tell me how you'd romance this stone as I lay unnerved by the wind of you. tell me how you'd keep my body cold and my mind warm as you hold me between yours fingers, tell me you'll love me til I die be it tomorrow or the next day, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me tell me that my lungs won't ache after you've skipped me across the pond to drown, tell me how it is you plan to romance this stone. and I swear I'll never leave you.

she covers mirrors to hide the light, only ever showers at night when she can't glow, stays certain beneath this winter's dry cloak and breathes heavy like a sea bended on her ex-lover's knee. she hugs the sky with her mind's eye and pukes in mellow shades of green. she hides in front of open doors, kisses her swollen feet, pounds her head against brick walls and waits to bleed. she holds her happiness within the browning palm of her hands and watches the ripples of the wind blow her away.

the modern world will die from its careless intake of caffeine and they will go blind from feverish bliss

I am ever so simply a woman and so I liquify from the waist down and on the eve of a disastrous morning, I use the tips of your your lips as marmalade and marinade within the notion of you. If I was to ever go mad, it'd surely be based on the mere idea that you once knew me as certain as you knew the difference between a prism and a square, just additions and subtractions of necessary and unnecessary lines.

the bruises on my legs mark the lies of you from a past when all I did was bleed on your bed sheets and whine about the aesthetics of any place that didn't feel like home, that didn't feel like you. but I digress. but I digress.

he said I opened up like a flower in his mouth and only budded when he planted his seeds upon me, he said I shined like a golden waxed sun, and blindedly, he gazed upon me until his eyes became glossy and brimmed with melted butter. he said I bled cranberry juice on his white sheets and refused to apologize for my sins and I laughed at his silly truths and said, "A likely story." he said I rhymed like the chorus his left and right legs created, balanced. he missed the chaos of me from behind his tear-tinted glasses. he missed all of the ways my body shuddered simply because the lack of rhythmic noise and conversation and action wound me up in the binds of his tight knots and refused to release me.

I climb on a seafoam mattress, baby breath puke green and of the lyrics he scripts, they swim across your sea-like covers. He loves my lost mind as though the puzzle of me hummed to him as my thighs rode across his blanketed scene. I hated him and his laundry list of post-consumerism articles that he'd spout off one after the other. He checks me off like his last bought pair of socks

and so I bled like a wasted pen blemishes, down to the front seat of his pants. The stress of him rests in the nook of my shoulder blades and vibrates through to my chest. Blue dream and acidically-tinged hazes ripple against my reptilian skin and sheds me time and time again. I cannot grow old with you or young with you. We are alone an together, unmoving and polarizing. A few cool blue specks of light that never change but appear to mean to. We are in lust and stagnantly so, we will never grow. I climb on a sea of green and wade into the late night streamings, the abyss of you.

I climb on a seafoam mattress, baby breath puke green and of the lyrics he scripts, they swim across your sea-like covers. He loves my lost mind as though the puzzle of me hummed to him as my thighs rode across his blanketed scene. I hated him and his laundry list of post-consumerism articles that he'd spout off one after the other. He checks me off like his last bought pair of socks and hung me from around his neck and so I bled like a wasted pen blemishes, down to the front seat of his pants. The stress of him rests in the nook of my shoulder blades and vibrates through to my chest. Blue dream and acidically-tinged hazes ripple against my reptilian skin and sheds me time and time again. I cannot grow old with you or young with you. We are alone an together, unmoving and polarizing. A few cool blue specks of light that never change but appear to mean to. We are in lust and stagnantly so, we will never grow. I climb on a sea of green and wade into the late night streamings, the abyss of you.

We never truly wake from our nightmares. We simply open our eyes and hope that the light will chase our horrors away. it never really does. It just helps the sun cast shadows above them until it's dark enough for them to escape.

His height, his heart, and his lips might be okay but darling his soul-

his soul is what seems to be blackened and therefore severely lacking.

if I could count on my hands and toes the amount of times I've thought of you since waking, I'd medically, by practice and study be an anomaly. if I could show you all of the ways you've hurt me just by not seeing me, you'd have enough ammo to write me an album

my chest hangs over my knees and my head weighs heavy to the floor, I am slowly separating from my body, my limbs, my soul and my smile. and on the days you tell me to linger after not seeing you for years, I wonder how much longer you'd make me keep waiting while you continue to mingle.

