there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.

i.
lovely cigarette
cradled in soft fingers,
inhaled by
smoky lips,
tempting me.

ii.
fingertips grazing
over velvet skin,
traveling with the grooves \
of my body,
electrocuting me.

iii.
darkness engulfs
heaving bodies. '
breath heavy,
hushed moans cut off
by hot kisses,
soothing me.

iv.
one last cigarette,
ending satisfaction.
crooked grins.
smoke swirling above,
embracing me.

One day, I will find you,
And I will scream;
A child's words
From an adult mouth.
I will make you quiver
With the same fear
You instilled in me
Since I was three years old.
You will not
Be able to run.
No hiding allowed in this game.
Just take it.
I hope you cry
Silent cries;
Of fear and abuse,
Betrayal and torment.
And while you cry,
I will stand over you,
Shaming you,
With my hand over your mouth.
Be good for once!
Be good!
You're bad!
Always bad!
I will make you feel
A child's pain.
I will be in control.
You will not have the last word.

rage--
an ember planted
deep within
my firey, burning heart

"It comes in waves"
More like it resurfaces
You know, because depression is always with me,
Just not always where you can see.
It is the angsty teen hiding in his room until the guests leave.
It is the bad poetry he keeps in a notebook under the bed.
It is the pack of cigarettes he buries in his underwear drawer;
Someone must search to find it.
Depression cannot come in waves.
If it could, wouldn't I be able to ride it out -
Or is drowning my punishment for not learning how to surf?
You see, because I have never surfed in my life.
Everything must wash over me.
I bathe in the ocean instead of the bathtub,
I scrub saltwater into my paper cuts until they are more painful than an open wound in an attempt to validate the sadness that stays with me.
Because even though it is nameless, it is as daunting as the dinner guest,
Hidden, yet embarrassing letters on paper forming words resembling a poem,
Intangible, but quickly filling my lungs and spreading into my bloodstream
Imitating pleasure and escape while slowly releasing dangerous chemicals
While exuding toxins that ****** my relationships and self-worth.
If depression were waves, I could find beauty in them.
Instead, my perception views dismemberments of values,
Shattered pieces of what "before" looked like:
Before the anxiety.
Before the embarrassment.
Before the shame.
If depression truly comes in waves, give me time between to learn to ride them to shore.

Let's capture this moment forever;
Daisies in your hair,
Bare feet and a white dress,
Pink lips and a pale face.
Your smile is brighter than the sun
As we dance barefoot.
Our mothers are there
Watching you steal my last name
Like I stole your heart
With held hands, we join lips.
I never want this night to end.

Kiss me again, when we're alone.
Slower this time; I want to savor you.
You're mine,
I'm yours;
This is the way it will always be.

Stay with me forever,
Through the grays in you hair,
Wrinkled feet and a faded dress,
Pink lips and a freckled face.
Your smile will still be brighter than the sun
As we dance barefoot.
With held hands, we will join lips.

Kiss me like you kiss me now;
Slow, like you're savoring me.
You'll still be mine,
I'll still be yours;
This love will never end

DON'T YOU SEE
THAT IM SCREAMING AT YOU
TO HELP ME?
THAT MY SOUL IS ROTTING,
WASTING AWAY TO NOTHING,
AND ONE DAY,
I WILL HAVE NOTHING LEFT?
DONT YOU SEE
THAT I JUST NEED
SOMEONE, ANYONE, TO
REACH OUT THEIR HAND
AND FORCE ME TO TAKE IT?
THAT I NEED GUIDANCE
AND CLOSURE
AND BETTER UNDERSTANDING?
THAT I NEED TOUGH LOVE
AND HONESTY
AND, ABOVE ALL, LOYALTY?
DONT YOU SEE
THAT IM BURSTING AT THE SEAMS
AND ONE DAY
I WILL COMPLETELY UNRAVEL?
THAT ONE DAY
I WILL WIND UP DEAD,
AND THERE WILL HAVE BEEN
NO WAY FOR YOU TO STOP IT,
BECAUSE WHEN I CRIED
OUT FOR HELP,
NO ONE ANSWERED.

You asked what I wanted,
And it's more of this
My head feels heavy
My heart is split
But with you, the thoughts are quiet
What if I could jump all the way in?
Dreams about what our life could be
Maybe I'm not thinking clearly
I know its way too early
Nothing makes sense
But with you, it feels like peace
Instant, insane connection
Trust and communication
Relieving word *****
A safe haven
No expectations
No conditions
Just us as we are
I've missed feeling like myself
With you, it's effortless
There's warmth in you
I talk a lot without saying anything
Yet the silence speaks volumes
The important thing is that you hear it
You listen, and breathe it in
So what do I want?
More than anything; to be loved
And that's how I feel when I'm with you

I trace the moonlight on your skin,
Watching the stars in your eyes.

