I.
Identity?
For so long, I've felt like I had none.
I am a piece of college-ruled paper
ripped, torn, taped to a back alley wall
with names and dates and places
all written in a rainbow of Sharpies
by people with faces I cannot remember;
my handwriting with the cursive "f"s
nowhere to be seen,
words I'd written so long ago
buried beneath the influence of everyone else.

Who are you, when you're no one
except everyone?

II.
I'm sick.
I am years of not getting out of bed.
I am missed school days, late-passes,
a truant.
I am doctor's notes.
I am a pile of handwritten prescriptions.
I am one white
two orange
one pink
and two multi-vitamins.
Misdiagnoses,
tests,
exams.

My feet melt into the blue and grey carpeting,
my arms turn brown like the worn-down stain of the armrests,
the receptionist knew me by name
until "next week's appointment" slipped off the calendar.

I am episodes of crying in crowds
or crying alone.
I'm haunted by mistakes remembered only by me.
I am up or I'm down
without knowing what's between.
My brain leaves my body and I can't feel my hands
so the bottle of Advil moves up one more shelf.

I am told to lie on my medical forms
so I won't be held at arms length,
or treated like someone who's different or strange;
but that's just how I'm treated at home.

III.
I am nothing more
than the result of years of torture.
Two bra sizes too small.
Four dress sizes too big.

I am nothing more than a waistline,
which would be fine
if I had one.

I am not pretty enough.
I am not beautiful enough.
I am not good enough.

And I will not be joining you for dinner.

IV.
I push people away
but long for them to come closer.
I run, keep my distance
but, when you're not looking, lean in a bit closer.

I text boys 300 miles away
but pretend he's right there beside me.

I'm gullible, I'm weak.
I fall for anything, I fall for everything.
I forgive too quickly and I love too much,
I set myself up for the fall.

V.
I'm a disappointment.
I'm wrong.
I'm wrong.
I'm wrong.

I forget my chores.
I forget responsibilities.
I forget rules, I forget deadlines, I forget lines in the play.

I forget numbers and facts and formulas.
And when the grades come back
I remember
what a parents' giving up looks like.

VI.
I'm difficult.
I'm needy.
I can't drive,
can't make my own appointments.
Can't sign my own papers, can't run my own errands,
can't buy my own dinner,
can't call my own shots.
I'm difficult.
I hear myself say that I don't have a choice
But the sigh in reply says,
I'm difficult.

VII.
I love the wrong gender.
I swing the wrong way.
"I always imagined my daughter walking down the aisle
with a man who reminded her of her father," he says.
"I'm just disappointed," he says.
So I bring home a boy
and Mom says,
"Thank you -
I promise, it's easier this way."

Some girls tell their families when they find their first love,
but mine will stay hidden
in the box with the K
filled with letters and gifts and "thinking of you"'s
collecting dust between the wall and my bed.

VIII.
I am numbers, and numbers, and numbers.
Weights, heights, exes, mistakes -
too high.
Grades, standardized tests, word counts and successes -
too low.

IX.
I'm deluded.
Always telling myself that if Mom really loved me
she'd put me before the glass of wine.
Convincing myself that it's my fault
and that I'm selfish, petty, judgmental.
I'm hurt.

I'm hopeful.
Waking up to the overhead light in my room at 10
when Dad comes home from work -
asking me how my day went
and closing the door before I can reply.
I'm silent.

I'm lonely.
Clinging to the siblings of friends and partners
desperately wanting a family.
Constantly jumping from partner to partner
desperately needing a hug.
I'm alone.

X.
With all my shortcomings
with all I do wrong
it's hard for me to find when I do something right.

But of all the things I'll never know,
I know how to feel, I know how to care.

I'll show you passion like you've never seen passion before.
I've seen gods in mortals and mortals in gods,
I've felt fire inside me when it's icy around me,
I've painted the Sistine Chapel with the notes of F. Doppler,
I've sculpted the moon and the stars and the sun with my heart,
I've loved with the urgency of the wind of a hurricane
and I've forgiven like the sand did the Atlantic high tide.

XI.
I forget so much,
but there's so much more to remember.

I'll remember your dreams, your hopes, your ambitions,
I'll remember your tears on the sleeve of my shirt.
I'll remember the days of the sweet uncertainties,
bus rides and text messages and scarves and "good morning"s.
I'll remember the day my heart fell for yours
(ticking, ticking, like the bomb in the birdcage).

I'll remember the album with the songs named after planets,
and I'll remember when you couldn't meet my eyes to the lyrics.
I'll remember the confessions from the football field bleachers,
even next year, when there's an empty chair in the orchestra.

I'll forget all our fights, even the ones you never will,
and I might lose some of our laughs,
but I'll never forget passion at 4 in the morning,
or slow-dancing like middle schoolers at high-school dances,
or your body against mine to old SNL re-runs.
I'll always remember the times you let me in
and I'll be here in silence for the times you still can't.

