i am grateful for waterproof mascara;
and that i didn't let myself be stopped by the cold weather when i
decided to leave.
i am grateful that i have begun to forget your
teeth and started dreaming about
new grins.

my bare, bruised lady-skin
          is covered with a
thick carpet of sensual
                               secrets
           which will remain
                                        exclusive
        ­                                and
                             ­           elusive [until death do I part].
my bare, bruised lady-skin
           is made up of
freshly formed scar
                              tissue
         which will remain                        
                                        pretty
                 ­                       and
                                        pink [until death do I part].

it hurts to know that my Temple is of another faith than you care for
and it hurts to know that my Temple
                                                  might be burned to the ground
                                                  by your zealot hands
but this fear
and pain
and sometimes rain
can only last so long.

i love going to the dentist and always do my homework on time.
but,
i am bad at remembering to brush my teeth at night and i smoke
so they're yellow
and reading on a computer makes my eyes hurt.
but,
i somehow always get perfect marks on my homework and
my medical records
so how badly can i really be doing?

I feel so ******* weird like
buy a pack of cigarettes weird like
I ate too much pizza and cake weird like
when was the last time I thought about my ex weird like
how soon is too soon to be in love weird like
got a job at a fast food chain restaurant that I can't even eat at weird like
I have to figure out how to pay the rent and electric bill before next week weird like
I'm gonna chain smoke because my new fast food job says I can't and I have to get it out of my system weird.

She stares at the sea while he falls, exhilarated
She stares at the sea.

She stares at the stool where he sits, anticipating
She stares at the stool.

She stares,
That’s all.

With its life in the palms of person(s) unprecedented,
And its soul orbiting other oppressor,
And its eyes glaring at glistening gloaters,
It slithers and slides and twists and turns,
Ruthlessly reaching for a rapid revival.

Its heart lays limp on the long, lonely lawn
And its spirit sinks silently
And its mouth cries carelessly
It pulses and pushes and wriggles and writhes
Hopelessly harking for a hint of help.

SEXT
can i see ur body
SEXT
you can see my body
SEXT
make me ***
SEXT
not tonight
SEXT
can i see ur body

-Kissing boys I did not like
-Kissing boys I liked a lot
-Cheating death
-Feeling strong
-Being notorious for being notorious

white sheets in a strange room
dim lights, bright eyes.
i love it when you **** me, i love it when you're inside of me.

the wrong body sometimes touches me in my sleep
in toothless dreams and
quiet scenes.

i always came over wearing silver and black
and you always wore something purple and insisted it be noticed
even if it wasn't noticeable

but i didn't care.

i used to date boys who cried wolf and kissed poorly
******* in dugouts
high holiday hook ups and lackluster dates

but i don't care.

you bruised my ***** bone
and ego
and surprisingly, my heart

but i hardly care.

or, at least, that's what i keep insisting.

Dandelion fires on a
cloudy, sun-filled day
run rapidly, recklessly
through big
                  
                        bare
             ­                 
                                fields
(what would your lover say if he knew?)

i'm sick of your *******-knowitall-i'mtheking attitude
your listentome-i'malwaysright-goaway aura
your shuthefuckup-can'tyouhearmetalking-******* demeanor
[or maybe i'm just sick again]

i took notes in a real doctors handwriting
[scribbles with incoherent conclusions]
   every wednesday afternoon until
        the girl next door moved and
           i felt singular for the first time
no one to pretend was sicker than i
no one to help heal
no one to hold my hand in the cul-de-sac

now i've tamed my solitude
[i avoid it at all costs, keep it on a leash]
   every wednesday afternoon until
        i knew it was time for you to move and
           i felt okay for the last time
no one to pretend would stay forever
no one to feel near
no one to hold my hand in the waiting room

please
  scream compliments that feel like daisies tickling my
cheeks
please
  feel my inhibitions dissipate you rogue aristocratic
tease

you have become the one part of my life I don't feel the need to be heavily medicated to enjoy.
boy.

i sometimes think i'm in love with the
bird-boy
who pecks holes in my wrists and puts pegs
through the fence (to keep me close by)
but bird-boy is
so young and
so sweet with
clear eyes and  
no clue that i think i may
be
a wren.

Ready for liftoff?
Where are your keys?
Where is your mind?
Why don't you remember?

i have to talk
      constantly
or i'll forget the sound of my voice and
lose myself inside
this vast vessel of bodies
in which i live (that is so
                                                              ­   filled with viruses
                                                         ­     there's no room for my thoughts)
and if i can forget the sound of my voice
how could you not?

holding hands with a shadow,
hoping maybe i could trick the tooth fairy into
bringing me a new set of canines and
molars,
i bled teeth in my bed.

scuzz and ****** and
drama queens                         
                           drugs and dye and
                           milky eyes



[i am bitter enough to rhyme.]

[i'd
like to be inside of your mouth
and find new words hidden under your
tongue]

they poke and ****
destroy your pride
pickpocket your perception
throw you aside
(they are plotting your demise.)