Your heartbeat booms like thunder.
I kiss your lightning veins on your neck.

You smell of fresh rain,
And the bark from trees.

Your body is a nature trail
I just can’t wait to explore.

They say that in order to truly hate someone
There had to be a lot of love there to begin with
And I think about the times you would sing to me in the car
How we would dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner
All the times I'd fall asleep with your hand stroking my hair
Those moments were tender and felt so real
But how is it love when you scream in my face
When your words drip venom and your fists are clenched
Love is not violent
Love does not breed hate
I don't know how you can separate the tenderness and the poison
How do I wrestle with two realities at the same time
I struggle often with my own guilt
I never wanted to hurt you
How do you sleep at night
With the memory of your hands around my throat
How were they the same hands that tussled my hair at night
The same hands that cupped my sweaty face after birth
The same hands that softly grip our daughter's
In case you're wondering I can't sleep at all
Some say we become obsessed with our abuser
How can we not
Survival mode does crazy things to our minds
I'm tired of the madness

I wish I could write something beautiful,
But the only words I can manage
Are ‘drowning’ and ‘suffocating’,
And we all know there’s no beauty in death.

My body is a fresh canvas just waiting to be filled,
But I have filled it in the wrong way --
Ruining it with cuts, scratches, and burns;
Nothing beautiful or something to be shown off.

In my drawer is a piece of paper,
But I have never written on it.
I am waiting for the day my courage is high,
And I finally need it to write my suicide note.

The life I live isn’t a bad one,
But my past still haunts me.
No amount of faith will diminish the feelings --
The sadness, guilt, anger.

I’ve lived on a roller coaster ride,
But everything comes to an end.
This one will crash and burn
And never be heard of again.

This poem isn’t meant to be beautiful,
But it is supposed to make you think.
Tonight might be the night
I remove the blank paper from the drawer.

Is it worth it, you and me?

What would have happened
If the stars didn't align
On that fateful day?

I imagine he and I
Would still be together.
Maybe we would be closer to marriage.

She might still be my best friend,
Always planning the next adventure,
Sticking around through it all.

Would I have tried to **** myself again?
He always knew what to say,
And her opinion would have rang in my ears.

Perhaps my mother and I
Would still be close.
Maybe I wouldn't have left the house.

I would have never met her.
These feelings, this confusion,
Would not exist.

But think about this:

What if he and I still didn't work out?
Perhaps I would have met someone new,
Or perhaps we just fell out of love.

What if she and I
Still didn't make it until the end?
The adventure stopped?

Perhaps I still tried to **** myself,
And it actually worked?
You were the one who got me help.

What if my mother and I
Still faded away,
And I still left home?

I would be completely alone then;
Maybe even six feet under.
Nobody would be my comfort.

Is it worth it, you and I?

We will not know until the very end.

Note to lover:
I would jump over stars and through galaxies for you.
Your essence is pure, your heart is gold.
You are worth more than the scars of your past.

Note to past:
You are all-consuming, yet powerless.
Your power lies inn my hands alone.

Note to loneliness:
Though you gnaw at my stomach,
Your sharp teeth piercing my heart,
I refuse to let you win.

Note to winnin:
You're not always worth it.

Note to worth:
You are not defined by the weight that your body possesses.
You are also not defined by lust.

Note to lust:
More people have died at your hands than the hands of love.
You're no better than wealth.
In fact, you warp people,
And we all know there are worse things than greed.

Note to greed:
I am guilty of this sin.
He is mine and mine alone.
I want to keep him all for myself.

Note to self:
Stop trying to squish everything into a box.
Black and white are only spectrums of color.

Note to color:
Brighten this world.
Show me more than black and white and red.
Show me rainbows and miracles.

Note to miracles:
Children believe because they are closest to you.
Too often are you overlooked
Simply because you overpopulate the planet.

Note to the planet:
I'm sorry.

Note to sorrow:
Stop crushing my lungs
And pouring out of my veins.

Note to veins:
Purple, blue, and green have never looked
So lovely, so tempting.
Blood rushes through you with every emotion,
Making you pulse whenever I am with my lover.