I fell apart at the mentioning of your name in rotation above and below the humdrum that jived around you. I smile just long enough for the song to end and my body to stop responding.
I held it together long enough to see through the music and fell apart at the after party. I imagined your name in blinking flourescent lights and shuddered at the images my mind conjured up of you, a constant spinning wheel.

midnight shiverings of semi-neurotic portions, strike my ******* as I lay on a bed of eggshells, Malibu-Barbie-d to the head of your knees, baby said he'd paint me pink like the insides of my vaginal regions because it was his favorite, favorite, favorite place to read about, think about, taste about and feel about, baby, baby, he said he'd shake me salty like the Dead Sea and then he'd leave me comfy like the title repeats, my baby, baby is wilder than I could ever be but I swear there's one thing we have in common: he don't like me and I don't like he but we sure did like 'we'. We sure did love something funny and silly, never too serious, just like true, blue young'uns do.

I can't say that I know exactly what you want from me at this very standstill, I'm trying to remember how to breathe you in without becoming enraptured in the thickcut essence of you but on a day like today when my confidence frays at the slightest quiver of your lips, I couldn't say what I'm most in a haze about, the idea that you see me or the fact that you so frequently forget me, but it doesn't hurt me, it doesn't.

there is no light in this land and the meek echo of ladle-pinned glands cut
tight against my skin and your ties.
there is no light for me to stand against, there is only you, casting silver dollar moonshadows for me to pulse and quake to. if I ever loved you, know that I loved you into yearning and out of simple hunger for sugar. If I ever loved you, know that I loved you as I needed you and every time after has been misrepresentation.

on Saturday I lost my holey limbs to the turntable, jammed my finger down some strangers throat and hollared as he walked away from me, sweet nothings and everyday misjudgements but you said, "paint me neon like the hues of my lady blues as they crush between the balms of my legs and drain me." if I could flower you a rosebud the size of my browning fist and lunge it into the pit of your stomach, I'd hold you steady between the pressure pointed weights of my thighs, lick the sugar from my lips and wait for you to beg me for air.

never let me leave this bed again
tie me steady to the palm of your breath and sift me quietly into a blue dream, leave me candied between the yams of your thighs as my eyes rolls sallow down the slot of your tongue, I am your-count it- 1 2 3- option on this languid roster, number E L E V E N on the back of your ******* mind and number  O NE for the title of 'most sought after and forgotten' tell me, how do you see me. how do you see me. how do you view me. can you even see me? Or is it only during your odd dips and lows when you need new energy to help you feel again. I have to say from level nine to ten, that's how much I hate you and I swear to this dude, I'll never ******' show it.

I'd like to say, now that it's subday,
blessed be the ***** that slits red like the **** laced raven, my chest beats steady like the pulse of you, lily lime green and keen. I am yours.

I am your, mint lean, get to know me but never forget her, I am hers and your story folded over and mistaken.

It's been perpetuated. Archeologically timed, primed and adjusted. I am organically, a tartly steamed wallflower, hair wined from the petals of a dragon's breath, queen of ten sheets all blue and green like the nips of the Chesapeake Bay, tongue heavily cheeked, I am the bulb beneath the shrines of your muck, I am your weak-behind-the-knees, wallflower. The hue you pasted against the fours of your walls and only remember when your eyes trace your skies from the ceiling to your bedroom floor.

I saltened my lips of you, wore brown for days and tried to blend to the earth of my skin. I wore blue lips and combed my hair pencil thin. I painted my lungs red and lathered in the Puritan flow that warmed between my legs to the bitten taint of your neck. I killed your soul with my ashing hands. You said she ruined your life, you say I ended yours by hanging you from the hem of my skirt without ever saying a word.

he moons his pale flesh against the hologram of my liquored tongue as my right ankle shed's red wine from my bones to my flesh, my marrow is hush-puppy-tan to the pulse, and as to the likes of you, blue satin-ed and confused, your love's blonde blunted curls crowd your cellophane lungs and you breathe in the smoke of her, pale toned and honest, just the way you fry them, quick and in hot oil. I wonder of she teases you with her soft lips like I could, but I suppose we'll never really know.

I'm pretty sure I die with you every night. Miserable souls always seem to last the longest in this sent from hell world. Here comes the manslaughter, the impending doom of it all, the sideways games and glances that leaves my seat wet and my neck hungry for your hands, here comes the tragedies, mistaken suicidal attemptants at kisses that stream tripping in between sets and hollow stairs painted down my hips with the fire of you. Here comes the luster that doesn't lack. I think. Today would be a good day for everyone to disappear, including me, into you but you won't incline your hips into me 'cause last night I told you I once tried to **** a real good song so that I could own it's rights and lefts while spiraling into your lungs like a jail's black tongue. Here comes the poems and cults that Shakespeare shot down my inner thighs as you tattooed my lungs with the **** of your cigarettes. Here it all comes to ridicule me deeper into the middle of this crisis, here it all comes to take a toll on the planes of my mind as I shoot up high into sage tainted milli-universes. Here comes folded dollar bills cupped and lined against the tusks of my milky breath toned to the centerfold of your abdomen, here comes the part that hurts just a little bit more each time you come around. Here comes knowing you.

