i don't deserve your late night kisses

Autumn leaves are butterflies falling from nature's grace:
This morning, I watched a butterfly disappear into a pile
of auburn leaves. As I stopped to watch, it frightened its black
speckled wings into the clouds and I smiled because
even something as beautiful as a butterfly has a will to disappear.

All of my friends are sad and trade
shades of grey like women in department
stores do pants. They don't listen to my
jokes about foreign policy and humanism
versus feminism. They listen to the words
I say about him as they shut me in and then
out, the women, they don't really care.

today i took a trip through the meadows to remind
myself of what the grace of auburn leaves felt like
to the pallet of my eyes.

lets speak like there are no periods
and keep our need for our tongues
to curve into commas and let our
lips visit the taste of hesitance only
when our breaths begin to hitch like
ragweed on the itch of a cough lets keep
talking like our lungs have no need for
replenishment lets keep speaking like
we have no need to stop

my throat is a
net filled with
butterfly wings
and wooden  
handles.

now you know my name-
what'll do with me

Courtney Love's in my lungs
screaming, was she,
"Asking for it"
was she asking for it
was she asking for it
what did she ******* say
whatdidshefuckingsay

you don't need me anymore

I'm not completely sane
but then neither are you.

he used to tell me
I had the saddest
eyes, as though
eyes could ever
truly be happy.

I can't stop thinking

My left ear lobe is having an
allergic reaction to the chemicals
of my bullet-studded earring while
my right ear lobe is just fine with the
bow and arrow that's speared through.

My lungs are anaphylactic response to
the silence of your words and the nasal
voice that whinnies out of your throat.

I am not unaware of your sudden decision
to grow out the raven-colored hair out of its
buzzed stage much like how I understand
your need to refuse my query of,
"What are you?"

I admire your commitment to further your
thinkings, the reach of your leaves.

I'd kiss the state flag you have tattooed
on your forearm if it meant getting closer to you.

Recite to me every song lyric that reminds you of me and every line that hums a smile across your lips and presses the feel of my hands against your chest.

the image of Erin walking
by me surprised by the
alertness of my voice as she
jitters along terrifies me.
I wish I could hold her and
tell her that its okay to break.
I wish I could tell her that she
doesn't need some to piece her
back together every t i m e she
slides apart. I wish could tell
her that all she needs is someone
to hold all of her pieces and not
just some of them.

The image of frail little Erin alarms
me e v e r y time I close my eyes.

i'm sure, i'm sure
she's the kind of girl
you've got to love
*e v e r y  n i g h t.

and I breathe in his smoke because it is the only air that he will give me

I wanted to hear the words echo and so I said them three times a day with a full mouth and a hungry ear: I love you.

i am trying to
stay away from
this world today
because all it does
is wound me.

there are no clocks
in this room:
how do they
except me to know
when to leave
and when to stay

I'd like to weigh a ton ton ton
just so that I am sure that I am
pushing down on something
like gravity. This Earth really
knows how to *******.

if they are soul mates
then what are we

the day I turned thirteen
my mother looked at my
hips and told me, "girls
with curves shouldn't wear
baggy clothes." since then
I've tried to stay out of
clothes as much as possible
because the tighest thing
that I can wear is my skin.

I feel like a storm

i hate him because he's always
swimming around and thinking things
but he never says any of them.

Happy people
make me sad.

he asks me,
you're a
*******
Gemini
aren't you?
That explains
why you're so
******* crazy.
You're like two
people.
Get a grip."
Laughing,
I asked him,
"Of what?"

I start sensitive conversations with
passionate people so that they can
I can have a reason to release my
anger. They forget that I am well
studied on only topics that I've
interest in and they use emotion
to try to suade me. I am horrible
and stiill. I smile as they begin
to get worked up. I think I need help.

do not forget the lies
that history told you
as you continue on
to spread your own.

he said I crumple up when I laugh

it's sad how
easily
people can break you.

and now nina smokes vapes
on the quad with a new group
of friends that say things like,
do you have a dealer to every
dreaded black guy that passes by
and she talks really loud about
how fingers feel far far on the
inside and she laughs really
quiet at jokes that make sense,
and she never writes anymore
about how life makes no sense.

No one's ever died.

Everyone keeps living
and breathing
the same air.

No one's ever died before.
We just keep on recycling
their breaths.

the woman who helped me out of my car after my accident had a Jack Johnson tour t-shirt on and a pair of shades that she pulled off to meet my eyes, every time I lose faith I hum Good People and think back to her and her soothing, mother-like voice. I try not to think about the way her face began to fade the minute I stood before her. I try not to think about whether she remembers me, a solid year later whenever she passes the thrift store I was thinking about stopping in to. I try not to remember everything but her voice and Jack's as he sang me into a clear haze.

I am
as
quick
as your
tongue.

"If I turn down the music,
that doesn't mean that
I want to hear you
talktalk and talk."
I used to say to him
after he'd tell me to
low down the music
after hours of hearing
nothing but my music
blast the woes of other
human's souls.
I am convinced that we
as humans don't always
need to hear that voice
that constantly chirps
in our head, we don't
always need that.

let's talk about his
peanut butter thighs
and his cashew eyes
his cloaked voice that
floods me when he
speaks, and his
big hands and thin
fingers. Let's talk about
all of his parts that make
him whole and makes
my eggplant legs go
bump bump
in the night.

You used to
pay attention
to things like
my absence.
Where I've
been and
where I'm
going
as if I
ever knew
the latter.
I used to
hate your
questions
saying,
******* my
dust, I'm not
your star ***.
Before
hanging up the
phone or
shutting the door.
I can't believe
I actually
miss you
now.
And the way
you used to
kiss my lips
in my greatest
moments of
panic, holding
my chin up to
your face and
saying, *you
are my star.

between yesterday
and today I wrote
thirty-seven poems
because I didn't know
how to feel
everything.

danny told me
danny told me
hold my hand
whenever
you need to
but my hands
pulsed from sweat
and his hand
kept slipping into
and out of me.

i wrote thirty-seven
poems simply so
my mind could have a
moment to dispose of
everything so that
it could have
room for more
than everything.

I haven't felt so
drained in my life.
I haven't felt so
numb in my life.

i demand
a certain
amount of
warmth
from every
body I lay
next to.

this won't
save your life
or even your
neighbor's
but it will
make you feel
better.

I asked him
to stop singing
but his voice just
got higher.

I hate him and his mouth
and the speed in which it moves.

I, of a slower tongue can not keep up
and so I imagine my door slamming shut on his lips and me jumping and shouting everything that I could not say.

as much as I have to say
I never know what to say
or where to begin.
or where to end

sometimes I find it easier to
start in the middle and see
where it leads me.

Sometimes, I just bite my
tongue and hope that
everything comes out
alright, alright.

there is just.
So much.
To ******* say