To watch your chest heave
Up and down and up
And down
Faster as my mouth moves
Silent words and speech
Whispers of
I love
You?
But oh so silent be the lamb that follows
When the leader is waiting on the flock

To watch your chest heave
And heat
Discarded threads of yarn
Typically mistaken for fabric
Fictional
Reality.
Lips and teeth
And bruises.

To watch your chest heave
Red eyes
We're both high
And I'm crying
Fingertips touch
And you reach inside me and pirate my heart
I am but a carbon copy
The flesh you removed from me
Removed me from.

To watch your chest heave
Hurts me.

*******

Most of our cells
replace themselves
when they die and maybe
we should do the same.
Cut your hair short
and dye
it
whenever you feel sad.
Peel away the foil strips
and every layer of pigment;
imagine heaviness leaving your body,
become lighter
like each newly bleached strand.
Run your fingers through it
in the shower
however many times it takes. Know
that the chestnut locks
he balled in his fists with a sickly smile
are no longer yours.
They are sitting idly in the trash bin.
They are whirring down the drain.
You are standing idly in the shower.
You are staring down the drain.
You have surreptitiously
(and repeatedly, nearly religiously)
scrubbed your body clean of each
and every
remaining cell
that didn't die of natural causes
and then renew itself
in a way
you couldn't yet.
This skin is yours
and yours alone now.
This skin is wet.
This skin is bare.
This skin is yours.
Bang your head against the bathroom wall.
Feel the lights flicker away.
Encourage the neurons to flicker away.
Brain cells are the only cells
that last a lifetime without
replacing themselves.

I hang paper cranes
Above my head
So I can fly in my dreams
The map of the world
That hangs on my wall
Is a canvas for me to paint
The Shakespeare quote
Reminds me of where I'm going
Baby pictures remind me
Of where I've been
My blankets are my cocoon
I'm a butterfly
I lie in the dark
Spinning poetry like a web
Popcorn feeds my stomach
Paperback novels feed my mind
My dressing gown hangs on the door
My walls are trimmed with fairy lights
A tv sits atop a dresser
Like a skeleton, it lay unwatched
I'd prefer to dream of lilac baths
Than force my brain to rot.
Under my bed there's dust bunnies
And monsters
And in the dark they creak
But I'm sleeping with my paper cranes
And flying in my dreams.

I am a helpless hopeless witness
sitting idle on a courtroom bench
as if in church
kneeling backwards beneath slanted
   stain                         glass
                     light
with my hands clasped tight
and pressed neat against my forehead
but there is
no
one
to pray to when
there is no faith;
I am invisible in the eyes of a clairvoyant god.
My heart beats rough
almost
p
  o
    u
      n
        d
          i
          ­  n
              g
straight out of my chest
to the beat of the grand judge's gavel.
"Guilty,
guilty,
guilty,"
they chant, and
"Selfish,
                selfish,
                          ­    selfish," too.
"We find the defendant cowardly."
They never even put me on the stand.
They will not sentence me to execution--
          for that would be too kindly.
I am destined to a life
of praying for death without parole
and                                     folding
a plethora of pervasive glances
tightly between the
         lines
         on
         my
         palms.
They shoot their looks from
                       all
    different
                                          angle­s,
                      and
even with this accumulation of grayscale smoke above my head,
I
can't
escape
it.
After every much belittled blink
they taunt me with another slice of glass
that scrapes off my skin cells
         one
                 by
                       one
and leaves my body hair in a standing ovation
pulsing with anticipation--
           but they never draw blood. A cruel
and unusual punishment.
At confession I can never find the breath to reveal
the heart I've taped to my chest to keep from f
                                                               ­                a
                                                               ­                l
                                                               ­                l
                                                               ­                i
                                                               ­                n
                                                               ­                g
or the soul in my hands that's been
              crushed
between sweaty fingers.
How can they punish me when I am already a walking jail cell
with skinny white lines for bars on my wrists?
I am to repent until I am no longer human, but here's the thing--
             I never was.
I am much

much

more.

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I ****** my *** in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

they say opposites attract,
but then,
how are we in contact?
we met in the same hiding place, with walls up to our embrace.
same empty wells on our faces
same invisible threads on our lips
slouched posture
boney hips.
i was a blank canvas of a girl and you were a boy who liked to spill your ink on ****** white pages.
i was painfully boring and you were the ruins after a hurricane.
you had stars for eyes and flames that licked your lips like you were the only wildfire out there and i was nothing but a crack on a sidewalk.
you had every natural disaster dancing on your fingertips and i was dying for you  to touch me.
but your palms only sweat when you daydreamed about kissing me and i was infatuated with your dreamy eyes
you  kept galaxies in your palms just to give me a sense of home every time we held hands.
silly boy hasnt anybody told you death doesnt have a home.
hand in hand we are filthy image to them they try to **** us
but you spill anything about us to anyone that would read
according to you there wasn't any us, ink all over paper yet never any love
they asked you if you ever loved someone you said you never really cared
seems like i was the air you breathed in but coughed out as dust instead.

Today was cold and damp,
          but it hasn't rained in weeks.
I attended a funeral today,
          but no one died.
I saw my reflection today,
          but it didn't look like me.
I saw the sky!
          but it wasn't blue.
I fell in love once,
          but it wasn't true.
      
                    I was alive today,
                          but no one knew.