The ghost in your eyes tells me it's gonna be alright. ****** senseless on what might as well have been a two stacked mattress at Holiday Inn, your girl closes her yes and sees orange tones of red flashing down the white sleeves of your bland shirt,

she's on fire, heavenly so, she's on fire, a can of crushed fruit stuffed and so you feel for me, your dreams of wooly women curved of sheep and soul-y wandering across your aim, you fire, "I'm into it." as you set my frame a-glow. My legs twist into pretzels, see me baby. I am your Amazonian woman, wide-shipped and shimmering beneath the angry sun.

Orange hued and hungry for your blue American Spirited high yellow lungs, you find my funkadellic paraphernalic lips, swollen as they are for your candor.

I am Queen Ivy inspire, lucidly waiting to be the poison that inspires you, I sit lonesome on the stoop of anabandoned lot, Peter Penning down your inked arms, "Not only boys are lost," into your caramel Cuban coffeed dreams, "Girls can be too."

What live game do I remind you of, I wonder as you taste me, bitter kola nut forming across your lips as white swells of smoke ruin you, we are unbearably distant. One never hurt and the other already ruined once before and possibly never again: That sickeningly silly kind of shy but not that lingers cold to the blue flames you expel my way as dark clouds form into your eyes.

I am your Amazonian woman.

On a night like today, in a sea of shadows and whites, we ride thick on a camel toed carousel, tainted and unlocked, unkempt and hollow, we shake to the cores of your features, deep pallets of staining whites, we lay afraid and assuming, ready for something to roll deep beneath these  peppercorn brownie sheets. We dive shallow beneath assuming depths. Angled, silver octopus, arms stretched below your sea urchin ways. I wait infantile, an ever aging fetus floating through your chromosomes, very full and very hungry. This could be a stifling kind of like , but here I roam, free abd unnerving lushing down your spine

the first day I met you
I visited the store
and bought a new
journal. I wanted to
write you, so that I
could remember you in
script and in memory, I
wanted to have the chance
to be apart of your evolution,
I wanted to recreate you,
and scrawl you down through
the loops and curves of my words
I wanted to be apart of you in some
extended and intended with only well
regards, I wanted to write of you, freely
and openly, I wanted to write to you,
to make love to you, bleed ink over
white sheets, I wanted to write for you.

it's kinda funny and kinda scary
but I almost always expect him to saunter down from his apartment in his ripped jean jacket and dusty accent and say something snippy that I could translate a million and one ways depending on how insecure I was feeling that day and make me want to melt and cry all at once, but he never does. he never does.

i am certain that i am going to die young and no this isn't one of my cries for help or bargain-ed pleas, you all will-i-am certain- miss that years and years from now. i still have myselves in all of you, every ounce of me does not belong to me. i am in ownership of nothing but the curls of my eyelashes and the frame they allow me to recreate. this is simply my attempt at a lightly humored poem, but I am certain I am going to die young, very young almost too young to remember the day I was born and thus, first deceived and devirginized, even before my first steps on clay coated sand and became a constantly budding plant with razor bladed sides and a thirsty black vaping hole between my legs but Liberia ruined me with it's talk of this ******* thing called womanhood same as they brought me thought and thought again to salvation, i am certain i am going to die just like many thought i've never lived a single day in my life, I am certain,
I am certain, I am certain.
I am. i am. just not tonight

sometimes I think you hate me. the way you cut your words at the end making sure they jab, sometimes I think you hate me,
the way you walk away as quickly as you came, sometimes I think you hate me the way you level your eyes on every inch of my body but my eyes, sometimes I think you hate me more than you could ever love me and then you kiss me until I'm left with no memories to rely on, sometimes I think you love me and then you go and leave me

