My Payless shoes hit Newport ground
Stomping, scraping, scuffling
Through high society.

Talk of politics-
Our coffee is cold
Adjust the thermostat-
Our president is a hero

White walls and cars
And waves of people.
I feel my weight,
The yellowing teeth on my tongue.

I remember
Walking here
When I was a kid.

I laughed louder
And ate more
And didn't wear shoes.

i shaved off all my hair
i thought it was some feminist statement
i thought it was an outer expression of an inner revolution

but now i avoid mirrors and wish to god i could afford a decent wig

i gained 50 pounds
i thought i was saying f*ck diet culture to the man
i thought i was just allowing my body to self-soothe

but i fantasize about the times i used to think i was fat
at least she had hair

i climb into my bed and wish i hadnt thrown out my cigarettes and wish i had hair and wish i was small again and wish i could just sleep for a few more years.

they laugh at my use of the word 'feminism'
it makes me different, makes me unique.
a woman asking for a voice is like a child asking for a gun.

they cringe at my use of the word 'feminism'
it means i am angry, means i must be gay.
a woman demanding respect is like a beggar asking for more than you're comfortable giving.

i want to feel safe,
i want to be acknowledged,
i want to be valued,
to be seen as a whole person,
not an object of ****** desire-
a mother,
a wife.

i want to go a day without my validity being questioned,
but i am just a girl,
and that's not how things work.

i go back sometimes
to when you were love to me,
the first introduction i'd ever have to intimacy.

i go back
to two months ago,
when we held hands for the last time,
denial of what would happen the minute we walked outside.

we let love control us,
we let lust contort us,
we let ourselves become dependent on a relationship with an expiration date.

i go back
to two days ago,
when you told me we couldn't be friends.
i remember intermittently,
the warmth that i felt.

There is violence
In this silence
In the words that you don't speak

Accusation
In excommunication
That lasts for months and weeks

I realised,
in light of

         the way you came and went,

When breaking up
with someone you love,

         the last thing you want is consent.

He is a force of nature.
He sweeps through cities,
countries,
hearts.

I'm afraid that you've whispered into my veins,
that you've spoken into my skin.
And if life has its way and you go away,
I'll be left with this burning within.

My hands are yours now,
you belong in my arms,
and my body is broken into
what stays with me,
as it has to be,
and, darling, what misses you.

After carving her first name into his chest, he lied there for a few moments on her porch, desperately trying to remember her surname. And convince himself that he was in love. And that this love, somehow, was mutual.

Two Weeks Earlier. Him.
It had been a while since anyone had loved him. ‘A while’ was putting it gently. He was the kind of man that spoke when spoken to. He was not unfriendly, but not outgoing, per se. His last relationship had ended on April 20, 2004, with the words, “I think we both knew this was coming.” The sad part, or the sadder part, was that he had not known that it was coming. That was the day he found out what a difficult process it is to return an engagement ring, and was forced to figure out what to do with 5000 dollars of store credit at Tiffany’s.
And then he met her. She just showed up one day at a friend’s house. She was beautiful. Well, not exactly his type. Actually, he usually went for brunettes. And her left eye was a little on the lazy side, if he was being honest. But when she said hello, he was hooked. She was just so friendly. So breathtakingly, proposal-inducingly, friendly. All of a sudden that store credit didn’t seem so useless anymore. He could tell this was going to be the start of something beautiful.

Her.
She met someone at her old roommate’s dinner party that night. He was nice.

Him.
Three days had passed since the night they met. Thing’s just weren’t the same as they used to be. She’d changed. She never talked to him anymore. Ever since that first day, she’d been so distant. He couldn’t understand why, because she said, he distinctly remembered her saying, that she might see him again sometime. But it had been days, and still no word from her. All he wanted was to make her happy. All he wanted was her. But, he decided, she detested him. She really must have loathed him. But what could he possibly have done wrong, he whispered to her photograph.

