her
Fear actually locks her knees and freezes her lips
But a moving target is hard to hit
So she’s trained herself to run
And she’s going to keep going, screaming all the way
Take me back
Take me back
Oh god, bring me home.

in my coat pockets you will find:
a bunch of crumpled up receipts scribbled
with love letters i thought of reciting to you;
a pack of cigarettes that i feel is more
for the artistic sense than the addictive;
a mini-lighter on which i wrote the name
of my favorite rapper; and
a beanie she bought me only a year ago.
i’ve taken you on seventeen dates already in my mind
and i think i can imagine the sound
of your voice when you say
“i love you” and the shape the creases on the
edges of your lips make when you smile
back because i said “i love you too.”
but this is only my imagination and sometimes
that ****** thing just runs wild.

she swore by her five inch heels
that the city lights ran through her veins.
her mother complained about
how she strutted through the doors smelling
like my neck.
i told my father about the way
she smiles when i call her “my little darling” in
cold hours of 2am when she rolls onto my shoulder.
i told my mother about how she rubs my spine with her paint-brush
fingers, hoping to turn my back into a starry night by
van gogh; she’s my shooting star.
her diaphragm syncs to the bass kick of “wanderlust”
and i think i fell in love with her adventure; it’s
not even the weekend yet.

she asked me about my past and the only thing i could tell her
was that the devil is paying me double to see you smile.

you spread your love across state lines

and i'm sitting here crumbling under the pressure of my names

and i'm wondering how you could spread yourself so thin

and still be whole

when i'm having a hard time just walking out of my bedroom door

and seeing my bloodlines splashed across

this 60 by 100 lot

but you were willing to cross those lines

and share so much of yourself

and i'm still afraid of carving into my own skin

for myself

to see what's inside

for fear of someone finding out and wanting it for themselves

all those gardens inside of me left to grow in someone else's hands

helpless while i watch myself **** over

overgrown

underfed

give me love,

but here you are

opening your gates and letting the floods through

what happens when the garden of Eden gets washed away?

all of the topsoil washing out to sea

roots worn out, removed by gentle hands

one by one

open season in your chest

until you were emptied

and there was no more garden for you to grow.

and i just kept building my walls too high

but one day i looked over because i heard your screams

and i saw you and your broken stems

soiled petals and trampled earth

so i opened the door

intending for you to stay just for a minute

for the taking of tea

or a glass of wine

but look at you now, growing like a vine

on the wall of my secret garden.