Note to lover:
Never open up the boxes in my head,
For all you will see is the past.
And colors.
And lost light that will blind your soul.

eyes like summer sky,
lips pink as cotton candy,
smile bright as midday sun:

three things first noticed
about three-month long lover;
she was summer.

the dreamed-about kind;
full of romance and wonder--
never a dull time.

hugs like teddy bears
won at pricey state fair games;
kisses like coasters.

magical young girl
with galaxies in her eyes
and stars in her heart.

time to remember
about three-month long lover --
summer in herself.

It's not that I choke on my words;
It's that I have no words to speak.

I could talk forever
About the silver in your hair,
The gold in your eyes;
How they prove you're a treasure.

I could babble away
About your contagious laugh,
Your sense of humor
That makes me bust a gut or shake my head.

I could whisper to a friend
About your shivering touch,
Your burning tongue;
The way you leave my body breathless.

I could preach to a crowd
About your strength,
Your courage;
How you move me to do better.

But, when it comes to how I feel,
There are no words.

'Love' is overused.
'Adoration' is an understatement.
'Infatuated' is pretentious.
'Appreciative' is too subtle.

Nevertheless, they all work:

I am in love with you, my treasure.
I adore your sense of humor.
I am infatuated with the way you touch me.
I appreciate how you move me.

'Forever' is too short a time with you,
But forever is all we have.

I choke on my words before I let them out,
To a point beyond recognition.
All I can manage is a simple, “I love you”,
But I wish I could say more:

That your eyes remind me of home,
Of a place where everything works out,
Where fairytales come true.
They remind me of “Ever After”.

That I find peace in your smile,
A certain warmth and familiarity;
Comfort that I can’t find within myself,
And it calms me.

That your very essence is refreshing.
You are innocent, pure, unbroken;
Strong, confident;
Everything I wish I was.

That loving you is the easiest thing I’ve done.
Loving you comes naturally,
Like I was made for you;
Like we would meet in any lifetime.

That seeing you hurt breaks my heart.
Hearing you spout negatives
And ways you could be better
Literally shatters me.

That you are the strongest person I know.
You have risen above every struggle
With a stride I have never before seen.
It would take something big to knock that out.

Once you get me talking, I can’t stop.
Nothing I say seems substantial enough.
You are my reason for holding on,
And I hope one day I can repay you.

Dear ex:
I can't wash away your sins.
I've tried until I'm sore,
But my body won't come clean.
We planned a future around insecurities,
And you cried when I ran away.
You can't expect me to want you
After you took away
The last of my innocence.
I can't put cocoa butter
Over the scars you've left on my heart.

A storm rages in the darkest part of her mind.
If you look closely, you can see the lightening flash
In her forest green eyes;
Creating something like a forest fire
That leaves you mesmerized.

A storm rages in the darkest part of her soul.
If you get close enough to her, you can hear
The thunder booming in her writing,
Contrasting against her soft demeanor,
Compelling you to read more.

A storm rages in the darkest part of her heart.
But you'll never get close enough to see the rain
Falling out of her eyes,
Diminishing the fire,
Strengthening the thunder.

She thinks she's weak.
But nothing weak can create such a storm.

Nobody writes about the messy parts of love;
The ugly parts, the parts nobody wants to know.
But it’s necessary to know these things,
To not be fooled by a false perception
That love is magical and void of faults.

Nobody warned me that my first love
Would be my longest, and hardest.
They didn’t tell me that I would spend weeks
Crying over him, years waiting for him
Until I finally had enough.

Nobody told me that  I would fall in love
Multiple times with different types of people.'
That the ones I fell in love with
Would leave marks in my mind
And scars on my heart.

Nobody warned me that my second love
Would break my heart into a million pieces.
They didn’t tell me that he would leave the biggest scar;
That not even soap and water can wash off
The places he held me, kissed me, loved me.

Nobody told me that I would fall in love regardless of distance,
That I would find my best friend miles away,
And fall in love with an intensity that could burn down a forest.
Nobody told me that I would find almost-perfection
In the heart of a desert.

Nobody warned me that my third love,
The one that’s supposed to be the charm,
Wouldn’t last; that all our talk of forever
Would go down the drain
Because distance really does put a damper on things.

And lastly, nobody warned me that my current love
Would be so hung up over someone who doesn’t love him
With the intensity that I do.
Nobody told me that I would be so jealous,
And cry this much over someone who’s supposed to make me happy.

I want to write about hands;
How they grip my throat
And squeeze my lungs
Whenever we make love.

