I was built on unstable ground
Shifting sands as I ran towards the ocean
Arms reaching towards the vast and wavering wild
Challenging the waves
Give it all you’ve got you cannot knock me down
I learned to run when I was six years old
My hair manipulated into fussy braids that swung in front of my face
As I paced back and forth in front of the door
with a suitcase full of books
And waited for a taxi that would never come
I was built on burning asphalt and swing sets in sweltering summers
Escaping through eighteen different doors
Only to ride my bike in circles
And climb back under barbed wire fences
After wandering in cow fields and a home with a molding mattress
Where I was told people had *** before I knew what *** was
Returning to four walls to wash off the mud and blood
in glistening tubs and hope
That my mother would ask me where I had been
The neighborhood boys would play football in the eye of a hurricane
While I watched through cracked blinds
It only every rained on one side of the street
But the chalk on our sidewalks always washed away
No matter how many pictures of white picket fences
we etched into the concrete
I was built on not yet not finished not good enough this is not the one
this is temporary
Forests and muddy creeks became guarded iron gates
And I hid behind the pool bar to ash cigarettes
Into a Blue Moon
New marble countertops could not cover up the stench of desperation
And the echoes of gleaming empty halls
The sound of a ticking clock and pounding feet
My parents clinging to sand as it trickled through their grasping fingers
And I build castles with the remains

"You don't know how lucky you have it,”
I say as I brake for the bird
who is hopping uncertainly
in the middle of the intersection,
torn between flight
and flirting with death
one second longer.

Today it will live.

I press my foot down on the gas pedal.

One day our sun will stop burning-
our universe will freeze, contract, and be reborn;
empires will fall and rise,
but will never see you skin your knees
or fight with your mother;
the wind will never carry away the chalk dust
from your grinning face.

Life persists but bears its scars;
and I see them
in the way we wish on the light of stars
that have been dead for thousands of years;
and I feel them
in the way that fingers trace the stretch marks
that have not yet faded from your mothers stomach.

A still small lump lies in the middle of the barren road,
and I swerve to avoid it

even though the squirrels guts
have already been painted across the gravel

and the baby’s ashes
have already been returned to the cold earth.

The world doesn't stop turning
for either;
but I weep
for both.

We set off armed with bottles that clinked conspicuously inside purses after a few glances back into the mirror to wipe red lipstick from teeth,
blending our eyes into the night.
A bottle is pressed to my lips and the liquid burns down my throat,
and coals begin to stir in my stomach   
as I pass tables laden with signatures and soaked in beer.
Everything comes in flashes-
clapping and chanting that got more and more incoherent;
glass shatters hips sway and damp skin glows
as bass thunders through our bodies.

All this in a split second that echoes even now.

Hands and lips pull in all directions,
but I found yours.

We stumble into the dark and press our backs into the wet grass,
join slender fingers and trace constellations 
as sparks fly from our fingertips into the sky.
I remember thinking that this was enough.

Drunken secrets spilling from lips at a dawn heavy with dew,
we tell about different flames- 
skinned knees and hands rough from gripping bark,
how you wore hoodies in the sweltering heat
to hide your arms from the gym teacher,                   
my stepfathers hands locked around my throat,
and what we saw glowing in our eyes and clenched in our teeth
when we looked at our own reflection.     
                                                              
­Under the ancient sky,
we talk about the ten thousand fires
and the phoenix that rose
 from the ashes.

You have been told that rapists were men in black hoodies
hidden in twisting shadows and dark alleyways.
****** offenders were always leering old men in rags;
never blonde haired and blue eyed and always smiling-
not once did you think to question the intentions
of his warm and familiar fingertips.
When you find yourself locked in his claws
and he tells you
that you must want it
don’t be a tease.
Look at what you’re wearing.
A sliver of skin mistaken for an invitation.
Do not be surprised when your mother
also asks you what you were wearing-
but do not forget.
Remember this for the next time.
You will also try to convince yourself that you asked him to,
but the scars on your sister
and the tribe of women with cut out tongues and pleading eyes
who stare back at you from your reflection
tell another story.
Tell your mother that no matter how many flowers she throws over the mass grave
she cannot hide the stench of rotting corpses,
do not pretend that you are okay when you feel all the lights inside of you begin to shut off
because your body has grown tired of sounding alarms and raising knives
against intruders who wield toxic gas and atomic bombs.
You have been taught to hold your tongue and to smile like nothing is wrong
but now your mouth is filled with your own bite marks and it is hard to hide the blood.
You should not have to.
Your words can crumble empires
and redeem centuries of trauma embedded in bleeding wombs.
It is time you used them to stand up for yourself.

