I miss the freckles on
your shoulders

I miss the way your lids
close over your greyblueblack
eyes and they trace the slits that your
soft lids have made

I miss the way
your face feels in
my palms

I miss my lips in
your palms, darling

I miss being able
to ask you for help
about anything

I miss how you
would never    could never
say no.
     I miss the smile
you'd give me
                      when I offer you chocolate,
                                              or a kiss.


I miss the way you
would laugh with
me about the way
silly words tasted in our
mouths

          I miss your
stinky armpits,
                             I really do.

I miss pulling you close
head on my arms
and face in your neck
and happiness and
a special comfort that
I can't get from anyone
else.

I miss your deep voice,
even on the other end of a phone.

          I miss the way
you would lift me up
and we would dance
on my bedroom floor
like the world
was watching
But for me, it
was just an excuse
to breathe in the scent
of your hair

I miss how I used
to be happy all the
time.

I miss the long car rides
the only car that has
ever felt like a new kind
of home to me

I            miss
the apartment that
I never got to see,
Why not?

I miss the taste of
sweat on your upper lip

I miss your hot skin
burning through mine, penetrating
enough to make me
sweat underneath my *******

I miss wiping the
the burdens
the hurting
                     from your
brow.

I miss crying
into someone's (your)
shirt
          and sniffling
and wow, you smell like love,


love




         I miss the tiny
hairs on the back of
your calves

         I miss sending you
letters, I still write them.
The last one was 8
pages of heartbreak
and you-would-be-so-proud-of me's
but I could never send
it.

        Not Now.
I miss,
             wow
I just,
             I just miss



you.

I miss
             you



                                I miss you
I miss you I miss you
I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you endlessly I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you



Why didn't you fight for me?


I miss you I miss you I miss you
*I miss you.

It's this emptiness
the feeling of being
punched in the stomach

Not once
                  but every every every every every every every
moment

the skin on my eyelids is
raw

        I want to just
close them  

              and rest

from the pain
       and the (dull screaming)
ness of my headaches
and my
******* sinus infections

and my sore heels
from stepping on the
glass shards

from the window I had to break.

I wish I could blame
you

but the truth is

I slit my own wrists

this time

               and I'm
dealing with this pain
          alone

              I'm feeling it
until this pit

either shrinks
              or disappears

or until you come back



it's all my fault.

kissing the paws of
               a wounded teddy bear

          
          I know this is hard
                           for him, too.


                 We both miss

It's easy to miss
It's the hardest to miss


             you

When you got out of your
car, eyes exhausted and
red from crying the whole
way home,

                     were you thinking of me?




I was thinking of you.

minnesota grasses
grow to fifty feet tall
the sun shrinking behind them
the colour of birth
and souls

and as it disappears,
I travel,
grow
closer and
closer to the man

I have been thousands of miles
away from
these past four days (felt like years and months and loneliness unending)
this ****** bus driver with the
bald spot on his head

is only driving 68 miles
                    
                                 per
                                    
                                    hour..


I could be running faster.

                                into your arms

While daydreaming
during my morning
ritual,
           scars aching from
the hot water on my
skin,
         Make-up runs into
my hair
                 my fingertips
start to crinkle
like my eyes used to
                                       whenever our lips met.

I look down on my left
       breast
                    and see a
                    dark brown
                    eyelash
                   resting there
                    it is not mine.

It has a new meaning now.

I pick it off,  blow
it off my finger

I do not make a wish.

I want to hear you
whistling yourself through
my door

I want to wrap my
legs in your legs

I know that I'm
only sad
        it will get better

but right now

           it feels like

this pain
                 might

    *drown me

This is it.
       I am leaving this
dark-holed up smelly bedroom
that does nothing for
me but give me a place
to sleep.

