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

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

I wish I could travel back in time
   to meet my 13 year old self
and tell that confused
                         gorgeous child
to run away.

Run away, pretty girl
run away from the boys that
are trying to use your body

Run away from that razor
run away from that bottle of pills
and do your best, use all of your will
to stop that soul from aching
without needing to bleed.

You don't have to
fix anyone.
You just have to survive.

Run away from that screaming
                  in your head.
Drown it out with poetry
                             and music
until you either
lose your hearing
or
you lose yourself
in sweet soul feeding spreading goodness

Run away from your father
                     until he learns how
                        to love you.


Run away from those girls
until you are strong enough
to realize that they're
so wrong about you.

Run away, gorgeous girl
Run away from all the
people that have hurt you

Run away from all the people that want you to fix them
Just take a deep breath and realize that you can't fix anyone but yourself

Run away from the guy who can't commit to you
Run away from that ****** up kid that wants to put his fingers inside you
Run away from that girl that calls you fat

Run away from your own ****** feelings

You're just not old enough to deal with them yet
No one should have to deal with that

Not you, you gorgeous scared little thirteen year old.

I think maybe,
      
                           just maybe
if I could tell her that

that maybe I wouldn't
                      feel so ****** up
                                  today.

because no 13 year old knows
            how to deal
                      with the things I
                                faced when I
          was 13 years old.

and no 20 year old woman knows how to fix the scars from a ****** up past, one
that has damaged this skin, damaged that ability to trust, damaged damaged damaged ****** up that ability to let somebody in, damaged this heart so much that it's forgotten how to feel, turned off those feelings because they never lead to good things, damaged the part of me that knew how to be happy. damaged the part of me that had hope. damaged and ****** it all up beyond repair.

Because I tried for years to
keep my head above water
only to realize
             that I drowned a
long time ago
                
and I think
it might be too late

to pull myself out

of this black lake
of self infliction
and pain addiction
and
give myself

a chance at living.

deli meats and cheeses
i look past them at soft crinkling smiling faces


and i drink my java
warms up my hands and ******* and i sweat
in my coat


walking up and down the isles

I see trail mix
and sunchips

and sweet sweet sweets
the yummies

that i adore

chocolates
especially

dark chocolate cocoa orange cherry strawberry berry red brown

it's the sweetness and saltiness
of summer time ice cream

It's the cold crispness
of carrots and snap peas

It's the warmth and comfort
of big muffins and a plate of hashbrowns
at Perkin's
after a stressful morning



spice smells
of pad tai noodles


sourdough bread, fresh baked
crunch crunch on the outside
soft hot squish
inside
(save that part for me, i eat them separate
-you laugh)

how many times did we
laugh
about how you ate that bug
and we were never picky



cherries
all those cherries.





we ate nutella
on bread,

washed it down with cold organic orange juice
from a cafe neither of us had ever heard of

and tofu
tofu tofu

always cooked perfectly (we wondered how they do it)
(i still don't know)

chocolate, melting slowly

"you missed some."

-------just an excuse to kiss me.
i giggle


peanut m&m;'s

turn my tongue colors.

Watermelon at a potluck
wedding cake
cheesy potatoes
and an extra helping of bread
(we laughed so hard at the white bread, squished into a cube)

ruby red
made you wince

I drink it straight from the bottle
and smile

remembering every kiss
that tasted of grapefruit
in that tent

every kiss that tasted of salt
from the eggs?
or from the sweat on your lips

the sweat on your lips.

we kiss more
i smile into your lips
i remember that, especially

we never got sick of each other
nutella on everything, now.
especially on s'mores


i smile with every memory




i put my hands in pockets, the cold rushes to meet my face
in the ice cream aisle

i cool down as i graze
through the tubs or corn syrup and double churned triple churned
cream with extra fudge

sherbet

i chuckle to myself


memories memories
of sitting up high
with you,

sand on our toes
chocolate caramel fudge coffee
on our tongues

love

in our hearts


you remember.

