"I'm sad. will you cheer me up?"
"Babe it's your birthday. You're getting really old."
"I bought you a cake."
"But then I ate it."
"I love you."
"I'm sorry I haven't text you for awhile I've been really busy."
"Please forgive me"
"Forgive me please i can't live like this **** im dying over here"
"oh. Sorry."
"I miss you."
"I love you."
" hope ur doing ok"
"I have a date tonight."
"With you and the tv am I right?"
"Get it..cause I'm funny."
"I love you."


"Why did you have to die?"
"WHY ARE YOU DEAD WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME"
"YOU'RE SO SELFISH"
"I NEEDED YOU AND YOU LEFT."
"I needed you."
"And you needed me even more."
"I love you."

I am the queen of stutter.
There was a time every creak and crack in my bones resonated between every slur of a word and every pop in my vowels.
I was a young girl with a white picket fence and yet there were still moments when words mixed and broke and-and-and-and
kids thought it was weird.
So I hid the voice with lollipops and suckers because I was
"That kid" and the "Freak" and I started to believe it like I believed my mothers bedtime stories that rested in her cheeks.
I was a broken jar and no matter how many times you tried to put me back together I always broke again and again and again.

There was a time where words came out together,
like a butterfly hatching from a cocoon and instead having feathers. I spoke with a voice of the age of four and before I was five I spoke no more because ****, vowels came out like clicks and grinds and everyone told me they paid no mind but I knew that they hated it liked I hated consonants. And I think the reason I hated it so much was because it reminded me too much of her and it made me feel like I was turning into her and all I could see was her standing over me like a murderer stands over a corpse and for a moment I forgot what it meant to be cradled to a chest, fluttering with a beating heart.



The first time my mother left, It was June.
She gave me a kiss on both cheeks and said she'd be away for awhile but that her love for me was longer than any mile that she would have to cross. I kissed her on both cheeks and it wasn't until she left that I realized that I was the one pushing her out the door. So when my dad came home from work he found an empty house and nothing more, he knew where to find me. I sat out in the pouring rain on a swing set that was older than my veins and waited to be saved to be rescued to be heard to be found to be be be be be be
I, was the queen of stutter.
And I had dropped that off when I moved from the city and I started a new life, carving it out of the trees outside with motivation and a knife. I did not yet understand that life was difficult.
But then my mother did not return and my father got scared because she had been the only one to ever love him the way he needed to be loved. And I did not understand so I started to carve life out of my palms and wrists and every **** kiss and nothing was ever good enough. I was the kid that turned to pill bottles and drugs but it was a metaphors for my dying bones and cracking lips. I breathed air that was blue and told my dad lies that were true and I was lost in a lost world, where being found was something that happened when you were dead and God, I wanted to be found.

So the story continued on and I wrote poetry to encompass my heart and my lungs and I painted over myself, scribbled all the mismatches and righted out all of the wrongs. Life seemed to continue and my dad had been injecting life into his veins and had been living at the doctors and had been tired all the time and had been lonely and sad and had been gone. He promised me a graduation and maybe even my wedding if he was lucky. I took these words with me everywhere I went and trust me if I could marry now I would in a heart beat.

I am fifteen.
My marriage has not yet come but I feel like I have all the time in the world and the doctor is only a place my dad goes to visit now. I can make words come out of my mouth the way they appear in my head and I now know the meaning to carving life into my bones and into the hues of the sunset. I am no longer afraid of every click and grind and twist and churn in my brain because it reminds me that I am alive and breathing and that my veins are filled with blood and that I breathe air like every other person does.
I was the queen of stutter.
Now I am the queen of hope.

I've given a lot up for you in my short life of fifteen years. I've given up blowing out candles and making wishes and sleep over someone who doesn't even give a **** about me. So, when you, someone who is way past my years yet more of a child then I ever will be, came to me like that yesterday, on a day for women and men who deserve to be praised for being loving parents, all sloppy hugs and cold kisses, I couldn't let you get any farther. For too long have you pushed me aside for alcohol and bruised lips and cigarette smiles and I'm sick of being the one who has to die for your smoking breath. I am so **** tired of having to pretend that what we have is still there, when it never existed. Thank you for the years of abuse and hatred and abandonment, mom.

But the funny thing is that I Can Capitalize Every **** Word and yet you will still never understand what you did to me. With a growing tumor and a shrinking heart, I can't stand the thought of forgiveness. And it's okay because I don't need you. Before, I was just the shell of a scared girl but now it's just my daddy and I and we. don't. *******. need. you. Because we are strong, and brave, and we have learned to love ourselves again.

So I am thankful of you, actually. I'm thankful that you showed me who I can be without you, and you showed me that the person who I am now, never wants to change because of a person like you.

Dye the ***** water with contaminates:
                         Blue #1,
                                                  and Sucralose, too.

Bend over to spray
                         the rotting road-**** with perfume.

Perfect the recipe
                         for what was fleshed and fruited
                                                  from animals and plants.

Photoshop the starved and diseased
                         with smiles
                                                  and beautiful bodies.

Clothe the *****
                         with lingerie, with heels,
                                                  and with stones.

Paint the roses red.
                         We paint the white roses red.
                                                  We’re painting the white roses red!

It’s the space.
Like a breath of fresh air , i stumbled across him in the most unheard of place.

This man with wild hair and wilder ideas , i think i saw several solar systems go up in flames at the whip crack precision of his words.
There is magic in in eyes , and sensi bows in his wisdom , ancient reverberations play with his thoughts.

Sometimes i forget who he is and get anxious that he’ll think , this or that about me -
but then i recall and fall into a comfortable place between
breakfast and lunch.

Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday dear Mystery
Happy Birthday to me
Finally turned eighteen
Let's light some candles
And I'll make a wish
On the count of three
One...
Two.....
Three...
*I wish I had never been born

it's been thirty seven days
since we last spoke and the
only reason i know is because
that's how many packs of cigarettes
I've forced into my lungs

i drank an entire liquor store out
just to feel your bitter kisses burn
my lips and dehydrate my heart the
way you would rip me apart and leave
me to wither away in the dark night

i've gotten an inhaler just so i could
pump your heartbeat into my chest
to feel alive because this feeling is
so **** ******* suffocating and im
dying im dying imdyingimdying

please send help

please don't leave

please love me



please