            And I wake up
and step out of my old ***** bed
        (sheets covered in
your       ***** sweat&tears;)

and I step softly
down the hallway


to the room with the hard tiled floor (chilling my toes )

and into the shower

to begin the process

of washing you out

of me

Dear [god]
                       my weeks of
un ending       numb
   nothing numb

and now.          A
               kind of hurt
that
I needed so
      badly,
                  forcing me
to     feel
                  the things

I couldn't
                  when I
had someone

                     I have no one

And I wonder how that makes you feel

         But I'll probably never know,


now

I could hit you
Because How can we
                        Make love
if I don't know You

You *******

                 You stranger

I'm supposed to be happy with

                 you


But you just make me

want to
               hit my skull against
the air conditioner

                    until I pass out

from loss of blood fluids


and you are so oblivious
                               to this.

It was like
                   you were like

making music with words
                                    that make me

feel again

                I have to practice
being happy.

                             I think.
                                         you think?

because at the end of the day

when my hair is one billionth
of an inch

                   lon
                         ger
than it was yesterday,

                      No one notices

       except you.

Maybe the finches were a
sign that I can't fly
anymore. Maybe you have
clipped my wings






****.

                         I told myself

that I wouldn't write about
you

                            today.

One
        dead yellow finch is enough

for me to interpret it
as a message
                        that my freedom
is dead.
               Hollow bones
   so easy to break
by larger things

                               And I just
all of a sudden
became very frightened of the
things around me

            Fluorescent lights humming-wheezing
Long Hallways With No Windows-
                                                        ­      anywhere



signs that lead me to
believe that there is
                no escape, if I
                              needed to.

If I can keep this going,

maybe you'll get why I

pull away when you kiss my

lips


                   It's because I

am crazy for you.



         Crazy

                          like yellow finches

    flying straight into glass pane doors


                    and the shock

                                                kills me

A Brick is tied
to my left ankle

And last night

and the night before
  
        and the day before

I have been hauled into a
deep           muddy river

and you
can't
save me

because
I've been drowning

    for too long.


My whole life.



                               See?

I should write,
                 I keep writing about
Men
                  In my life
and they tear me apart

I want to write about
my ****
                    and my feet

and my knuckles
                                because those

          are the things that matter;;

                                                                 today.
I should write.
                    I can't write
about anything that doesn't involve body
parts or some sort of
        soul connection

and, like gonorrhea becomes
resistant to antibiotics
                                        over time


you, are
slowly


becoming resistant to
                   my *******.

I love water the way you love music

My life revolves around it, I drink it
                                     in through my lovepores
You have a neverending
string of notes and tempos
                always slipping right through your fingers

I grew up in bathtubs, pools, rivers
             ponds, lakes
I dipped my toes into the places
I felt most at home.


Maybe you grew up on MTV and cassette
tapes in car rides
                      and piano.


I'm sinking
                            in this

and at least we both know what
it feels like to be obsessed

my best inspiration
is you
           i look into your deep eyes (always greyblueblack)
and i know

that the red carnations
you gifted to me
                 meant much more
than i love you

because you've already told me this
                                             countless times.
The red carnations

didn't mean I love you.

The red carnations

meant



You are so beautiful

                                      because
                                        I don't always

                                        hear it
                                                             enough.

Today

I saw a dead yellow
        finch
                    its body crushed
on the cold black pavement
    of the parking lot

I remember our
conversation from 3 days
ago.

What would you be
                      if you could be
                              anything?

(i took a few seconds
to think.

a bird.
a bird that should never be caged.
a yellow finch, tiny and powerful and proud)

"a yellow finch."





I'd like to change my answer

                    to something less
                                           sad.

communication is always a plus.

late at night when i finally tell you
that i don't know you.

and i want to.

and you respond in the perfect way;
you just talk to me





about the **** that matters, for once

not about our plans for the day or the monotonous "i miss you, do youmissme?"

but about the inside of your soul

you take it out of your bellybutton
turn it inside out
and show me,
everything

i needed this


to make sense of myself.

my days are rooted in
              frustration and
not enough sleep.

