She hides her Bible underneath the ****** box
because he doesn't want to have kids,
but she still prays
for his keep
every night
after he pulls long wings
from her back to her ribs—
deep passion inscriptions and hieroglyphs
with his nails as she whispers fake, unholy phrases.

She tripped into his superstition
watching him fashion his weapon—
a rosary noose
to choke blessings and psalms
out of her throat.
He rarely remembers to say goodnight,
but she traces his eyelids once he's asleep

like crop circles
making a thin bridge over his nose
connecting pinpoint constellations.
She kisses his neck and chest
over and over again,
secretly hoping
he wakes up and puts his arm around her.

She paints in the basement
with an old light bulb
listening to the hum of the space heater,
gagging on the acrylic fumes,
because he thinks all art
is useless
and all power is manmade confidence,
and the stars are just coincidence,
and he only married her
so they could ****,
finally.
Sometimes he doesn't come home,

but she makes the bacon the way he likes it,
and she presses all of his shirts twice.

you know that way that cars are cold
and the bite of 18 degrees gets under your skin
the way your chest dimples in, and the pores
around your ******* forget to breathe, your body
shrinks in the morning breeze

the way the fog turns red above Florence's lights
and the next town over looks like it's on fire, the
mountains hide in a thick of snow and you can
feel their chill in your very bones?

I will always sleep with my windows open, in the
heart of winter and the palms of summer. I like
the way I feel small in the winter, i like the way
I feel small in the winter.

Promises are made to be broken and
Your words are as hollow as this home
Empty gestures I no longer believe in
And a sense of dread whenever you call
Friendship is a two way street
But I had to put all the time in
Next time you call I won't answer the phone
Find a new fool to confide in

"I can't, I have a girlfriend. I'm sorry."
But I pushed him against the brick wall
and I kissed him,
and he kissed me back.

We got our ears pierced together
that warm southern Fall night,
in the city of Mardi Gras beads
and mistakes.

"Let's pretend we just got married."
And I agreed, for the free drinks,
of course.
But I wanted so much more.

We packed up the rental car and drove
three hours to freedom,
ready to hit Bourbon with no expectations,
only free spirits.

And he was not a mistake.

1
Stop biting your lip
Your blood is meant to stay
In your body
And carry oxygen
And kiss your bones
It has no place on your tongue

2
Breathe
1 2 3
Breathe
Don’t be afraid to let
Your lungs expand
Don’t be afraid to calm
Your nerves
Pop a Xanax and you’ll be fine
You’ll always be fine

3
When you feel the gut pulling
Desire to kiss a boy
Kiss him
Kiss him before he realizes
What a mess you are
Kiss him
And then break his legs
Remind him you are a tornado
Wrapped in skin
And your kiss
Just blew him away

4
Always fall in love
With strangers
Lose yourself in fantasies
Featuring the people on the bus
Or in the mall
Smile at them so they know
They’re infiltrating
Your dreams

5
When a guy catcalls you
Kick him in the teeth
Show him the hair on your legs
Shove your emergency ******
Down his throat
Say no
You are not a dog
You are not a prize
You are a goddess clad in
A leather jacket and
Motorcycle boots
And goddesses do not accept
Catcalls

6
Wrap yourself in poems
Hold them close to your heart
Hide them in your pockets
Let them spill out
Of your mouth
In times of stress
You never know when you’ll need them

7
Never wish for tragedy
Just so you can have a reason
To be sad

8
When the poetry stops working
Go to therapy
Follow the advice
You’ve given to so many
Other people

9
Swallow that lump in your throat
Let it dissolve
In your stomach acid
You will not cry
You will not break

10
When the boy with
The beautiful smile and the
Even more beautiful voice
Looks at you for the first time
The world will stop
You will only know his eyes
When they pass over you
To the prettier ******* your right
Do not take offense
Your time will come

the thing about addiction
is that a person
can be rid of it for
years, then relapse at any
moment of exposure
to their poison

(and this is what loving
you feels like)

That’s why they call it falling in love
because at best it’s going to hurt
and at its worst
you end up splattered all over the concrete

My boyfriend used to take me to Pizza ****
(as we always called it)
after every home basketball game.
We'd fill up on bread sticks,
box the leftover slices,
just so they could sit in the back seat
of his green Chevy jeep
while we made out in the parking lot
with Eric Church's new CD on the stereo.

I told everyone the bruises on my thighs
were just an accident,
when really he pushed me
into the tires
after he had a few or dozen beers
at the party down Bear Run.
He never did like being told
what he shouldn't do.

We'd lay down the seats
and sleep on sweatshirts
with a cooler lid for a pillow
until 10a.m. on a Sunday,
an hour late for mass.
Silently we'd ride
until we'd reach the power plant.
He'd cough and I'd sigh,
quietly singing until we'd reach my driveway.
He never did kiss me
whenever he'd drop me off.

I came back spring break
the following year.
The jeep in his yard with a for sale sign
propped against the hood
and his cell number
written in blue window chalk
just above the windshield wipers.
I saw his little sister
peek behind the curtain
when I knocked on the door,
but no one came to answer.
So I lit a cigarette and drove home
listening to "Springsteen."

They played gravel pit while people packed into the courtyard.
It made me think of you.
I'm sorry I didn't take more pictures.

It's hard to tell who's lonely in the dark.
It's hard to hear the shouts of those standing next to me
over the sound of the bass guitar rattling my ear drums.

And that ******* *****
that kept shoving into me.
I wanted to shove my elbow into her gut
to settle her down.
"People don't understand, these songs demand movement," she slurred
with her tacky bozo-red hair.

My feet are in puddles of booz.
I breathe in secondhand air
that tastes of beer.

The fog is thick
and mixes with the smoke of a thousand spliffs.
I wanted a contact high.
I wanted the opening band to give it a rest
so the band I came here to see could play.

But mostly I wanted you there
holding my hips while I swayed to the music.
And on the way home
when I stuck my head out of the window of a moving car
in order to feel something.
Not alive.
But whole.

Goose bumps sprang up on my arms
as dew clung to the warmth of my flesh.
The chill felt so right after all the heat.

Gasping,
as air whipped up into my nostrils
and down into my eager lungs.

I wanted you there.
Over a plate of salty fries,
talking about everything and nothing.

My greatest fear is that I'll never cease missing you
because you'll always be far away.