the taste of that summer

always be surprised
be cautious of words
and how you affect others
love him
cry when you are sad
never lose your sense of faith
love and forgive when you are wronged
touch baby animals and live your life
remember that you were small once
be grateful for your life and the opportunities given to you
go to school
don’t lie
be mindful of yourself
stay healthy and exercise to make yourself happy, not for others
cry when you are angry
compliment strangers
give small gifts to those who deserve them for no other reason but that.
swearing is a waste of a language
spend your time sleeping and you will wake up full of dreams
belch and ****, quietly.
apologize to enemies, move on.
drink tea
enjoy simple pleasures
don’t watch tv or read the newspaper
except the Sunday funnies.
smile at people when you pass them in hallways, make firm eye contact
have children and love them for who they are, no matter what
make a difference in the lives of people around you
giving is a bigger joy than receiving
flowers need appreciation as much, if not more than people
write poetry and live your life
don’t let people insult you.
stay safe
drink merlot because it tastes good, not to get drunk
offer help when someone looks as if they need it
don’t pass up chances to meet new people

*cry when your heart hurts from being too full of love

men write poems about ******* women
and vaginas and ****
and glorious juices and getting drunk after

and I can’t
because I have a ******
and ****
and I get uncomfortable if they want to drink after.

and if I wanna write about how I really like it
when he climbs on top of me
and puts his **** into my warm hot love-cave,

it’s just ****** poetry.
by a woman
and it doesn’t mean anything
but if I was a “****”
a “*****”
and I said “no”
and wrote a poem about “****”
it would make women love me as a feminist

but I’m not a feminist
I just like it when he ***** me
and his chest hair falls out
and covers my ******* and goes into my bellybutton


I don’t mind having to
lint roll
the sheets

I opened my laptop
to write a poem about a windowsill

and I found one of your ***** hairs.
on the space bar
it was a happy moment.

don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s   o  f   t  e  r
t   h  o  u  g  h  t  s.

Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
    
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?

they’re uncomfortable

well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.

You don’t need your heart; I can feel.

I can feel for you.




So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?

right.

Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.

I can
Think For You.


Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****,
***,
*******,
legs,
don’t have brains.




Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.

That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******?
Shut up.

You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ******, with the
*******, with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.


Please      your     man

Make      the      food

wear      the      shoes

There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.

No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,

just ****, ***, *****, legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.

Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.

Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,

those   d e v i l      traps

eating your sweet feet.

all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****.
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, ****, ***.

You
Are
Nothing

There’s this beautiful girl at my school
And she smokes a pack a week

And she’s pregnant


She’s got beautiful eyes and that’s all I can see
Her baby will have beautiful eyes too.

And she moans out loud in the lunchroom, “man, I’m going to be so fat in a few months.”


And I swear to god that whenever I see her,
I want to lift up her shirt
and press my cheek against the life beating inside her
and hope that it soaks into my pores
So I can feel something as real as that.

But when I have a baby girl someday
I will love her
Like I love the taste of a grapefruit on hot summer days
I will love her like every ****** I have ever had
I will love her like every prayer I have ever whispered in my car
I will love her like how I miss my dad sometimes

And my baby girl will know that I love her because when I put her on one of those horses on the carousel, I will kiss her hand every time she comes back around to me
and I’ll miss her every second she’s away

And I’m going to teach her so much more than her daddy ever could.



My baby girl’s gonna learn that everybody’s going to die someday
So she should try to meet everyone as soon as possible.

And I’m gonna make sure she never has *** with a person she doesn’t love
But I’m gonna make sure she falls in love every day.


I’ll teach my baby girl to love the way I’ll love her
and then

I’ll love her more every day
until I die or
until I forget whose hands are attached to my wrists.
But I'm sure I’ll remember
when she holds them.

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.

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.

the last time we
****** was pumped
with passion and
there was an extra
flavor there that I
am now proud to
admit was
              awkward.

