I'm reckless
and wounded
and the most horrible part of it
all
is that I'm completely
unapologetic
about the raised
scars
I've created
in your mind.

I can't help but wonder
Why
Owning
The civilized lifestyle
Is so unbearably difficult for me
I'll co-work with my adrenaline
And take flight in experience
I'll take on the occupation
Of people watching,
Backpacking country to country
Indulging in culture
Surely I would be promoted,
"Employee of the year"
I could do that  forty hours a week,
Even sixty
My whole life
Now that is a career.
I could marry Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel
And hold hands with the Louvre
And make love to a portrait created at Montmarte
Now that is a vow I could make.
I could hold music in my womb
Lyrical flesh and formation
I would allow notes and rhythmic sensation to feed off of my nutrients
Pushing my body into stretch mark melody.
I could birth an entire album
Now that is motherhood.
But alas,
I do not live in the city that resides in my mind.
I am told to marry a man,
Birth a baby,
Own an occupation,
And dismiss
The yearnings of my heart,
Cursing civilization as I go.

The drive home begins with the Smiths
And ends with the Pixies.
I merge onto punitive pessimism
Heading north
Of an unfed need
Starvation, climbing with mileage
I switch lanes
Into loneliness
And putter up through
The Snoqualmie pass
The ceremonial point
Where I disown one contempt
To adopt another
From west to east
From mountainous mercy
To a pathetic plateau
This highway carries yellow lined cynicism
And white striped weariness
These pines hold my pining
For a life I long to know
Fully

These fours hours are my grace period
Of the transformation process
From untamed flight to civilized standstill

I'm assuming
this is my punishment.
Walking around in clothing
you've touched me in
garments
you grabbed and unzipped
and twisted
and threw around your room
I wear them with weeping heartache
and disturbed remorse
I bare them like a mannequin
the clothes merely
mocking me
I can only wonder
if I stood before you again
with clothes littering your floor
if you'd find me a god
hold me as your muse

and if I would feel better because of it.
Doubtful my dear.
Doubtful.

I realized to my despair
that I am a terrible liar,
notorious fibber,
and compulsive embellisher.
I deceive
without my knowledge
For my empathy is so pervasive,
so consuming
that when another is experiencing
grief and suffering
and vexation
of the spirit
That, like the tissue I offer for their tears
I soak up every gnawing sorrow
and suddenly
I become in sync,
In belief.
Twinned disturbance
leads to expression
of experience
And soon I'm telling
others of what has just happened to me
when nothing has actually happened at all.

Could someone please relieve me of this torturous empathy?
Its turning me into a fallacy

I lost my grandfather
and my wedding band
all within the same week
I lost my appetite
and my summer skin
all within the same day
I lost my beauty
and the blonde in my hair
all within the same hour
My beauty, rusted
my hair, grey
I lost the need to write
and the poetry that used to stain my lips
my lips are pale now
and my need is a whisper
caught in the middle marrow
of my bones
I lost my mother's pride
and my sister-brother timeless connection
My mother is hours away
and my brother is drowning in addiction
I misplaced your heart
It's pulsing patiently
waiting for it's caretaker
like a dependent waits for their
distribution of doped up desire
and I lost myself along the way
in the iris and desperation and narcissism
of everyone around me.

The hunt is on.

And as I cross among the stage
identical to the other three hundred dedicated
individuals
cap, gown, tassel
I can't help but hold on to my cap
Keep on this gown
and continue through the world
in students' skin
the only coat of comfort
I can find.