I'll remember our promises
of dreams and forever -
plantations in Greece, Italy, Spain.
Love letters and presents hidden around our camp cabins,
four years of love, friendship, promises
dissolved in a haze of disdain.

I may not remember the quadratic formula,
I may not remember Newton's third law,
but I'll never forget how you make my heart hammer,
even when you forget me.

XII.
I am
forgettable, only wishing to be remembered by someone, someday,
sad, looking for joy in things big and small.
A hypocrite, begging for proximity then crawling far, far away.
I am miserable, but passionate.
I am identical, but a glaring mistake.
I am what-if's, maybe's, and might-have-been's.
I am quoting Jethro Tull songs in my confessions.
I am words in my head that will never escape my lips,
I am words on my lips that should never have escaped my head.
I am things I'll never say and stories I'll never write,
I am singing in the shower, dancing in the halls,
I am running across busy streets in April
and sleeping in screened-in porches in June.

XIII.
And every time I wake up alone,
I'll stand in the yard, look up to the sky
and remind myself that the sun, too, is alone
but can still warm the earth with its love.

there is water in my lungs, darling
I'm choking, suffocating
my face is beginning to match the sky and
I'm not sure I can feel my fingers
but I think I feel more at my farthest extremities
than I've ever really felt for us

for the last two hundred and seventy-six days
I've wondered how I would breathe
if you ever left my side

but never for a minute did I consider
that I might be the one to leave you

I hate the way I refer to him and "you" and you as "him"
I hate the way the passage of a year means nothing to my aching heart and
I hate the way the thought of her lips that are too thin and her eyes that are too dark and her hair that is too long is what he's chosen for three hundred and sixty seven days because I hate the way she told you you didn't love me the day you called me to tell me they told you what love was and I hate the way that I will always fall back into you and the jail cell that traps me between your ribs

but I love the taste of the glue from this envelope that lingers on my lips I love the way you wrap your arms around my waist I love the way you look at me as you **** me until I can't breathe
I love the way the blue of the skies I see when I wake up in the morning and the seas that lull me to sleep at night pales in comparison to the blue of your eyes and I love the way I miss you when I stop at stop lights and you aren't there to unclench my hands from the wheel
and I love the way we look at these stars together from this distance but ******* christ I hate the way the specks of light in this god forsaken sky are so far away - just like you from me tonight
I just hope they find a way to tell you that I love you with their whispering voices in the dawn cause baby now it's just you and me

I'd rather be the shattered mess of glass
strewn across the floor
of every hallway in your house
than be the frame
that once held this mirror together

because now that I'm free from the grasp
of this "pride" you so cherished
you can't leave the lonely cave
in your black hole of a heart
without the remnants of me
splitting your flesh
     to
          the
               bone.

I'll never apologize for my love to you
but I'll tell you I'm sorry it took so long
please don't tell me how long you cried
I know that I'm weak, but I know you're not strong

you can't expect my fragile frame
to save you from your mighty deep
though, it's possible I followed you there
when you picked her to keep

I promised myself
That if you were to drown
That I'd go down with you
That I would spare my dying breath
For one last second with you

But now
If he were to drown
I would fight to my last breath
To share it with him
To breathe together
To heal together
To live together
To love together

You were my summer love

Kisses in the bus loop
And sweaty palms in July

You were hope,
you were safe,
you were home

You were burdened by my transgressions

You were love,
you were love,
you were love

And when you slipped through the cracks
Of my cruel, violent hands
You were lost

it was stale bubblegum
it was a bouquet of paper flowers
it was my favorite latte in a styrofoam coffee cup
and all it did was make my teeth ache

it's three months later
and the tune of our love
still echoes through the labyrinth
of my prozac-poisoned cerebrum

it's the sound of rainy evenings
in whitewashed suburban neighborhoods
overwhelming me
as it ricochets off the cold stone

it's the ghost of your hand
holding mine so tight
and it feels like home
as I stand here alone

even as the symphony changes key
to red hair and bright blue eyes
the cadence of you
still rings in my mind

i accused you
of clinging on to the remains
of a girl since passed
but now i find my fingers wrapped tight around your cold hands
and your eyes
once a million shades of green
are now reminiscent of grey
and they haven't met mine in months

my hope no longer breathes
no longer lives
no longer loves
no longer tells me it's mine under bridges downtown
my hope has been reduced to a slip of paper
a magazine cutout
on a collage on my bedroom wall

as the clouds cover the moon
on one last summer night
i'll watch the stars die
before they dance from my sights
i'll lay here in silence
and i'll feel you wash over me again
because in this moment
i feel celestial

take me apart
peel away my flesh
strip me down to the bone
and devour me
let our bodies become one
on these worn out sheets