When you leave our nest
this, every, morning
                                 I mourn
I long for you
                          The doctors
all say the same thing::

I've got 8 months

to live.



          what a long
                 winter this will
                           be.

your sweet moss covered
lips
caress my aching wide hips

your hot chocolate breath
flows through the fabric of my dress

sweetly
              sweetly

we lie
       in our nest


once again

You once said to
me      (in more or
                     less words)

that you were happy to share
the moon
         with someone you
care about.


I look at it now
and I talk to the man
up there
               I say
                       I love you

and ask him to pass along
the message.

this shirt smells
like sadness
and joy
and home
      in the most
                    beautiful way

and i can't explain it to
you

but you know what i'm
trying to say

before i even part
my lips

if you were items in a box

you could never be
boxers
and old photos

because you wear briefs
and we never take pictures together
and I love that.

you haven't yet realized?.

i don't need to separate you from everyone: two three four twenty six boys and girls that once loved me.

do not ever be offended
by the memories of them that i keep
because the memories of them
made me into the girl that you fell in love with.

can you understand?

you planted a whole *** of red carnations in my heart
never dying from cold snow
or too much rain

you will never be an old heart bracelet

because moon earrings will always stay in my ears


you will never be a shoebox of letters

because i keep yours under my pillow.



you could never be
a christmas box of tears

because i could only ever cry into your chest.

to put you in that box

well, i couldn't.

i can only think of our roadtrip and our laughter


i could never put you in a box

do you get it?

when i see you from far away i see you as a human

a beautiful human with your own brand, your own kind of perfection
a functioning body
hands as tools and feet as structure

and then you light up

and i scoff
and i think to myself

what a waste.

i keep your
Love
in my back  pack

it rattles around
                  slaps against
my math and communication textbooks
i take it out
   ; ; ;           when i see happy
                                                   couples on campus

and i spread it on my palms
like {lotion~~~
it leaves my hands
                         glittery
            and very soft.



I keep your
LOvE
          
in my pocket.
it jingles and jangles
against my keys and my hairbinders and an old bracelet that broke [[[i'll put it back together eventually.}

I like to
I like to stick
I like to stick my fingertips
in there.
and swirl your love
between my thumb and
,forefinger,

some
sometimes i pull it out
and i
smear it on my
eyelids

           so everyone will know why my eyes shine

hot tears of brown
fall into my ears
and dye my hair a new color

one that i don't like.


This
"missing you"
is so much more than my tiny worm body can hold

it's not missing anymore.
it's not
it's hot, hard
pain
like a brick oven and you've shoved me inside

it scorches my hands
and i kiss my palms
pretending that they are yours

and it soothes me
like a shirt
or a song

until the shirt gets washed
and the song becomes warped and sticky from scratched cds

how long will it be before you can no longer recharge my battery?
You fill me up
but i always die again


but
it gives me life when you
give me


your
sweet softness
and rough
             beautiful
gracious
           gloriousness
of the spine of your back, your back is
your back is
my back

what happens when you cannot recharge my
battery
so easily?

what happens when it feels like you
are far away

even
when
you
are near

My daughter will not crawl from crib to tanning bed.

She will learn
the terms “unnattainable beauty standards” before she learns the alphabet.

She will never compare herself
to anyone.

She will never compare herself to Britney, Christina, Selena.

She will never compare herself to Cinderella, Ariel, Belle,
Hell. No.

She will never aspire to be the sultry *** kitten taking seductive showers in shampoo commercials.
No.

My daughter will be named Venus.
The goddess of love, beauty, fertility,

The most beautiful woman I ever saw.
She is plump, fullfigured barebreasted wide hipped with curly hair covered mons

Goddess.

My daughter will grow up to be ******, poisonously beautiful

With long locks of goldenrodred hair, like her mother.
Greyblueblack eyes and shoulder freckles, like her father.