I want to write about burning;
On my body, in my stomach,
Everywhere you touch;
And how it feels wrong.

I want to write about control;
How I feel I have none,
Especially when we become one,
And you’re doing everything I say I love.

I want to write about death;
The death of my innocence,
Of my childhood,
Of my spirit.

I want to write about molestation;
How the word screams at me from inside,
Pours out of my veins,
Makes me choke on my words when I’m around you.

I want to write about coping,
Because that’s all I know how to do.
I learn to love my submission,
Your hands, the burn, my death.

I want to write;
For it’s all I have left.
Something I control,
And something that makes me feel alive.

I know we're young,
And that this might be too much to ask,
But I can't imagine anything in this world
That wouldn't look better
With you there by my side.

We have years ahead of us,
And maybe we should be sowing our oats,
But I'd rather be picking flowers
To put in the vase in our kitchen.

The odds are against us,
But you can't play poker alone.

We used to watch the clouds go by,
Searching for hidden pictures,
Wondering when it would be time for dinner.

Now, we watch the smoke swirl around our heads,
Searching for something to calm our nerves,
Wondering when we will find ourselves

Do not call me beautiful

Until you have seen me broken;

Tears streaming down my cheeks

And snot dripping onto my lips.



Do not call me funny

Until you have seen the dark corners

And twisted secrets

My mind holds within.



Do not call me strong

Until you have seen me at my worst;

Saying I don't care

And about to give up.



But whatever you do,



Do not call me ugly

Until you have seen my eyes

Lit up by the brightness

Of the setting sun.



Do not call me boring

Until you have seen me talk

About the things that

I am most passionate.



Do not call me weak

Until you have seen me stand;

Facing the world once again

And saying, "I've won."

i.

dark eyes illuminated by shadows,
creeping towards the bed,
trailing across the covers,
narrowing evilly.

ii.

rough, ***** hands
crawling across soft skin,
pawing at private places,
covering a horrified mouth.

iii.

mindlessly horrible pain
striking through a young body.
relentless fingers
soaking up innocent blood.


iv.

innocence lost,
trust shattered.
a broken girl never to be able
to love herself again.

words spark
angry flames
that burn down
into resentful embers

Her bare feet grazed the green grass
As she danced with the wind,
A smile raised upwards towards the sun
That was reflecting itself off her blue eyes.

Wild flowers crowned her curly brown hair,
Each as unique and beautiful as she was.
Her laugh seemed to reach the clouds
Where her lovely mind laid.

Freckles spotted her tan face;
And for once I believed they may just be
Proof of where angels had once placed
Their heavenly lips.

A million cliches filled my mind
As a million butterflies filled my stomach.
Wonder struck, I stared at this piece of perfection
And fell unconditionally, undoubtedly in love.

I’ve always heard the hungry howl of paper waiting to be fed;
Waiting for perfect, sublime words to fill it up.
The paper has been calling my name since I was young;
Tempting, tantalizing, taunting me to write.
I started with silly stories about princesses and super-heroes
Saving the day and leaving their mark on the world.
Like a seed I grew, expanding my horizons.
All the time, I avoided poetry like the plague.
Poetry was dangerous; daunting.
It was never my cup of tea; never appealing.
My first taste of poetry was Dr. Suess.  
I always thought he was crazy.
My second bite of poetry was Shel Silverstein.  
He made me laugh, but it got annoying quick.
They say the third time’s a charm,
And for me, it was.
Robert Frost intrigued me with ‘The Road Not Taken’.
I started to see the true beauty of words.
I realized that poetry was words in their most admirable form.
I began to feel something stirring inside of me
Like a monster wanting out of its cage.
I felt the seed of poetry planting itself inside me,
And I watered it everyday.
It’s still growing, still blooming;
Being nurtured by the metaphors of Emily Dickinson  
And the breathtaking words of Shakespeare;
Two people made immortal because of their words.
I hope to be like them one day;
To be immobilized in print;
Leaving my mark in society
Like the super-heroes in the stories I wrote when I was young.

the words spill onto the page as i think about
how my skin melts under your tongue
how your tide shifts beneath my gaze
how our garden flourishes out of the darkness
and despite the miles of mud i trek through
you are always traveling the road beside me
      listening
                    supporting
                                      encouraging
      your palms stretch towards the clouds
      your eyes close as you welcome the warmth
you are the child of sunbeams and ocean waves
and i was birthed under an ebony sky in a river of moonlight

somehow we met here in the middle

and it is here in the middle that we love