Her.
On her way to the grocery store one day, she bumped into that man from the party, whose name she couldn’t quite recall. She said hello and carried on with her shopping.

Him.
“Well, it was good to see you…what was your name again?”
Those words had been running through his head ever since the grocery store incident. What did she mean by that? What kind of game was she playing? He couldn’t figure it out, but he knew that he missed the old Her. The Her that would never forget his name, that would ask him out and mean it. Then he realised what she was trying to say. She wanted him to try harder. She wanted him to show her how much he valued their relationship. That was why she’d been avoiding him. He started to develop a plan. It was grand gesture time.

Her.
Her friends had told her that he’d asked for her number. The first message she received from him was cryptic: he was asking for her surname, but had phrased it in such a strange way, as if he was trying to convince her that he already knew the answer, while simultaneously emphasising the importance of the question. She replied regardless.

Him.
He had figured out what she wanted. It was so obvious now.
The reason she was ignoring him, the reason she had put him through all that agony, was because she wanted him to prove just how much she meant to him. A ring wasn’t going to cut it this time. She was desperate, really. It was pathetic that she felt she had to take it this far. But he wanted Her to be happy. This is what you do when you really love someone, he thought. In that moment his hatred for Her was almost as tangible as his devotion.

Her.
The second message she received instructed her to go look outside. She opened the door and screamed. When all the officials had finally gone, and her porch had been sprayed down, she sat there and processed what had happened. There was one thought, in particular, that persisted in crossing her mind.
“He spelled my name wrong.”

Mistaking loneliness for affection since 1997.

Take my light,
I don't want it without you.
Leave me without hope,
carry it into the blue.
Tie down your future
with the penny I'll throw.
Teach me how to play dead,
and I will let you go.

Put me in your shoes,
and tell me something is missing.
Tell me, from now on,
my life is simply existing.
Take my smile and my eyes
and I will take on yours.
I will resent you for your joy,
but never tell, of course.

I'll let you leave,
I'll stop obsessing,
If you do this for me.
All I ask is that you strip me of my optimism,
and leave me simply to be.

And you'll walk away with purpose.
Walk with hope of something.
Live in the light of promise.
And I will aspire to nothing.

He called me beautiful,
said it matter of fact.

I have grown to believe,
I have made myself learn,
that I am more than a face,
that people are more than that.

I am a soul,
I am thoughts and words.
I am a daughter of God-
And then flesh.

I don't need validation,
because it is empty.
Shouldn't need to be told who I am.

But sometime's we're weaker,
and lose sight of our centre.
He called me beautiful.
And I remembered.

The monumental smile
on your continental eyes.

And the impossible question they pose.

I pine in sweet denial,
and build cities from goodbyes.

And reminiscence paves the road.

There is this deep, evasive emptiness
that never ceases to lack control.
That conquers and escapes,
that stirs quiet chaos in my soul.

And there is this voice of vacant words,
which implore me to find structure instead.
But the broken writer cannot rebuild.
The unabridged poet is dead.

And I look at this self pity,
embodied in this girl.
And I have no inclination-
no desire
to be her.

Your lies so killing,
This morning in May.
My screams internal.
I cannot stay away.

I must statue on,
Must parade this good day.
As your lies dismantle
This morning in May.

The wind bites into my skin.
But that dark train's just headed for more darkness.
And he smiles that menacing grin,
littered with broken promises.

The stars have disappeared,
Fallen out of their sockets now.
It was a trick, I had never won.
It was a game, I could never win.

And the devil softly calls me back,
Calls me back to him.

And as your presence wanes
my words become fewer,
my feelings; less vocal.
The day grows irrelevant,
And I can no longer produce
thoughts of any significance.
As if knowing you was blood in my veins,
And I am slowly
                             running out.

He felt something cold making its way down his leg.
When he looked down he saw that it was only his last ounce of sanity,
pure and red, finding an escape from this inhospitable environment.

So carve my name into your chest
and send me pictures, dear.

Write me letters in the red
and bottle all the tears.