And if I can never become pregnant,
my sisters daughters will be my daughters
skin the color of cinnamon or chocolate, or vanilla ice cream
and just as sweet.

Men, women, boys, girls will pine over her, fall in love with her radiating skin
that will never look photoshopped, but always real.

As if the sun came down from the sky to give her the glow of all the light in the universe.

She will love her body the way that my mother taught me to love mine.
I will show her pictures of Whoopi Goldberg and America Ferrera and Margaret Cho and Marilyn Monroe

And she will know that beauty
is not a synonym
for skinny.

Beauty
is not a synonym for
****.

Beauty is not defined by size
or color
or texture, no.

It is defined by how she distributes
her love
and light
to everyone she meets.
no exceptions.



and she will never doubt that she is lovely.

I am oddly expected
to understand and
            enjoy learning about
scientific experiments

when all I can
bring my body to
            think about

is long tanned legs
******* that jump out
at me, like happy birthday michelle
she's so dripping wetmoist, shiny like a windshield
red pink and lightly browned
and I am so glad to be female.

wow
        biology is a waste of time

                           i should have taken anatomy

i am streaming

like feathers and electric cords

across the floor

my hair is spread
like spilled water
over this persian rug that i lay upon


i spread my legs

jolene
i am naked

and waiting for you


i am
hungry

and i am

weak
from running

but the sweat
feels like a cold shower


and i cringe
and wince
from the pleasure
i tremble


from every flick
and every lick


oh, jolene


i would pay so much more than thirty dollars

for the pleasure you bestow upon me

thank god for the *******.

if i could tell you everything,
i would tell you with this song.
but i won't sing it to you,
my throat is dry and
aching from crying in my

cold metal framed bed

i feel like coat hangers in the front closet
and clean desks

and pens without ink.

i would sing to you
but i can't hold a tune

i feel like a shampoo bottle
after two and a half months


if shampoo bottles could feel,
i would.


i would feel so much.
the fire and the cold

and the ache
that sweet sweet ache

and i can't figure out which part of me it's coming from.


if i could tell you everything,
i would sing to you
but i am too weak to hold up this sheet music.


i hope you can understand

but i will whistle you the tune
of my heavy heart
beat

I have wide hips, a wide waist.
chubby cheeks and
short legs
given to me

by my mother.

she is not a witch.
she has wrinkles, yes
but they do not define her
nor would she let them.

I have no interest in making friends with fish,
small birds,
candlesticks or clocks,
or rodents.


I need human contact to survive.

If you put me alone in a house in a forest,
I will not clean.  
I will not wait to be saved.
I will not ask for your permission to go outside.

I will leave.


I do not need a prince to live happily ever after.

I have short bushy hair
and a ******.
yes, it's there.
underneath my cotton underwear and long lace skirts
that no one is telling me to wear.

I have a sister.
I go to her for advice.
I look up to her and I talk to her about
Everything anything everything

I do not need a prince.



I look up to my mother.
She is not a source of fear,
she is a source of comfort
and relief.


what are We teaching our daughters?

these imaginary princesses
teach our babygirls

to have long eyelashes
to have two inch waists
long luscious hair
*** appeal


and if they don't,

they will never live happily ever after.

If I need all that to get one,

I do not want a prince.

I do not want to be anyone's
cinderella.

I will not chase after anyone
if they choose to leave.

I will weep into my sister and mother's shoulders

But that poor,
poor
princess

will always be chasing
squirrels
to talk to

and men
to be saved by.

When will we teach them to save themselves?