To be alone with you,
stuck together in a still-framed eternity,
to be unsure of where we're going
in a blacked out picture perfect life.
Whether I choose to star in our own film
or live in a beatniks' reality,
whether I'm able to separate myself from you
or remain bound in our love stained story

Caught in a momentary lapse of judgement
hung on a wall for all to see,
this is the life we have been forced to live.
No one wanted to inspect the negatives,
no one wanted to find any flaws
in our majestic lie of a loveless love

i am here sitting quietly doing nothing but
thinking
and i can see vividly in my head the color of your birthmark
(and i can feel myself crying)
do you remember mine?
do you remember my scars and coldsores and bruises?

linchpin boyfriend
hold me together at the seams;
for I
       can't stop leaking
viscous
memories.

your face is something like
rotting wood full of bodies of people i knew
(rough to the touch and cold inside)
and there's nothing 'magic' in the air of graveyards
or the morgue
or the funeral home (even though some people
feel that there is) but there is
blood and make up and
prosthetic chins  
that  make your dead grandfather (rest in peace) look twenty-eight
even though he was eighty-two.
please don't tell me that your spirit feels trapped
and your body feels wrong (even though i'd listen and nod) because
i already know what it feels like to be trapped  every morning (and sometimes at midnight) and waking up with my eyes shut and my
mouth sealed like a coma patient who didn't tattoo
NO CODE
on her chest soon enough and can hear her family whispering about what kind of
coffin and
what size dress she wears so that she looks pretty for
the reaper.

your
hands are soft and
you
smell like sweat and
your
touch feels like pin ****** and satellite signals.
your
body is raw and
you
run your mouth and
you
taste like broken promises and copper.

how much of who you are is ego?
how much is self-actualization?
and how much does answering these questions
help or hurt one or the other?

(i crave your
            summer-sweet
                  winter-cool
                    kissing,
your
            autumn-colored
                 spring-fresh
                    e v e r y t h i n g,
against my skin.)

I am impulsive and unsure
I wonder how to wander more
I hear colors, loud and bright
I see sounds, colorful and light

I want serenity
I pretend I’m calm
I worry I’m not good enough
I cry when I am wrong

I am from the eye of a storm
I dream of the day the rain will stop
I scream to heaven, constantly mourn
I will not miss the rains’ ‘plip plop’

I whisper ‘I think I found a cure’
I am impuslive and unsure

i dont think about hold your hand
only
holding your hair back when you *****.

you told me i had forgotten my own mannerisms
that i didn't tilt my head when
i told you how to make me ***, didn't
interrupt my own thoughts
or roll my eyes when
i said that you weren't even close
(but maybe you just forgot
to notice
the new ones.)

i have a habit of
forming habits of
doing the same thing
until i feel safe

i miss you when you were
******* beautiful
with black eyes and thick eyelashes;
i miss you when you were
a mountain man with long brown hair.
i miss you when you were
untouchable and desired
with a broken nose and broken teeth;
i miss you when you were
a sentient being with stories to tell.

she told me once that she worshiped the
forest of her body and the garden she had grown (like spring
                                          all over her outsides).
she said she loved skin the same way i  loved
marlboro blacks and sweetwater blue (obviously and
                                         uncontrollably).
she screamed compliments at me in
soft words with rough meaning (like ****** knuckles against
                                        freshly cut grass).  
she assured me that it was okay to wake up
in cold sweats with heavy limbs (unmovable and brittle,
                                         buried under sheets).

but i knew better.

your greedy metal mouth  (the taste of tin will never leave my tongue)
   engulfs me
                                               (my parenthetical affection can only last so long
)

i can feel the stress in your thighs the
voluptuous curves of memories pressed
tightly against my
hips and the petite ***** of
consciousness on my thumb, anemic
thoughts in my mind say no but
i'll always say yes.

when our faces were close and our mouths still
clumsy
your broken tooth always reminded me that I was
alive.
and now I hear you are getting your front-right-
tooth filled in because
the chip is getting to be too much for you to handle
and
you're 'so tired' of explaining how it got there.

what does that make me?

these words mean nothing without you to say
"will you please speak like a lady?"
and i probably would
if i could,
[but your silence
is like an unfamiliar hand pressed
closely against
my marmoreal skin
leaving nothing]
but
mouth-shaped bruises on my thighs and
questions on my tongue and
unaddressed letters on my bedside table

You ate my heart when I was young and now I’m stuck in neutral

I am a well-maintained automobile,
battery charged and tires rotated,
brake system probably needs to be adjusted and my drive-shaft may need to be realigned
but otherwise
you could probably make a decent profit off of me.
My blood is thick motor oil, and
my scent, a lit cigar
ever-burning down to an infinite ****.
I'd probably go for about $10,000 (if you turned back the odometer 20,000 miles).

I am a long way from home
(and the distance only grows as my skin gets thicker) until these bleeding fingers and
cracked teeth
start to feel just like
segments of destructive dreams.

i can't always remember
if the sun sets in
the west or east
but it's okay;
i want to be remembered for thinking
the sun had a choice.

losing my wisdom teeth
and losing you felt similar;
i only had them (my teeth)
briefly, two months maybe,
just like you.
and when they took them (my teeth), it reminded me
of all the chemicals i put in my body
when i was too young to
understand the consequences.
and when they took you, it reminded me
of all the chemicals i put in my body
now that i'm old enough
to understand the consequences.

i wonder what you think of when you shave;
is it a voice reminding you?
is it bare skin against yours?
i wonder what you think of when you're down below;
is it ***** boots and molten lead
        is it  the secret life of plants again?

He whispered lies to lust as we manipulated death
We were tripping together and chanting symphonies of language.
We moaned and were in love for an eternity.

shivers sweep down my spine when I
hear your laugh and see your teeth
[white and straight and hypnotizing]
oh, please, I can't remember the last time I didn't want to dive into your flesh
and dance on your nerves
to see you react to my body on yours.
and while you're standing slightly slouched with
broad shoulders and rough hands
I sit slightly smaller with no fingerprints wondering if there's a chance that maybe our bodies were cut from the same piece of cheap cardboard, meant to fit together with their
jig-sawed  edges.