You pulled your laptop
into the bathroom
and the picture was
so blurry that
I couldn't really
tell if you were
biting your lip
or grinning
insanely.
I was twisting
uncomfortably
in my bed,
trying to pose in a
way that didn't
feel as though
my legs would go numb
and drop off my
hips in ****** apendages
but that also
didn't cause my stomach
rolls to emerge
in a way that
suggested I could
be popped into
an oven and devoured.

The time before that,
We were ******* each other
goodbye. There were
black make- up stains
on your dorm room
pillow and some mixed
smells of regret and
my **** juice. You tried
to reassure me that
we'd stay in touch-
that you would *******
call. I promised I
would try to feel better
about the situation

but promises are
meant to be broken,
especially if they're made
by 2 ex-lovers at
four in the morning.

The time before that
was make-up ***.
I never told you this,
but I wasn't really
sorry. I
think I needed to
get ****** by that
other guy
    to prove to myself
that I was worth
fighting for.
(Besides, it's
not like you and I
were still together.)

The time before
that was on a Tuesday
before we had to
go to class.
(I always sat in front
of you, and we
would pretend that
the other didn't exist-
but your deep voice
sweeping the floor behind me
made it very difficult)
I remember
smelling your armpit
on my hand, and
wondering why that smell
got me so excited.

The time before that,
we both begged the
other to make love
to our sweet aching
lonely bodies while,
outside, the kids were
smoking *** and laughing.
My hands burned like
hellfire against the
back of your neck
and that sweet
melancholy sensation
and questions formed
inbetween our teeth
Do you still love me
        what will this
look like, come tomorrow?

Then, the time
before that, I
was ******* you
while alone in the
privacy of my room
(you were asleep in your bed, I'm sure)

I sobbed,
tugging at my *******
in a frenzy,
plunging into myself
so hard that the
next morning, I was
sore when I sat
down. The way
I imagined you inside
of me, back home
again which I guess,
at that point, is
where I thought
you belonged.
But now, I guess
I'm not so
                sure

The time before
that, we
were falling apart
and we both
knew it. I
think I lay numb,
underneath you,
going through the motions
thinking Thank God for
muscle memory. Without
it, I would be as
much of a robot on the
outside as I
felt on the inside.
And that would be
a ****** way for you
to find out that
I didn't love you
        anymore.

The time before that,
we were drunk
you asked me
a thousand times if
I was sure I wanted
to. You even made me
promise I wouldn't regret
it in the morning.
But promises are made
to be broken, especially
if they are made by
two drunk lovers at
four in the
morning.

The time before that,
we were in your
back yard.
The moon shone down
on us through the
willow branches.
I heard crickets.
  Just the right
amount of tipsy
   both of us pulled
our pants down
past our hips,
     you placed your
hoodie under my
***. I breathed in
the smell of your neck
I pulled you so close
I could swear our bodies
were going to melt
into each other

and the time
before that

was in the morning on
a saturday
         I kissed you
softly awake, pressed up
against your hot
skin under the covers
I swore I loved you

              and the thing
I have so far failed to mention

                   is that I
                           still do

i step into the shower,
my hair flowing down my back

and i hear the bathroom door open and close
-click
           you enter

i ask if you're coming in,

           you pull back the curtain
and you stand there
like a mountain,
          absolutely majestic

your skin warm and inviting

i push my hair behind my ears

you step into the shower
                the stream hits your body

like a waterfall in Minneopa
in the middle of a hot summer day.

you lay three fingers against me,
like an electric current
screaming "I want" over and over.

