Don't let it swallow me. Whole.
I am only at my best when
I have been halved
and quartered.

If you're seeking someone that can
find you
then I pity you
for not understanding that no one else
knows where you are
better than
you.

at night
when everything of me is exposed
I fumble with my hands,
not sure where to
misplace them
and as it comes to bother me
in a real sort of way-
I slip them on the underside of my pillow
leasing the heavy weight my cheek has to bear
onto the clasped binds of my
mis-script prayers.

if I was a romantic person,
I'd pay attention to how he smiles
when a neighboring
baby coos
at an item
while we wait
in line.

I have all of these bruises
on my arms and legs
and this
high yellow birthmark
that rests at the cliff of my
thigh just before it dives into my
right knee,
and these black marks that
people have come to name
as a sign of beauty
(but that's not the case.)
They sit on my
right *******
and my right index
and my left pinky
and right above my upper lip
on the left side of my face-
all of which I constantly wonder
if they began to exist
only when I began to exist
or if they've been there all along
just waiting for my body
to peer into existence,
I really can't say
exactly when
all of these birthmarks
and beauty marks
and bruises
all
began to
exist
but I really do
wonder
about them.

What a time to be alive.
I've felt your pulse
through your palms,
a vibrato lengthened
through your fingers as they
strum up the stem of my spine,
my bones a-clatter,
my flesh a-flutter-
a slight bloom in your
warm hands-
what a time to be
alive.

I  keep a green cup between the
legs of my nightstand and the
mints of my wall,
and at night after I tuck edible things
out of my dresser's pockets
and into my mouth
and then again, into the open spout of my green cup
because mine never seems to know
how to retain any
form of sustenance:
I let it all spill from me and then
I lay back into the ruffles of my blanket,
rancid scents spilling through the air-
I'm breathing new again-
and my eyes fill as my body won't,
and I just waste
all over

i wear my baseball cap backwards
so that everyone around me
can see all of my
half-way decent face
and then I pin
paraphernelia
in the shape of buttons
all around its duck-bill mouth so that
everyone around me
that doesn't care
knows that I care
about
  something,
if not
  everything.
and in due time
I lose some things
that surrounds my head:
the people, the relics.
Safety pins unfastening
from its worn fibers,
and fluttering
behind my arched back.
My mind,
therefore there is no
organic thought
vomitting through me although
arguably,
I very well might be thinking in
my purest form,
and so I settle in that comfort,
leaving behind a trail of buttons
so that everyone around me
that doesn't care about anything knows that
I can be just like them.

I don't know which I'm most annoyed by:

Those who are afraid of titles
or
Those who are in love with titles.

You laugh because
you know it isn't funny.

I watch because I know
you need me to keep on caring.

I'd rather wear my heart
on my sleeves
then let it rest within the
swamps of my chest-
at least then
I know what my heart
is up to.

i hate not
understanding everything
about
what you
do.

i feel the need to understand why
you let your right foot tick
while you keep your left foot
so perfectly
still.

why you watch me
hug my knees instead of
letting the ropes of your arms
hug around my chest.

why you kiss my lips
when my forehead
gleams.

why you hold my thighs
when my hands
are so far apart
and lonely
when my thighs are almost
always
together.

i hate not understanding
everything about what
you
do.

I'd like to inhale the world
through the lungs of my soul,
not my eyes

i never understood why
he whispered ****
but screamed
every other word.
say ****
as loud as you can
i used to say,
my hands holding
the sides of his face-
i just wanted him to be real with me

I often wonder just how personal
all that we were actually was.

you're wrong
about the girl
with two lips and
curly hair that trips
over spirals in the shape of a 'fro
and the ring in her nose that shouts,
'my friend
he gave to pain'
she's gonna be
ok.

I don't know very much how to handle anyone else's tears-
I suppose that's because I don't know
very much how to handle
my own.

I study everything before closing my eyes.
  Memorizing every line,
every curve.

I'm always afraid that
my eyes
won't realize what
has moved