Call me an angel.
Tell them I'm lying.
Scream it 'til your words make sense.

Fill your lungs with hatred
and spew out penitence.

Because you know with all your silent flames
and pledged ambivalence,
You know with all the months and years
of burning my pictures as incense.
You know that I'm your demons.
The burden that you bear.
I drove you to hysteria,
you say I brought you there.

So discard your kilogram of flesh
to punish me, my dear.
Leave it at my doorstep,
sweet nostalgia for my tears.

Tell me I tore you apart.
Whisper that I ripped out your reason.
And I will say I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.
I will say this.

But you never voiced your anguish,
your complete disappointment in me.
How was I to know that it was I
who drove you to insanity?

Touch
go
yes
no.
If you're leaving make it fast,
and tell me who I am.

On
off-
It's all I've got
Tell me things that no one asks
and tell me who I am.

There is ocean in your eyes.
And there are storms which no one sees
So lead me on, bring me close,
and tell me who I am.

Put the autumn in your smile.
Weave the sunlight in your hair.
Let it linger for a while.
(And maybe you could take me there)
But tell me who I am.

And your intellect is wasted.
Let me tell you, your words will lose their depth.
Because she hears them and smiles,
but they are hollow to her.
They are just an extension of you.
Just another second, third, hundredth chance at half-assed affection that won't last the week.

I wonder what will become of your words.
Of your presence that fills all spaces in conversation.
I wonder what will happen to your heart.
That is more authentic than most and so contrasts her own.
Your mind that follows no one else.
And eyes which love your mother
and long patiently for the sea.
Your head that is tighter than your hold on me.

If she manages to ensnare you
with her black lips and hungry heart,
then I will forever wonder
If she is pulling these things apart.

It could be a million people.
It could be my demons.
It could be the problems I'm not dealing with.
It could be the people I'm trying not to think about.
It could be the thing I need to hear most.
It's almost definitely not you.
But, heaven help me, it is.

Because you are my demons.
You're a problem I'm avoiding.
You're the person I try not to think about.
And you have become the voice I need to hear most.
So on the other end of this phone,
screaming at me like an angel,
it almost definitely is you.

And, heaven help me, I'm picking up.

I won't cry about you.
I won't write about you.
And maybe you won't exist.

I tried to create something from this,
but my piano did not bleed.

The sound that came out meant nothing in my ears.
It spoke of nothing and asked for nothing
and reminded me of you.

And now you're going to leave,
but my piano did not bleed.

I said your name today.
I thought I said your name.
But I must have said something else.
Because it did not hold the same significance and pain.

The words on my lips were as foreign
as the names of places you've been.
It didn't fill my head with foam-
didn't flood my lungs with ocean.

And the miles and seconds and days and months
did not crush me under your smile.
Because I said your name.
And it was just your name.
And it has lost its charm for a while.

He means very little to me-
on a regular, uninterrupted day.
But when he talks to me,
he is maliciously welcoming.
He's toxically enduring
and determinedly warm.

It's possible Stockholm Syndrome,
it's definite injustice.
Sweet, sweet injustice.
Sweet interruptions.
My sweet bitterness to his sweet nonchalance.
And then;
sweet realisation that I may not be alright,
but merely distracted.

Walk, Walk with your bare feet
to places I've never heard.
Lately, I can't seem to feel
anything but words.

Stand, stand at the crossroads,
wonder where you will go.
Distance becoming more than space,
as I had come to know.

But you talk, talk with conviction
about everything but me.
And I counted for a year.
And I cursed the miles between.

Distance was my occupation.
I tried to measure it with a pen.
And so I did not notice the breach between us-
the ever present end.

The breach that separated
you
from
me,
that no amount of closeness would mend.

And while she lie awake pondering existence in itself;
she realised that it -
it and everything else,
would be always and unavoidably tied to disappointment.
The two are linked-
so closely to the point where they are almost homogeneous.
Because people were broken.
And because she was broken.

