any other time
I would ask you to stop saying things
we both know aren't possible
but lately it seems
I've been living only by the sustenance
of fragile promises
so tell me again that you'll never leave me
and if I fake it long enough
maybe one day I'll believe you

there will always be a part of me
that sighs when I'm happy
and says I-told-you-so when I'm not
because I had the chance
and now it's gone
now I'm stuck
because 3 years ago
I dropped it in my nightstand drawer
and locked it away
with all my conviction
and all my courage
and promised myself never to look back
I open the drawer sometimes
hoping that maybe it came back
but there's a hole in the back of the dresser
and I fear that the three of them
snuck off in the night
looking for a new victim
with a bigger supply
of conviction and courage
and a steadier hand

I think of you
and your poem from February
whenever I wear the blue and white dress
and though I'll never be your china doll
I still hope you think I'm cute

my lungs burn
as I inhale your stench
a cigarette
the secondhand smoke
of a broken lover
breathing your cancer on me
watching my bones decay
and calling it
beautiful

your life hangs in a balance
a rotting see-saw
of deprivation
you listen to the chorus
of growling, pleading
from your internal organs
begging for sustenance
and you smile
are you proud of the pain you inflict on your body
or just yourself?
I'll watch you decompose
and tell you your decaying flesh is beautiful
because I know you're not looking for bones
or extra fabric on your jeans
but while your stomach cries
for yesterday's missing lunch
your mind weeps
for something to be proud of
and if the only thing you can do right
is your hipbones
then so be it

one day I return
to the island amongst the trees
hidden away behind the blue waves
buried in fine-grain sand
I don't know I'm looking for something
but somehow I know it's not there
my memories tell me alive
but my eyes tell me decaying
my memories tell me beautiful
but my eyes tell me dying
because a child's yellow dress
hangs from a tree
a gentle breeze tugging at the ripped fabric
and I don't need memories
to tell me that the child I once was
died long ago
with the boys who promised her infinity

night and day
is an abused expression
but you abuse me
so it's okay for me to tell you
that that's exactly what you are
your day is bright, sunny
100 degrees
too hot, too bright
and I never have enough sunscreen
but your night
well
it's beautiful
gentle rain against my dry skin
a chorus of thunder in the distance
followed by an honest flash
of lightning
I wish I could say
that these glorious July midnights
were worth peeling the flesh off my arms
after your hideous noons
or that watching the stars in the sky
were worth the burns
the cancer
as your fiery sun ravages my body
but I can't
because nights aren't meant to be enjoyed
when we live for the day
and I'm tired of waiting
for the clock to strike twelve
only to watch you turn the hours back
before my eyes
I used to have it in me
to appreciate the blue of the skies
but all your days bring me now
is summertime sadness