When will they teach themselves
that there is no such thing as perfect

men see me
little more than a face
legs
****
*******

to you
i am only a hole for you
to stick your **** into.

i am so much more than that.

i have eyes and fingertips
ankles and feet to hold me up as you kick me down.

i was 12 and naive
when i was *****

i was 17 and in love
when i was *****.

i was 19 and moving too fast.
when i was *****.


did you know that you ***** me?
did it ever cross your tiny ball of grey matter that i meant no when i said it?
that the look on my face was not pleasure
but pleading
for you to stop?

no, it may not have hurt my beautiful little cuntgirl
but it hurt the girl inside my heart

and she hates you

she never wants to see you again.

did you know that you ***** me once?

i was 12
on a tattered couch
reeking of cigarettespotandcatpiss.

and he pushed my head further down
until i gagged
and i gagged

over and over
did you know that you ***** me?


whatever reason.
whatever reason you gave me
will never
could never
heal this anger
and disgust.


i was 17
when he assumed
that i wanted his **** inside me.
and he granted me the favor
over and over
and i loved him too much to say no
but i cried
when it was over.
and i left him in his sad armchair
with his pants around his knees
and my heart on my sleeve

but no more.


i was 19
and i was no longer stupid
i knew that two weeks was too fast
i knew that if he asked, i would say no

i told myself, if he asks, i will say no.
i will tell him no if he asks.
i knew that if he asked, i would say no.

he never asked.

he penetrated
and shoved against me like bulldozers

and left me feeling so cold
with my head on his chest


but you were not the first
and you will probably not be the last
man
to see ME as a hole

for your ****


did you know that you ***** me?

you did.

off feelings
in my ankles
and my elbows and wrists

i cry tears from the spaces inbetween my fingernails
where dirt often gets
[stuck]

i am new
i am old
i am a user of birth control
vegan sandwiches
and red carnations

i am an understander of
communication skills
calendars
laundry hours

i spell correctly
i am different
i am not an *******

like everyone else

but maybe I AM selfish

                yeah
                           i am.

I'm needy and god

i love burying my face
in the forest of soft
hair on your chest.

I'm selfish
                    ask me to
                     give you s  p  a  c  e


and i will promise to try

but the distance will
always be too far

until the day I
                sleep in your
                   skin

perhaps it's selfish of me
to assume that i am your
priority

sometimes
                   and time again
    
I am forgetful.

      I forget that you are
your own person.
i'm not you.

                    
And maybe I love you too much.

i miss you so much when you're gone,
so when you come back

I try to push our bodies together
and make us one

so that i can understand what it's like to be someone else
other than me.
maybe i live through you

and maybe you need space.

i find that i avoid comprehending
the complexity
of the idea of
            
                        other people.

i love it so much
that you dance with me.
in my room, you twirl me
to Louis Armstrong, trumpets are familiar to us both
Or you sway me back
and forth
           on bridges
they lift us up


                             so high

and you wrap your large hands
tightly but gently (like you're
                                  afraid I might
                                  fly away
                                                  -I won't)

around my waist

                             and look into my
                              windows
                                                    and see
                              all the rain


                                           how I miss you
                                                         when you're gone.

my tiny cousin
with 8 years of age
compares you to the      
                           old boyfriend

the one that no longer crosses
my mind
                  at all

but you (darling-dear--)

you cross my mind every morning
                                             moment
                                                evening, alone

and my tiny cousin and I

agree

         that we like you so
much more than
we liked him

the feeling
the rush
of your hot red blood
moving swiftly
pounding
inside of me

is not what i'm used to.

I'm not used to fingernails scratching
teeth biting flesh
deep hard fast pounding
pounding
pounding
on
in my head



I'm used to the sweet slowness
of *******
     with soft caresses
      and kissing
of eyelids

I'm sorry
I couldn't tell you
when you were still
in my bed

we've become accustomed

to a beautiful schedule

of setting alarms for

three in the morning

and we preview how

it feels to sleep together

we intertwine our naked

bodies

yours, wide and tough, smooth

mine, curved and soft, round

and you said to me

that this is your favorite place

in the world.

how sad; to think of emptiness

when you leave

each night

sometimes i wish you did out of this world
nice things for me. Like send me flowers.
Surprise me by calling me on the phone, because
you never do. Write me letters about
your day. Make the effort to come see
me on a Thursday.
               When you think I look especially
beautiful, don't say it. Instead, grab me
by the waist and slow dance with me.
       Read me poems just because.
Touch my hair. Rub my neck or back.
When you listen to a song that reminds you
of me, write down the title so
you can play it for me when we
see each other. Make things for me,
like ceramics or pictures.
                              kiss my nose, forehead,
                                                and cheeks.
kiss me everywhere. Kiss every single one
of my fingers.