You bend down to kiss my forehead,
the water spreads over your face

and rushes between my legs

             you kiss my lips

you place your remaining ******* on my waist

I snap back into place:
sitting in a hard plastic chair
listening to a short bearded man
go on forever
about some dead philosopher
who has never touched me.

and again, you are far away

As I listened to the
WORDS
spewing from your ugly
drama filled tongue(you're addicted to saying the word **** and attaching people to it)

        I tried to stay happy
for as long as possible

I knew that "****" would sink in
and take away my
contentment. (i was just sitting there, eating my cold lasagna
when i heard you begin
your disgusting rant)

Your words
                       would make statements,
make music full of hate.
not music at all, really.

more like sounds. noisy WORD
sounds
angrily
the way a crow sounds
the way a baby cries
the sound of that pathetic boy
getting picked on
near the swingset
by two older kids because of his snowflake winter boots
but

YOU don’t feel
bad for him

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

my head is filled to the brim

with other **** i have to do

like job applications
going to class
reading ******* textbooks
dress rehearsals laundry
writing papers that won't make any sense
drinking too much coffee




when all i want to do
is lay shirtless on your floor with you

and write poetry about the palms of your hands

let's just call this a suicide note

                  because that's
           what it should be.

If I was still who I
           was
                          a month ago

then there would be
     slits up this wrist
and an empty bottle in
       this fist

But instead I can
appreciate
                    that I don't
have more scars.

if i thought they were dumb before,


now (after the geologist broke my heart)


i think they're

lethargic,
obtuse,
pointless,
inane,
futile

(boring as ******* hell).



i will now stay away from men in climbing boots.


so, thank you.

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

I hear water singing,
the different musical symphonies of the rivers,
lakes and the vast ocean sea;

The sweet sorrowful song of the whale--the same song as when I first heard it,
off the edge of a boat in a yellow rain jacket when I was less than nine years old,

The children laughing as tadpoles swarm gaily around their tiny toes--the cream colored foam swallows their legs up to their knees in the orange midday sun,

The chirping of a dolphin, kissing the deep blue waves each time it leaps,

The seahorses galloping and neighing in the salt sea and the catfish purring and licking their paws in the lakes of Wisconsin and Minnesota,

The seagulls calling to the fish to leap out of the water to become breakfast,

The sobbing of the naked woman in her bathtub at home, the suds up to her pink neck--toes turning to raisins,

The deep bellowing of a cruise ship, filled with all of the people laughing inside its belly,

The ocean whispering against the sand as the moon is gazing into the largest mirror in the universe,

The sun singing loudly in the morning time, peeking above the horizon and pulling back the curtains of the night, greeting all of her lovely friends; bold, sweet, and strange.

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

you wear the thick glasses



and the plaid shirt


and i see you at the library all the time

with your plastic coffee cup



your stomach overflowing

with art



we could be sisters
if you weren't such a stuck up *****

ha ha ha

when will these cops learn
that their hard work means nothing
when the curtain falls upon Baltimore
and the frightening dark sky washes upon us

when will these people learn that they are powerless
that the system isn't broke,
that we're the ones that are broke.
and that means the system is working

when will these people learn
that black means criminal
and white means

God
When will these people learn that

wait, they can't learn
because the schools have been shut down
but that's okay
'cause the new light rail train was built and
it runs from north minneapolis to the prison

when will they learn that
Freddie Gray is Ferguson
and Mike Brown is Baltimore
and our sons are alive, but they're not living

when will we learn that diversity means nothing
if there is not first liberation
when voices are silenced,
they lose more than their right to speak

when will they realize that
riots
are
justified

Tu me ves como una mujer muy fuerte (you see me as a strong woman
Estoy feliz y fuerte y feminista (i am happy, strong and feministic
Mi ****** es mi major amiga (my ****** is my best friend
Juntos somos activistas (together we are activists

Mi pelo esta corto y tengo confianza (my hair is short and i have confidence
Te aparecio como una esposa, hija, hermana, amiga. (i appear to you as a wife, a daughter, sister, friend
No me pinto. (i don't wear makeup
Mi cuerpo es bonito y no me interesa que otras piensan. (my body is beautiful and i don't care what others think

No necesito hombres en mi vida. (i don't need men in my life
No se amo mi novio (i don't love my boyfriend
Ni mi padre(nor my father
Me abandono.(he abandoned me

quiero a mi mama (i want my mother
Mi hermana(my sister
Mis amigas (my friends
Y mi vida. (and my life