The greatest mistake we make is teaching our children that monsters are not real
They are, but not in the way we imagine them
They do not hide under our beds
Do not even look like what we've been taught was evil, can't even see what is lurking
Inside of their heads
Movie villains are easily spotted in all black, ***** and cackling
The things that hide in the dark are not demons
I know
You're not a monster, you're a human just like me
Easy to pity because we both cry and bleed
You are not a monster
But you have seeped into my veins like poison
It does not matter who I am with
You will rise like the ocean and swallow me until I can't breathe
Wrapped in the arms of a lover
I freeze
His hands are not his hands his teeth are not his teeth
They are the hunters
They are yours
I know you're nothing but a ghost now
It's only the shadows of memory that seize me
But i'm back in that room and the door is locked
And I am locked and I am trapped
by hungry stares and greedy hands
Prowling like a lion and I am the prey tonight
Shouldn't have let the wolf inside
But you were dressed as my friend in an Abercrombie shirt and Hollister jeans offering what I thought was a comforting hand
But I am locked in your claws and they tear through my clothes
So I use the only defense left to me
The last resort mother nature provides
I play dead
Hoping my frozen body will somehow deter you
Turned off every light in myself one by one
The city in a power outage
Stepped out of my body like a ghost
Cold and unknowing
Hide from myself the way you cover a small child's eyes
so they wont see the ******
But pretending not to see it will not save you
Warning signs are there for a reason
Trigger warning trigger warning
I ignored all of the flashing signs
Why would I guard myself against someone I claimed to be like a brother?
Blind-sighted
Thrown off the cliff and your arms drag me down like an anchor
I am already dead
Wishing I could drown not even bothering to hold my breath
Your smile used to be so inviting but now your eyes are loaded guns and your teeth are like knives waiting to tear me to shreds
And I cannot run and I cannot hide
My body is mine my body is mine my body is mine
I know that he is not you
But you could be anyone
And in a way you already are
Because 77% of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows
And in a survey of college men 51% said that they would **** a woman if they knew they would not be caught
All the voices are yours
Telling me that I must have wanted it, because "Look at what i'm wearing."
Every shadow following me
Still hunting me as I walk to my car at night
Always prey as I look behind my shoulder every two seconds like a twitch
And I run so I can get there before you do
Every time
Before you can climb in like you did before
"No" was a word you could not comprehend, could not understand
But if dogs can learn it and listen then so can you
You were not entitled to enter my car, my house, my bed or my body and especially not my soul
I do not desire your attempts at worship
Will not let you take off my pants so you can
"Make me feel like a real woman"
I am fire burning every place your hands have touched
My body is not a piece of meat to be sacrificed on an altar
Not yours for the taking
I am a temple, a sanctuary
And you are not my God.

"You don't know how lucky you have it.",
I say as I brake for the bird
who is hopping uncertainly
in the middle of the road,
torn between flight
and flirting with death
one second longer.
But today it will live.
A still squirrel lays in the middle of the road
a little ways down
And I swerve to avoid it, too
Even though it was already dead
Just like the ten month old baby
But the world doesn't stop turning
for either;
and I weep
for both.

I've been trying to become more aware of my breathing
To be conscious of the way it moves in and out,
Revealing whether the ocean in me is silent and still or roaring and tumultuous
Lately I've been breathing in sighs
Like the rush of the waves washing over the sand
Sighs of longing
The foam ever reaching
Breaths of wishing and wondering and waiting but also of knowing
The tide unstoppable
A sigh that feels like laying down a heavy pack after a day's hike
Relieving of your burden and watching the sunset
Sighing because my bones have been aching to feel you by my side
Listening to me breathe
And knowing exactly what it means
Like the release of bated breath after confession
After sawing off your chains your skin has never felt so raw, and so new
The next breath feels like freedom
Feels like me wrapped up in you.