                                        I wish i never had to
                                        ask you to do these things
                                        for me

I'm not into politics
i don't care who the president is
if you're a communist, go ahead.
i'm not into debates and rallies
i don't vote for one side, i'm three dimensional
i don't care for democracy, fascism,
or whatever it is you are putting
in my hair, underneath my fingernails.
I'm not into that volcano of
confusion and opinions, screeching for
security of the word "true" but
all i hear is the ringing in my
ears saying OPINION
           and sure, i have a few
I like to think that everyone is
misinformed and my way is not left

but when religious *******
start the stabbing

they're going to go for the throats
of the sad souls that betrayed them

the cigar smoking;grunge wearing;music loving;peacemaking; hippies children

and i will survive the fight

because i had nothing to do with it?

no
i will never be a part of your
war

on policies
and your

****** hating

I will live my life as a lovechild

in a perfect world

where there are no idiots waving their ***** around.


these are
happy days we live in

love is not what is crazy
love is not hysterical

                                         or insane

love is not giving up
or pulling away

love is not a scary or
confusing thing
    ve is affection
lo

love is your favorite pair of pants
that fit just perfect
love is Meryl Streep and Morgan Freeman

love is walking through the woods
and it starts to snow

leaning your head back, snowflakes float onto your tongue



love is selfless
love is selfless
love is selfless


love is the thing that
knocks at your door.
.

I can't believe it's only four thirty.
I feel like I've been laying here
for a long time.
         I'm miserable, sick, hurting.
It's keeping me awake

             my bed is too hard
   and my brain is too soft

                               for sleep

                           at four thirty in the afternoon

I sometimes forget what you look like


                      yes
your ****** expressions
                             and your teeth

And I feel so wrong

You are the one I shouldn't be able to
forget
                       you should be scarred into my mind by now,
                                                                        lover.

A deep crimson red, like
the deepest part of me you've
                                      seen

Put that down, before you hurt
                                           yourself.

if i don't do it
                                          i know i'll forget
how to.
                     i know my poems
are ****
               Okay?
                             I know they
are. But I'm not writing
them for you. Sure , I might be wasting my
time but time will all
be gone soon anyway.
                Canyou   even understand
the concept of time?
                     then don't
               judge my poems
                    
                               with that crackpotmind

sometimes i get so angry
at the men around me
spewing out words without intent
since when is it okay to call me
a *****?

Today, I wear nothing.
I strip away the hot heavy
shoes, the tights that constrict
my airway. My underwear, lacy
and uncomfortable and unseen by
everyone but me.
My deepest darkest most sacred secret
is held down
            slipping between my legs is
my moist wet womanhood
not stopped by any obstacle
and you try to touch me there
on my pink love button,
touching it
to understand a different part
of me that you wouldn't have
been able to see otherwise.
I keep it hidden.
it comes out
when they come off


Release

there is nothing between my
*******,
              only skin
that's the way it will stay
until the day when i become
attached
                 then, I will keep my problems
there. I will keep hatred and
the harsh words between my
plump fleshy hills
I will keep them there until
you strip me down and
wipe them away with your
rough fingertips and lift my
body and soul up to a better
place, more accessible to you.
                the bra is burned
                my body is alive
                my body is ash
                now.

so wipe them away
              wipe away my burdens
and connect us now
         crawl inside my cocoon
       and turn me into a butterfly