Pero, en la noche (but, at night
Cuando estoy solo (when i am alone
Mi espejo transforma en un monstruo. (my mirror turns into a monster
Mi pelo es largo asi que puedo esconderme detras. (my hair is long so that i can hide behind it

Pienso que no puedo estar solo (i don't think i can be alone
Estoy triste sobre mi padre, (i am sad about my father.
Me abandono. (he abandoned me
Me odio. (i hate myself

Mi cuerpo es mi enemigo. (my body is my enemy
Solo quiero dormir y comer (i just want to eat and sleep
Mi vida significa nada (my life means nothing
Mi cara es diferente (my face is different

Cada dia (*every day

can’t get my mind off of
sexsexsex

lying eyes
fruitful decadent lips
sharp neck
shoulder
******
bellybutton
hips (round and hard like a rising cliff--
heaving and sliding)
and then
comes the places where I feel at home
where you like to burrow
make love to me

before the sun goes down again

2:08 a.m
on a major freeway: completely empty except for
me

pulling off,
i see that only
the streetlights are still awake
red yellow green, red, yellow, green
I passed prostitutes
and pimps, too many drunks
too many homeless


to count.

thought of
How many people
at this moment
           are making love
How many

are getting *****

thought of
How many
are making choices
about what to wear
to work
tomorrow
today

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 *******.

there was one night
i remember particularly


when the candles were lit

on the bedside table
and in my soul


i was on fire

for you


there were hours of
my lips against yours



hot warmth of your back
warming my palms

I couldn't believe that
your body
was inside
of my body.

we were one person.

the skin and the smell
of your sweat

a constant reminder of our nakedness
wow


breathtaking
wetness
of everything


peeking at
our *******
we both looked down
you pulled out
wet from me

wet like everything we knew

like the lake that we swam naked in
or the river
where i first thought

"love"

is what this is.


we looked down
and the hair
sticking to my legs
from the delicious sweet muskiness

shimmering

the sweat on my body was not yours
it was not mine

it was Ours

for hours

I enjoy sitting in coffee shops watching business men be busy
Drinking burnt coffee
Watching my leg hair grow
noticing that my pits stink
Watching people fight over booths that have an electric outlet to plug in their laptops
Which is funny because I'm writing this on my cell phone while everyone assumes I'm texting.
Well, at least I know that I'm not.

this pit in my stomach





lets me know

that i am freaking
the ****
out.

it feels good.
insanity is running through the roots of my hair


when i remembered today
that you are probably
shaving your *****

in preparation


for Elisabeth



I'm rooting for you, you disgusting weasel.
i hope it's the best ******* will ever give anyone


and i hope it means

nothing to her

listen up, *******.

The last time I saw you,
a year ago,
I was weak.

The sight of you
made me sick to my stomach.

Terrified of who you made me,
into some pathetic girl
that needed someone

that needed to

be loved by someone
anyone.

Terrified that I would become who you wanted me to be:

The girl that would rather let someone tear her soul apart
than be alone




But I am not that girl.

**** no,

I'm not.

Things have changed since you saw me last, *******.

I am too gorgeous
and too strong
too independent
too energized
too spiritual
too funny
*too loved

to let you mess with my head
or my heart
again.

I am his soda; he drinks me in

caresses me with his hands

brushes lips against me

for the period of bliss, life is heaven

                                Pure Ecstasy

I am his soda
  
Until one day, unexpectedly

he drops me

on the pavement- Crunch! with his foot.

he tosses me carelessly  

into a bin. He threw me in.

He threw me away.


I am an empty, crushed soda can.

The recycling man soon arrives

melting me, molding me back into myself

He fills my soul with something
  
bubbly and sweet

So here I'll wait

for a boy who won't crush me up

But instead, pour more Love into his cup.

I let some guy **** me today.



I did not know him,
                                nor did I want to.