.

Before my first drink I always think the beer, the ***, the tequila, or the wine will help me relax- dull my mind and soothe the fire raging in my chest

But it only fuels it until it's simmering and white hot
The only thing it dulls is my inhibition

I am angry
And have every right to be.

If you're not furious,
You're not paying attention

And unarmed teenagers will be shot dead
And drones will rain bombs on women and children
If they aren't killed they'll be enslaved

And who's to say which is worse?

We love our chains
And we kneel to our captors
Begging for scraps while they sit on mountains of gold

I have one thing to say

Let it burn.

Early one evening
Running through a parking garage
Tripping because the bottom of my skirt is soaking wet
He looks at me and smiles
His eyes heavy but lit up like a million stars
And he tells me how cute I look
With my dripping wet hair
Holding my coffee and ******* on a cigarette
I know then that I'm in trouble
Because the same sun that gives life to our planet will one day consume it in fire
And only two things are certain
Everything ends
Nothing is free

One day our sun will stop burning
One day the universe will freeze, contract, and be born again
Empires will fall and rise
Those we love will be born, and will die
But I could face all of this holding your hand
Watching the rest of the world crumble around us
As dust returned to dust

Hold me close and assure me that everything I perceive is real
Better yet- convince me that nothing is
That everything ceases to exist when I close my eyes- the world shatters, disintegrates, scatters- and reforms when again they open

The world is wild and beautiful
The dark is vast and deep
But I don't know if I'll survive
To pass this way again

"Will you pray with me"
All heads bowed and all eyes shut
But I did not close my eyes
So I wouldn't miss the sun slipping over the horizon to nestle under a bed of deep pink and purple blankets
More of a glimpse of the divine than anyone else saw in that moment
All of them focused on the blank dark screens behind their eyelids
Searching for a God that was right before my eyes

I grab the wrinkled edge of time
And pull off it's mask
Reaching in to grasp at all the little pieces of him that have been scattered by the wind
Pleading to give him back to me
"He could save you,"
I say to no one.
I shout but no one hears,
They look at us but close their ears
It's too late now
He's long gone
Reduced to the ashes of the cigarettes he used to burn
"He could've saved you," I say
But it's a little too late

"...to release the captives and to set the oppressed free!"
These were the only words I caught from the booming preacher up front,
and I suddenly imagined myself being freed.
Undoing the chains and unlocking my cage;
and then, turning to him with tears in my eyes, I kiss his cheek and float away-
slowly turning into ashes as her fingers trace a cross on my forehead
"Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

This is what I've been failing to see for the entirety of my existence-
I am nothing more than a consciousness trapped in a painting,
doomed to remain motionless;
staring at the enormous window
that I had never really seen before
for an eternity.
And my "life"?
Nothing but a dream.

"Dear Mr. Mouse,
I understand that you're just trying to keep warm, and you're welcome to stay under the couch. But please refrain from coming into Daniels room or running under my feet when I'm in the house. Thank you. Amen."
"Did you just "amen" the mouse?"
"Yes. I have a very pantheistic view of the world, therefore the mouse is an extension of God and it makes perfect sense that I would end with "Amen.""
"What if the mouse is an atheist?"
"Well then maybe he'll still be flattered that I would think so highly of him."
"Or maybe you'll have ****** him off."
I laid awake in bed until the early hours of the morning, and every sound I heard that night was the pitter patter of little mouse feet- he had received the letter, and, being horribly offended, was coming to exact his revenge.

