every day
i roll over
onto your
sweat soaked
side
of the bed
and i
remember
you thrashing
around
kicking
whimpering
all night
and every day
i wonder
why

my mouth
is
as green
as spring
but
that's not to
say that I
only speak
in tethered
tongues
and mindless
music

that's not to say
i haven't thought
thousands of
pretty
words
and then wrote
three
empty pages

that's not to say
i've held on to
dependent ideals
like ivy on the fence

it's really not
for you to
assume

ruffled curtains
and thousands of
cigarette butts
inside carved containers
lined up
stacked
in rows
crumpled into
callous faces
swept up
and uncovered

pusillanimous
hearts
and heavy lips
skinny coke
cheeks
and art
degrees

this performance
has been
your best
piece yet

create a message
and receive it the same

there's so
much
I have
to get
done
but
the only
thing I'm
good
at is
shutting

down

I've been putting my
2 year old knots
up in a bun
with the loose hair
falling out like
spider limbs
for a few weeks now
hiding
my strength
behind a scarf
and sunglasses
hoping that maybe this
will disappear and leave
me alone
even though
that is the last thing I want to be
I've been hiding from you
by sleeping with my back
to the sky
and my
face buried in the sand

and today
I've started
to actually
listen
when I think
and hear
what I pretend
when I speak

as your palms,
much like the ink pressed to my face,
melt and drip
all over the floor
leaving me in
such
       a lonely




          place.