You can tell me
in remarkable detail
about how you ****** that guy
not once
  but twice
    in the handicap stall
      of the first floor bathroom.

I won't judge you
or think less of you
or even blink
as you tell me
how he finished all over your face
and you licked up
  every
    last
      drop.

No, I'll sit there quietly,
  listening intently,
    because, to be honest,
      it doesn't bother me.

But if you stare at me
with hungry eyes
or comment on how "****" I look
or even offer to please me
without any sort of reciprocation
because you just want to make me feel good,
I will tense up,
shut down,
  retreat into my metaphorical cave,
    and only reemerge
      when the coast is clear.

Yes, you can tell me
  all about your *** life,
    but I don't even want to think
      about mine.

I hate the fact
that I let you control me.
I obeyed your every command
without thinking,
did whatever you asked
without blinking.
I said I was fine when I was not,
and I conveniently "forgot"
about every promise that you broke
because, for whatever reason, I still had hope
that we could somehow make it work,
even though it ******* hurt.

I hate the fact
that I let you destroy me.
You told me you didn't love me
without blinking.
I fought back tears,
my heart sinking.
I cut my wrists until they bled
and watched as the bathwater turned red.
I kept pills in my desk drawer
because I had no chance of winning this war,
and even though I begged you to stay,
I blamed myself for pushing you away.

I hate myself
for being so weak,
for accepting defeat,
for the cutting, the drinking.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
Pink and white scars cover my skin
because I was dumb enough to let you in.
I learned my lesson, but at a cost.
You can’t hold on to what is lost.

"I wish we could have came into each other's lives
at a better time for me."
Because that's how things work.
It's all about timing,
and you ran the clock.

*** alarm,
wake up call.
I didn't even take my shoes off.

You talk so loud but you never say a thing.
Just push me against car doors
in the parking lot outside your apartment
with the lamppost's reflection blurring
on the rain covered pavement,
a ***** mirror
smearing our shadows together.

I yell but you only answer
with the breath from your open mouth
as you kiss the frustration out of me—
suffocation.
Your tongue speaks a language
only I thought I knew.

Turns out she did, too.

i'm always trying to describe
the wrong things, aren't i?
describing your voice
when it's the words that matter
outlining your face
when it's the smile that really shatters
upon my eyes
trying to write this feeling down
when it's the reasons that are really
important to me
and i guess that's when i realize
i've been avoiding penning this fear
afraid of the reasons, of the causes
that led me here
and this feeling?
it's nothing more than a consequence
or so i tell myself
as i step carefully over
the dark puddles
and onto the hard cement, looking
for the yellow lines
that will tell me where to go
left or right?
right or wrong?
i've been describing the wrong things
i know that now, and i have
each scene played out
in black and white
while the real meaning is lost
in the spaces between the letters
and the missing punctuation
gathers itself into the sky
spelling out the word i am afraid of
fear

My family eats dinner underwater.
We bounce between the seats of our chairs
and the bottom of the table,
we pass the stuffing
as it floats off the plate,
and no one seems to blink.
My parents just talk about how safe
it is, here,
below the surface.
No gay fiances
or athiests
or postmodernists
or liberal Christians.
I am the only one with an oxygen tank.
“I have never owned a tent that kept the rain out.”

My family camps with gear from the 80s.
We cook in bare aluminum
and eat with volatile plastics,
a crusty dining cloth pinned
to the warped picnic bench.
My feet and head push
through the tent wall
and into the rain fly.
I always wake up wet.
“I have never owned a bed that was long enough.”

In house 1 and 2,
my feet hang off the end
of the bed, circulation halted
at the ankles
by the wooden frame.
In dorm 1 and 2,
I lie diagonally on the bed,
my shoulder hitting the wall.
In dorm 3,
My feet are pressed
flat against the wardrobe.
I fall asleep not knowing
who I wake up for.
“I have never loved anyone I didn't have to.”

Here's the thing about a mollusk
Sometimes from a distance you can think you've glimpsed a pearl inside
So you get closer to investigate but the thing clenches tight
It's a defense mechanism; you know this
So you fight, and struggle to get the **** thing open
Your fingers bleed
Your muscles ache
You begin to believe that it will never break
Really going through something
But right when you're about to give up, it loosens
And you gaze inside to find
Nothing
What you thought was a pearl was just a trick of the light
I've had it with this girl
It's over alright

She sits in the crevice of her untouchable throne
A bathtub of fizz
The place she goes to be alone
As the bubbles coat her flesh, and pop on her throat
With a sensation of which I will never know

But oh how I long to be the one who sees her there
It's my one true wish
As she twists her fingers through her luxurious hair
And blows foam with a jet stream of air through her lips

I want nothing more than to be a fly on the wall
Of the room that surrounds her most intimate moments
If only I could hear her sing a beautiful song
When she thinks there's nobody around to take notice

I'll treasure it all
And bury it deep inside me
A sentimental chest of unobtainable gold
The toll one pays for a life of tragedy
The price one incurs from being alone

stop romanticizing death.
the sick image of me
laying on my grave
as you sit beside
shaking with unspoken words
of lost love.

old and new times come together
pretending that we are so easy
to recreate.

10 minutes away
tomorrow I am leaving
so why at my feet now,
all the emotions
that I don't want to step into
cover me in mud.

smoke blinds the past
time after time.

when is this night gonna end.

The first time I slept beside you in that basement
You were a stranger
And now you’re a close friend. But somehow
The sleeping hasn’t gotten much more comfortable.
My neck has hurt all day.
And when I said “happy new year” to my grandma
I still felt like I was holding back
A fourth round of ***** –
You know the vomiting actually hasn’t gotten much better either.
I remember the first time, sitting
On somebody’s aunt’s friend’s bathroom floor
Texting my sister “I’m drunk, I’m sick, I’m sorry”
While this ****** girl that I hadn’t yet fallen in love with
Held my hair back figuratively
But you
You held my hair back more literally last night (it’s gotten long),
And you know that I’m glad we’re friends
But that cheese fondue my mom prepared
Didn’t taste so good coming up the other way
And I shouldn’t need, I shouldn’t want, I shouldn’t need
To swig back so many shots
To tell people how I feel
Which might not even really be how I do feel
Because that girl wasn’t really all that ******
And ever since she left (I left her)
I’ve been looking for something to cling to and
I haven’t found it in this person or that person
So I tried to find it in this sea of bottles
But all the bottles empty quickly
And my neck has hurt all day so
Just don’t take it personally if I don’t
Spend the night in that basement with you again next time.

My neck has hurt since she left.
And I’m still drunk.
Still sick.
Still sorry.