Perched in front of a fireplace
One could be thinking of anything,
Distant castles and battles to be fought-
Dragons and demons and lovers lost
But as I curl up on the brick and place myself only inches from the flames
I think about how I wish the fireplace were real
And that it was in a much smaller house
So the warmth could chase away the cold and darkness from the farthest corners of the room.
Suddenly I remember my aunt and her fireplace
Situated in a house even bigger than this
As I watch she sits down on the cold marble hearth and reaches for a pack of cigarettes hidden in plain sight, puts one to her lips, and lights it
Exhaling the smoke into the flume
In my imagination I see myself taking one from her
Lighting it
And I inhale
And I exhale
Finding myself once again alone in front of the fireplace that isn't real,
the house still cold and dark as ever.

One day everything we have ever owned will be reduced to dust,
The last remnants of our lives
Scattered to the winds.
Just another child of the moon,
Another sad story.
Love and loss and laughter
Never to be remembered-
Tossed into the ocean.
Yet we see remnants of a struggle;
Names etched into stone,
Initials carved into trees,
Stories printed in ink-
All bearing the same timeless message.
I was here.
I was here.
I was here.

The streets are cold and unforgiving
Smothered in white silence that cuts you to the bone and makes you wish for hell just so you can find warmth
You may find peace in it but not tonight
Not when the winds howl and threaten to knock you flat on your face
You promised you would be the one to keep me warm
But the only thing I have now is this lit cigarette and the chattering of my teeth spitting out "Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?"
Because you're sure as hell not here.
The only thing colder than this frozen wasteland is the soul-numbing emptiness of the world around me.
You must have left along with the sun
You promised me
But you're not here

And I dream but I don't sleep,
because sleep implies rest.
So all of the restless dreamers,
we wander the streets
in a heaven and hell of our own creation;
the demons of our imagination.
And we sing of love.
And we sing of hate.
And we whisper of rebellion-
and we seal our fates.
We own the night,
but they own the days;
the ones who enslave us-
but we break off our chains.
Because we dream without sleep,
and we wander without rest.
The restless dreamers
who own the streets and the demons-
because we have faced them.

It seems that whenever life throws something pleasant my way
I'm always looking behind my back
Waiting for some contradiction
A monster in the corner
This goodness couldn't possibly be, in fact, meant for me.
Maybe.

The pain finally caught up to me today
I'd been running
Hiding in the arms and the minds of others
Sneaking through smoke-filled corridors
Diving into a lake of liquor
But I stopped running today
And, having no place else to hide,
It found me.
All because I met a man
And I asked him If he let himself feel the pain before he fought
Or if he started kicking and screaming immediately
"Run." Was all he said
So I did.

Close your eyes, beautiful dreamer.
Feel the suns warmth radiate from your skin.
Let the midwestern sky fade into stars
that float amongst your dreams,
and light up the darkest parts of your mind.
Lay down your head atop the wildflowers and wheat-
and know that when you close your eyes, beautiful dreamer,
I will be there waiting.

Staring into the depths of a bottle
Trying to warm my bones
"You look lost," he said.
Smiling, I replied
"Not all who wander are lost."
His eyes were sad and grey
Long roads I longed to travel
And then his sad eyes spoke
"Maybe not, but you are."
He knew me.
Knew how I'd been spending my nights.
Seeking comfort in the open road
Finding home with each new person
In this beautiful broken world
With its beautifully broken people
The only people who can know runners
Are runners themselves.
He takes my hand and the roads stretch and melt
The hallways dim and all the doors close
My heart races
"Run with me."

"if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or ******,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was." - Charles Bukowski

There is nothing in the fridge
But diet coke.
No one who lives in this house
Drinks diet coke
We all hate anything diet
Especially diet coke.
My dads girlfriend likes diet coke
But she doesn't live here
So why the hell is there so much
Of that **** in my fridge
The diet coke.
The only explanation is-
She must be moving in
With her diet coke.
Maybe I should tell her
Before she does
That diet coke gives you cancer
And actually makes you gain weight
Maybe then there wouldn't be so much of that **** in my fridge
******* diet coke.

I miss the cold air penetrating my lungs,
Bringing me to life.
For once feeling cut off-
Independent
Completely free.
Its empowering
Entrancing
Intoxicating
Poisonous.
That feeling of freedom
"Just one last cigarette."
Repeated a thousand times
in dreams, on long highways,
at the corner buried in snow at midnight.
One last sin
Again
And again