I began my life in this house when I was only 4 years old
Just barely old enough to remember painting the walls space blue, adding the constellations to my new world
Just barely old enough to remember my brother and I fighting over the top bunk
That ended up giving me nose bleeds from the ceiling heat
As I grew I can remember our 12 inch TV
I can remember watching Jurassic Park on VHS practically religiously
I recall nightmares, and sneaky late nights watching Cartoon Network in near silence.

I was in middle school, and no longer wanted to share my room with my older brother
My parents, unable to afford a bigger house with more than but two bedrooms, created a nook for my now grown brother to live in, with nothing but make-shift walls
Leaving me alone in this room I'd grown up in
I remember being unable to sleep that first night by myself, even if my brother had been right across the house.

I was in highschool and I started having boys and friends over
I started receiving noise warnings late at night from my overworked and underpaid parents after a bout of laughter

I started becoming depressed.
My room, still painted space blue became a black hole
As I laid in my bed all night long, never once blinking
Never once flinching against the pain eating away at my stomach like a parasite
Until it became nearly impossible to bare any longer.

I started seeing my therapist and she saved the life of an afraid 15 year old
The posters in my room turned into images of bands from generation's passed
The blood washed away and I could sleep in my bed again.

I was 16 years old and infatuated with a boy until he touched me the wrong way
And it stained my childhood bed, once the bottom bunk
Which quickly went from a twin to an untouched queen.

I was 18 years old and afraid of living within these four walls my whole life.
The space blue paint taunted me every time I stepped through the old splintery door
My best friend and I painted the walls the color of sunshine in one night in hopes to erase the bad dreams and even worse realities lived here.

I am 20 years old and in a few days I am moving into a new room, into a new home of my own
Away from the warm bathtub that held me when I was ill.
Away from my loving mother who ran her finger through my hair as I cried.
Away from my father and his drunken snores every night in front of a silent television.
Away from my brother and his passionate new discoveries often shared with me.
Away from the stove that helped me create comforting meals that nourished my body for 16 years.

And I am afraid.

Kiss me asleep
with your obsidian lips.

Protect my ears
from the cacophony nights would bring.

Fill the void
between heartbeats that skip.

Take me into the lull,
and into the siren song that you sing.

Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your palms graze
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin

I crack soldiers inside crocodile batteries. I roll my shoulders. Everything squeaks.

I never meant to drop your hand like that. I'm a lot. it's time to claim the mute emergencies I've tucked into your days When you weren't looking. I'm the strain on your hip, I'm the hair in your sink. I'm always simmering, always smoky, always a little slow to  blink and I'm not enough salt.
I think God stuttered my name the first time he said it- I can never remember how the vowels go. If you think my tongue is too big in your mouth you should try it in mine.

have you ever written a letter and sent it to heaven? I used to do that every time it rained. crayon on paper, paper on asphalt, then you left it alone and it disappeared.

on the school bus in 2nd grade a girl was slouched down in her seat, crying. the driver stopped the bus and went to her. he was stiff denim, leather skin, cigarette fingers. 'what's wrong?' she didn't feel good. 'I don't know what to do about that.' the helplessness in his face made my ears ring. I never feel good. that's when I started thinking my bus driver was God. I kind of haven't stopped.

I was compromising with soul murderers
While planning how they will end
I wrote letters and messages that I could never send
I was waging an invisible war
And I don't seem to get held much anymore
The snares pound at the inside my skull
And I only poison these hammers
As an attempt to feel full
But it is hard to live when the sun burns through your head
When every move feels like a needle missing the thread
When all I want to do is be your shield
Maybe then I could feel your body against mine again
But I understand that you're not fully healed
I think I am selfish for feeling far away
But I know you could never lead me astray
So for every today, I will always stay.

Like a boomerang I stray
Only to come back here against my will
With the walls painted and cracked
Soon we will brush over the artifacts
Just like the streets that have been repaved
The once spotless driveways
Overgrown with moss
Gardens once tended to
Now infested with weeds

But I suppose
that weeds must
live and grow
just as flowers must.

I am still angry. My therapist said its okay to still be angry, that I reserve the right to be. I never learned how to feel anger the right way...I only become reminded of my father slamming the front door and the soft sobs as my mother begs him to calm down. Anger is often justified, but where the **** do I put it? I am not my father. Even though I'd like to I can't scream at you and I can't slam a door on what you did to me. Even though I'd like to I can't go back and stop your hand from hitting me across the face, I can't kick and scream until you got off of me. You're not my father but you were so much worse. You never showed anger, you only pinned me down with your words, and with your disgustingly muscular arms. You left me crying quietly in your bathroom while I try to cover up what you had done to me. You made me never want to leave because you were the world, and I'd be dead without the world. Well, I didn't die. I became addicted to the rattling of a pill canister and I shed the weight you put on me in only a few weeks. But you left me kicking and screaming inside. And I am still angry.