I <3 makeup. I like playing around w. pinks and reds and browns. Matte lipstick and lip stains etc etc. Which is funny cause I didn't start wearing makeup until I was 20, just about a year ago. I hated the idea of it. But now I realize that I hated the idea of it because of the mental state I was in. Wearing makeup shouldn't lessen your confidence in your natural appearance. For some reason, I was afraid that I'd become more comfortable seeing myself in makeup versa ****. But that's not the case at all. One of my favorite things to do at the end of my day is to remove my makeup off my face. Warm salt water and then a mixture of honey, egg whites, organic milk thickened in the fridge & then lathered on my face for an hour and then cleansed with cold salt water. It's heaven.
Idk. I've just been laughing at how my mind worked when I was younger. I was so terrified of learning more about myself. Almost like I didn't want to get to know who I was. Almost like I didn't care. I didn't want to form my own opinions and so I clutched onto others opinions. I didn't want to accept my definition of beauty and so I devoured others guidelines. And I didn't want responsibility and so I refused all forms of commitments. What a horrible way to live. For those of you who've been wondering where I've been lately. I've been reflecting, accepting and understanding myself because I've come to understand that's the only way I'll keep existing in this world.  
Idk. I've just been laughing at how my mind worked when I was younger. I was so terrified of learning more about myself. Almost like I didn't want to get to know who I was. Almost like I didn't care. I didn't want to form my own opinions and so I clutched onto others opinions. I didn't want to accept my definition of beauty and so I devoured others guidelines. And I didn't want responsibility and so I refused all forms of commitments. What a horrible way to live. For those of you who've been wondering where I've been lately. I've been reflecting, accepting and understanding myself because I've come to understand that's the only way I'll keep existing in this world.

Dear Dad,
When I was younger and I wrote you that letter explaining to you how much I hated myself sometimes.

When I wrote you that letter explaining to you how much I hated my skin

How much I hated my thoughts

How I lost all of my friends in the span of a month because I stopped trying to care

How much I just wanted to disappear

How much you'd be better off without me

How much it hurt all the time

When I showed you all of my poems

And you called my black tears on those ******* white papers 'talent' and ignored my cries

When you insisted that I was okay when I tried to explain to you that I wasn't

Did you really believe that I would be okay or did you just need me to be?

I'm not mad anymore. I just want you hug me and tell me you love me and just stop ******* hating me

I want to cry. I want to cry so ******* badly it hurts. This hurts. It all hurts so bad

marie-niege is jaso bolay
i am an empty pill bottle
of nothing more than
just emotions, a stack of
empty liquor bottles. i
am nothing. just nothing.
isn't that classy? but um
you see, marie-niege is
cleaner than me. more
sterile. less edgy. but
sicker in the head.
we're never just
one person.
welcome. to the
madness in my head.

I watch

video clips of rollercoasters

so that I can feel my heart race. Sometimes

I can't remember what it feels like.



And I never want to forget again.



Not for one second.

Dear Alex,
I awoke into this world with a broken heart, that's the problem. Not you. I won't ever remember  a day before because I've always been like this. Not fragile, just broken. I was okay with just ******* you but I won't ever be able to handle your feelings on top of mine. For the first night ever, I slept at a guy's house, didn't **** him, let him cuddle me even when I was sober, even when my skin felt like it was on fire, spent the day with him and listened to his thoughts and it made me want to cry or puke or cut myself straight down the middle and pull out my soul and replace it with someone else. Someone better. Someone more human. But instead I laid there curled into you and tried not to cry because you needed it from me. But I could already feel it. I could already feel myself sinking away from you. And my head. Oh my beautiful head. It kept telling me, "Don't do this don't do this don't do this." But my heart. My nasty heart. It kept humming, "To who?" Very still. Very still. But then you started tracing your fingers down my skin and it started to feel like it was crawling away from me. From you. And so I told my heart and head, "it's already done." And I left. And when you kept calling and texting and asking me I was ok because you cared, I threw my phone at the wall in front of me after sending "I am toxic." I can't handle your care. It's a bit ****** for me to say but I can't handle anyone's care. And **** I miss you. I miss getting so high with you that my head felt heavy but after I left you, I spent three days in the fetal position under a pink blanket trying not to cry. You took all of me that night. And you didn't even do anything. You were just there. Please don't hate me but dear god please don't love me either.

you've got a butterfly melting
on the tip of your tongue and the
crisp of your grapefruit skin
pores through the pours of my
sponging fingers and I had a dream-
starstruck and set on a milky night
that you came to me between the bridges
of a canopied lens, lungs pink with passion,
lips parsed and ready, I set my eyes along
the rings of your chest and waited for it's
plate to aliven, deep breaths heaving up
and down as my cheeks glow hollow,
I touched the rim of his golden
wire framed glasses as he wiggled the
bridge of his nose, struggling to
keep them afloat as they draped and I
asked him, "How old are you, ***?"
as I dusted the blades of my shoulders,
"I lost count," he said,
eyes dimming against the background
of the setting sun, "I lost count 'cause you see,
from my point of view, it feels as though
I've been alive for an eternity."