It is in the sun,
The rising and falling;
Both self and other,
On which we so depend.
It is all in the sun.

And I'll hope that the time space continuum gets smaller,
That the names on the map lose all meaning,
and the distance becomes just an obligation.

And you'll come to surpass
the person you left here with me.

Break break break
On the sand that still waits, O sea.
And I wish that time could erode
the past that unravels me.

O well for the barefoot boy that
passes the length of the shore.
O well for the fisher without a net
who forgot what the struggle was for.

And the weathered ship moves on
to the place where its cargo must rest.
But, O that I could disembark
or unload this unconquerable mess.

Break Break Break
At thy faithful cliffs, O sea.
But I fear that a day I can never repeat
will forever come back to me.

Because I don't live in a vacuum
there is a black hole inside of me.

And it devours words from outside-
pulls them from their mouths
and into the depths of me.

Every line beckons internal anarchy.
Every syllable punctuates my doubt.

I  
  am
        their                                       I
                 thoughts.                        am
                             ­                                     their
                      ­                                                     words.

And I would that within didn't come from without.

A lovely apparition
I saw in loneliness
You haunted me around,
and I did not resist.

Over time I grew less convinced
that you and I had ever touched,
but you haunted me around
and I expected too much.

I tried to trap you on a page,
to scream you into plain sight.
But you haunted me around,
and I could not face the night.

You're the ghost I can't get rid of-
That I'm hesitant to release.
But you haunted me around

                         And I still have not found peace.

My thoughts are in a state of anarchy
And they crash into your words.
And remember.
And forget.
And do not know what's worse.

Remembering is bitter sweet-
Never to be, always been.
To forget is to cut out all the words
etched into my skin.

And I fall into this silence,
Indecision is my curse.
I remember.
And forget.
And do not know what's worse.

I am greed, want.
She is need, lack.

I am anger and frustration.
She is hope, tenacity.

She is yellow
amidst the grey that I'm become.

But I am success, money.
And she is poverty, dust.

Your silence is killing.
What are you trying to say?

I scream into you
to fill up the space.

But your eternally furrowed brow
tells me I'm in the wrong.

And I stand there-
trying to make amends with a statue of a boy.

You're all the company I would keep,
If choosing were a choice.
If oceans were dams, and miles were feet,
and I could hear your voice.

Our fatal flaw will always be
In my loneliest moments -
You are asleep.

I hear echoes of you
                     in everyone else
                     and everyone else
Can hear them in me.

But you're untouchable,
and though your eyes speak differently;
the invitation is imagined,
the closeness; mere proximity.

I had no instruction,
and no intention to adhere.

You prodded, pulled and pushed
my precautions aside,
passively dealing every blow.
But I couldn't even wound your pride;
You are untouchable.

You are the thing
Which is not a thing-
Yet the only thing that is.
And I - a tiny thunderstorm -
with no regard for this.

You are the man
Who is not a man,
And the only one who is.
And I - an angry child -
I am oblivious.

                                                          Without you I am nothing,
                                                          and still I continue to run;
                                                          wreaking havoc as I go.
                                                          Bruising everyone.
                                                          At times it would seem
                                                          I am determined to be nothing.
You are the friend
Who is not a friend,
But the only friend that is.
And I - a tired fugitive -
Undesperate to resist.

The rain fell down with half its might;
trying to smite the flowers.
But the bed was merely lodged,
The rain used half its power.
There was nothing could be done,
The rain could not pretend.
The flowers waited for the sun
To lift them up again.

I wrote your name.
On myself, my walls,
every scrap of paper I could find.
Tenaciously trying not to forget.
I wrote your name, and in it,
every word you said.
Fighting sleep as it called to me.

But when I awoke; it was gone.
I could not remember why
I wrote your name.

The day is long-
my thoughts are few.
I must stop thinking
about you.

Must black out the sun,
Must fold up the sky.
And somehow return
To before July.

There is a time
When minds should dwell.
It wasn't mine. I knew that well.