you tell me
that we should
take things
slow
and I hope slow
is sweet like
how your words trickle
out of your mouth

I hope it's
lasting like
the smell of smoke
on your jacket at 3 am

and I hope
it's honest like
how it feels
legs tangled up in each other
and I'm awake counting shadows
on your ceiling

thinking that I've heard
of slow before
but it didn't quite feel
anything like you.

Lately when I drink
I drink at bars two miles
Away from my house
Four shots of whiskey and
I usually get sad and I
Walk home
And the other night
I did that
And caught wind
That was missing
Someone

I began to stumble
My way home
I usually try to look mean
And unapproachable
But still I hear
A "hey baby"
******* can't
See I'm crying
And I turn around
On fire and tell him
To *******
He tells me it's thanksgiving as if
That means ****
To me
And I barrel home
Thinking he doesn't
Know that I am
Just starting to notice
All the cracks in
The pavement
And the empty spaces
Where the honey combed
Brick used to lay
And I'm wishing
I hadn't felt so
Strange toward you

i like the way
your face creases
creep out from under
your glasses
around your eyes
when you smile

i don't want to be
your inbetween
but i don't mind
staying in between
your sheets
skinny
loveless
laying in
spoon fed
lover's lies

i don't want to be
your inbetween
but i don't mind
keeping your company
on cool nights
cold lights
i don't want to be
your transitioning
queen

and just because
you don't want to
lose me
that doesn't mean
you get
to keep me

It's funny
How whenever I
Tell someone about a
Trauma they
Always let me know
What I
SHOULD have
Done.

Lately I've been thinking
About all the hairpin
Turns I've gone around
Too quickly
And almost eaten
My own ***
Straight into
A tree

And mostly
I've been thinking
About all the
Ships I've sunk
With tiny
Needle.     point
Holes
Thousands
Of perforated
Perfunctorily placed
Sailor sabotage

All of those ships
resting at the bottom
Of my halfway conscious
Self
Because I'm afraid
Of being the barnacle
Brained woman
That I am
Clinging to the bellies
Of the sinking
Ships I've carefully
Cast into
The depths

And lately I've
Been wondering
Why I've never been so
Lucky as to
Hit one of
Those needle poked turns
As fast as I could

I've never told anyone
About the boy
That lived on the edge
Of my street
Growing up
He was about 4 years older
And
Whenever we'd play
Manhunt in the neighborhood
He'd find me
First and
Shove his tongue down
My throat
And touch me
I was four
He was eight

And I saw him on Facebook
Today with
His three year
Old daughter
In his arms
And now my
Throat hurts so much