take me apart
put all the broken pieces
in a ceramic bowl
and dump it in the trash
replace it with lust
and let's call it love

take me apart
let me feel you
give me touch
kiss me, grab me
give me a taste of you

let all our destruction
pour out of our systems
and fuse in the stale air
so that then you can put me
back
together
again

you tell me
most people call you only
by your first name
it's just mary, you said
it's just mary

i'm not strong enough for another loss
i can't lose someone else i adore
but i adore you more
than anyone before
and i can't afford to subject myself
to that breed of hell again
but i'll carry you across the coals
and leave my sandals behind

i'm still in repair, my love
i know you know
and i know you care
but i'll peel off the bandages
and i'll show you the scars
and i'll give trust another chance
for you
for you

but no matter what happens
and no matter what we decide
i promise
i swear
i will still call you
by both names

there's an empty space in my bed
it's always been there
but i'm just feeling it now
i shouldn't be able to stretch out so far
kick my legs over the side
wrap my arms around the headboard
the wood is cool against my skin
while you kept me comfortably warm
i have two pillows too many
and i'd rather have a shoulder
i'd rather feel your hair tickle the back of my neck
than be searching the pillow for the cold side

i still write you letters
purple ink stains my fingers
and 3 pens later i haven't got it all said

i talked to a girl you know
she says you got tired of me
before i knew your middle name

it makes me sad to think you'll never know how much i love you
even though we both lied that day
and you lied every one after

and it makes me sad to think that you'll never know how bad i feel
because i promised you i was mean
but i can't bring myself to say i told you so

you were right,
we weren't
and you deserved better

but i couldn't let you go
cause all i wanted was a friend

it's okay
now i know i didn't deserve one.

and i could lay with my face in your curls
and my arm around your waist
every night
for the rest of time
but for now
just hold my hands a little tighter
snuggle in a little closer
and give me one more day
to wake up to those beautiful blue eyes

you sat on the piano bench
and i sat on the floor
we talked about our fathers
we shared our lonely childhoods
broken bones, broken hearts
i decided i could listen to your voice for hours
you told me you wanted to be a pianist
and i offered to teach you guitar
i played stevie nicks for you
and you said you didn't sing
but your voice is beautiful
and i wish you'd sing for me
you told me about the songs you like
and i went home and made a playlist
it's four months later and i have every song memorized
in alphabetical order

you told me you didn't believe in love
but i know real love and i know forced "love"
and i know i've loved you since that day in september
when you told me i had beautiful handwriting
and i'll never forget how you looked at me
instead of the paper
when the words drifted through the stuffy third-floor air
and i didn't even know your name

so for now i listen to your songs on repeat
and look forward to tomorrow
i just wish i'd kissed you
that evening of the recital
on that ****** piano bench

you pried open my clenched fists
placed the colorful glass into my palm
and pressed my fingers closed
too rough, too fast, too soon
and i squeezed
and i squeezed
and i opened my hand
to find the shattered remnants
of something that could've been beautiful
surrounded
by a pool
of blood

he fell for a girl
mourning the heartbreak of a boy
who fell for a friend
to the tune
of a broken lovesong

it might've meant more
if any of the words we used
had actually been ours
though I guess that explains
why when you left
and I looked to see if my heart was okay
there was just an empty space
the veins ******* in MLA-formatted knots
like citations
for all your stolen speeches

you always loved yourself more
than you could ever love me
it's pronouced made-lin, not made-line.

somewhere out there
there's a blue house along the shore
abandoned, empty, with wooden planks covering broken windows
debris and rock collects around the support beams
as hurricanes make the beach increasingly claustrophobic
and if you lay on the hot sand
letting the sun burn your bare arms
and close your eyes really tight
you can see the ghosts of two adolescents
whose adolescence has since been obliterated by love
and hear their desperate voices cry out into the bright blue skies
messy prose of blurred confession and stolen honesty

but your concentration will waver
and their throats will fill with ocean water
they will become weighed down by each other's presence
and suffocate beneath each other's scarred skin
one's lips stealing the breath from the other
and in your temporary state of neglect
you won't be watching when they die

so carry their bones away and burn them
let their ashes become one with the sand
and watch them disperse with the 12 o'clock high tide
come, see the weeds flourish
where their warmth once fostered daisies
and let their fragile organs decay
along with the remains
of their salty love

too sweet
not like candy
more like raw sugar cane
dainty and honest
to the innocence of tastebuds
but grows stale and sticky
to the back of my throat
and all i can think of
to wash you away
are a couple swigs of listerine
and her mom's stash of *****

lying here beneath the stars
I've never felt so alone
happy independence day, love.

i remembered the rose
in the vase on my desk
dried up but, somehow, intact
and when i picked it up
to toss it outside
a few petals fell away
drifted to the floor
and all i could do was sigh
and say
i know.