I simply slid into his bed
       and made myself hard and cold

I wanted, I think,
              to ******* out of my mind

But I only succeeded
                      in splitting myself into
   two parts.

The empty shell of me,

                   and my soul. My feelings,
       my emotions, my thoughts.
                  My strength and goodness

shrunk down to a wet pile in
the pit of my stomach

And it is only now
                          that I will
admit
                    that I am still in love with you.

Maybe that's my problem.
I don't know anymore.

I keep trying to identify what's wrong

                so I can just fix it.

Last week I had low self-esteem.
The week before that I was afraid of being alone
The week before that, I just
                loved you and I was
                scared that you'd leave.

and now you've left
                                     but you were the only
person that knew how to fix me

                                  when I'm broken

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

I worry about you,
boo.

I worry that you
are alone
                  in a dark
room
like a prison cell
rats running over the floor
disease
grits for every meal

dirt in every crevice
cold toes.


                        I worry about


you.

I worry that you
are alone

with no one beside you
to comfort you.

I want to pick up
the phone and call

             I worry too much


or perhaps never enough

my eyelashes keep sticking together
this dress is too short
this dress doesn't go with my shoes
this dress isn't comfortable enough to dance in

my hair looks stupid down.
my hair looks stupid up.
i should have just straightened it.
i should have done laundry
i should just throw away all of my clothes.
or burn them.

this tank top makes me look fat
**** it, i am fat

i should have gone on a diet.
i shouldn't have eaten that cookie dough

i should buy one of those bras that will make my ***** look smaller

i should buy sexier *******
that will make me feel better.

should i put on more make up?
now i look like a *****.

just **** it.

this is what i look like. face it.

Everything reminds you of him.

Everything.

I stepped out of my bed and looked at my bare feet, the nailpolish on my toes chipping away from prom night.

I get into the shower and I wash my hair, feeling its curliness and remembering his fingers running through it.

Fingers, and then

My hands, dangling them behind me in long hallway, wishing you would latch on.

My dad, and the times I biked to your house to drown out the hurtful words he screamed in my ears, and knowing that you would kiss the bruises on my thighs until they disappeared.

My ankles and the times you laughed at the patch of hair I missed while shaving

My backpack and the how you lent me three dollars and 48 cents so I could buy it.

And my cheeks, and all those ****** days when you refused to kiss them, but kissed my lips instead


Thinking about God, remembering thanking Him everyday that I’m alive every time I pass the part of 94 E where I got into my car accident, on the way home from your house on that icy night.

I can’t function in a normal way without pangs of hurt
Popping into my head like bee bee gun pellets.

I can’t think of bee bee guns without thinking about that night we hung out with your stupid friends and they shot a phone book with it, putting holes three inches deep.

I can’t think of that night without getting angry at your parents.

I can’t think of your parents without thinking about the day your mom caught me putting my shirt back on after an hour and a half of happiness
and how she sat us down

And said that you needed to think about your future, you future wife.
Was I really worth it?
Were you wasting your time?
I guess that was always up to you.

I can’t think of Christmas, because you gave me a ring that morning
And we fought a lot that winter.

I can’t think about Halloween because we used to go to Erin’s party every year
Except this year because she cancelled it
At least
I think she did.

I can’t think about valentine’s day because the day before it is our anniversary, the day you asked me to be yours
Over a text message.

And I said yes.
Over a text message.

I can’t think of easter because that was the day I kidnapped you
And took you far away from your mom
Where we couldn’t hear her tell us we were wrong about each other.

We went to a bridge
And you made me feel so beautiful even though my shoes were so ugly.

And we kissed on top of every sculpture
And we tried to kiss at the very top of the world, but it was closed
Because of easter.


And I can’t think about the day after easter
Because that was when I ended it.

And I’m not ever gonna get over this.