no matter what I do with it
i still have the blisters on my index fingers
and the rope burn on my thumbs
to remind me of my mistakes

and I'll thank them for it every ******* day.

you spent an hour alone in the pouring rain
fifty degrees and dropping
waiting, waiting
blocking out the chaos
with those borrowed grey earbuds that bruise your ears

maybe you wanted someone to see you
and ask why

or maybe you just wanted pneumonia

you always told me I was patient
so patient I will be
I'll wake up in the morning
and I'll go about my day
and I'll stop by to see you on the way home
even though you're never there
but you always told me I was patient
so patient I will be
I'll sit here on this mound of dirt
for an hour every evening
and I'll wait for you to come home
I'll wait for your voice to dance across the stones around me
like it used to
if I listen hard enough
sometimes I can hear it
but as soon as I turn, it's gone
so I'll stare at your name
engraved on this slab of granite
till the sun goes down
and maybe a little longer after that
just waiting for you to come home

this love that we share
transcends
any stuttering ****** *****

peel away the strands of grass
from the mother blade
one at a time
one slender green piece pulled from the rest
as the leaf becomes smaller,
smaller
a thing of beauty
nature's most abundant
reduced to pale shreds
and loose strings
dangling in the air
curling, reaching for something
what I can only guess to be
their lost companions
so close but yet so far
as the wind stirrs
and the remnants of life
dance away
into this sweet summer's eve

dear goldfish -
if I'd been you
I'd have jumped, too.

I believe I've become a bit disenchanted with my life.

this time's different
'cause now I'm worried about me, too.

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

the gentle twin
of the aggressive,
passionate
5th
beethoven's 6th dances
sings
of repetition in nature
and in ourselves
how, in a way
we are all the same
leaf, stem, branch
eyes, nose, mouth
it's the law of uniformitarianism
what happened before
in geological history
can, and will,
happen again
love me today
love me tomorrow
hit me today
hit me tomorrow
disappoint me today
disappoint me tomorrow
uniformitarianism
or beethoven's 6th
it's what keeps us
safe in our beds
and wide awake
scared
at 4 in the morning

mis demonios parecen a cicatrices
con el sabor del suicidio
and they watch
they wait
from the dark corners
the creases
of my mind
and they laugh
as I drown
in this stale air
they step on my chest
crushing my brittle ribcage
caving in my empty lungs
they laugh
as I drown
in this salty ocean
one small drop at a time
as my skin tightens
my cheeks stained grey
my eyes bloodshot
blinded
they laugh
as I drown
in giving up
giving in
to the biggest demon of them all
the beautiful sister of depression
anxiety*

mis demonios parecen a cicatrices
con el sabor del suicidio
and they run back into the shadows
chased by a box of kleenex
and her scratchy sweater
leaving my face raw
but finally
dry

I compare myself to silverware
because both myself
and your shining collection of forks and knives
let people use us over
and over again,
never asking for anything in return.
Though sometimes I wonder
if the tablespoon ever tires
of the same old routine
because I think that,
possibly,
I do.

a white ceramic swimming pool
filled to the brim
with hot water
and rainbow bubbles
growing, swelling
popping
forming anew
the stench of your organic dish soap
overwhelms me
chemical and lemon has become a part of my DNA
use me
abuse me
then tell me I'm *****
useless
and scrub me clean
let me restart
none the wiser and twice the cleaner
let your fake nails and cheap sponge
leave streaks and scratches on my surface
and lock me away
in a wooden box
with the others
where we wait
for the next bowl
of chicken-and-zoloft soup
to be served

looking at the sky
is enough to make you feel
more insignificant
than the bacteria we crush
beneath our feet
which begs the question;
are we so tiny
that all of our efforts
all of our actions
amount to nothing?
or are we small enough
that every single thing we do
matters?
you said you hoped it was the latter
I do, too.

anchor me to the skies
so I don't drown
in the depths
of this ocean
this hell
the salt burns my wounds
the cold water chills my spine
and I can't take it anymore
I'll be your rock
if you'll be my sun and stars
and keep me safe
from the churning seas below

hello, anxiety
welcome to my humble abode
tell me you're doing well
you seem to be thriving
in this poor excuse for a body
I wish I could say the same
my love
my constant companion
my greatest weakness
I see you've made yourself at home
please, enjoy your stay
I'd offer you coffee
maybe tea, or just water
but it appears I have forgotten how to ask.

I was thinking about wills
what we leave for those we love
(and those we don't)
when we die
I've always been a little too materialistic
that's what happens when you've got nothing to cherish
"where it counts"
I have my guitars
my collection of snow globes
some dusty glass jars
expired makeup
a row of empty pill bottles
but of all my material things
that I guess you could say I hold dear
I couldn't think of anything to leave for you
so I thought, and I thought
and I realized that I didn't need words on a paper
and a signature in black ink
to give you
my heart