This coffee (my second cup today)
gives me the shakes
and tastes like cold syrupy mud
I swallow it down
past my gag reflexes

out of nervousness

Sitting alone
in a coffee shop


with no one to talk to

trying to convince
myself
that



that's okay






so far, it's really not working.

this feels so new york
listening to smooth jazz
        drinking wine and coffee
in your room with the
                     hard floors
and the
                 soft bed

and hearing you say words like
                   fantastic
                                                and
                  i'm not tired

we stay up until 2 am,
me in a cocktail dress and heels,
you in a tux

and honey, we're running
          on central time.

in New York, it's only midnight.

isn't it silly


that i buy cigarettes

and smoke them
hoping to calm myself

(hoping to
forget about the
****
you put me through)



and realize that
I would rather
get hit


by a moving van

than to inhale

this

nasty

****.


I stomp it out

with
no regrets

how do you feel right now?
              
                 delicious
delicious like french fries
             or a crisp apple?
  delicious like me.

                                    but how are you delicious?
delicious like i would take
                           one million licks
to get to the center of the
tootsie roll pop
              
                      oh.
                                      ­    yeah
                                       that makes sense

late last night i got home
and the skin between my nose
and my upper lip

was raw
from your mustache
and i didn't put lotion on it,
which is something i would normally do

and i didn't brush my teeth
or put my retainer in
and dental hygiene is important to me.

i just walked in through my front door and sighed a deep happy sigh

like the sighs you sigh for me so often.


my hand smelled like your hair.


and i've been taking hourlong baths
lately
which is something i don't normally do


my room is getting more and more ***** every day
and i can't find motivation to do laundry
(this is so not like me)

and i find myself daydreaming about you
while at work
and my heart starts beating.

it's never had a beat before, i swear.

and it's fastfastfast and
hard

like the way we kiss
but then we slow way down

and we play little games
with our lips.
i love smiling into your mouth
because i can't help it.

this large empty bed seems like
a c r e s wide     without you here in it.
I want to hear you laugh
and taste cream cheese wontons
on your tongue.
and when we wake up, you will smell musty and sour
like our tent of *******
always smelled

         I want to hear the funny nose whistle you make
I need to clutch at your
chest and gasp

                                              beg you
                                                   for release



but for now i will lay
naked, alone
in my football field nest of pillows

and dream, sleeplessly
of your sweaty brow

I realized today

That I can never live

in a house
that does not contain


a bathtub.

I like showers
they're lovely little self spaces
sure,


i like the feeling of
fingerblades
little
rain droppingingingings
singing

over my skin

but there
is definitely something


about being
wet
every inch of your


body
covered in water
and all of it is touching you

at the same time


it replenishes me

dipping my hair under the sweet salty
sweat mixed liquids

it gives me life

in a way
that no one but i could ever

understand

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

I have a broken mirror
in my pocket
I carry it with me
wherever I go
(the shards cut through my jeans, stab my thigh
dyeing my pants red)

I have tried to take it
out, pick
the pieces
out of there                      

                      (it's easier to just leave it.)
I end up with only ******
fingertips, I smear   my
                    blood on the rugs
I sleep on,
                               the bed is too soft, too warm
                                                         to sleep in

I'm not used to kindness
or- - - - - even
        liking someone

                         so I become
scared, that things won't
                                              work out

and when you try to pick these
shards out of my leg,




(turning your beautiful
          fingers red&raw;)

when you try helplessly

to erase my pain

                                           I will lay on this blood-  
                                                                ­   stained



rug                              and think






Why are you doing
              

                      this
  


            for me

tiny asian girl toddler with dark bouncy pigtails
holding hands with her mother

trips, falls.

face hits floor.

blood drips from nose

little red circle drips on the tiles of Costco
in the middle of a monday afternoon

cleaning out the refrigerator

the hot kitchen
             the underside of my *******
               collect moisture

and everything smells like salsa.
                                  and pickles.
and raspberry scented dishsoap.

crusty yellow nasty **** caked on

                         the glass shelves

it won't come off,
                                even after a long soak

     I scrape it off with a razor blade

I took out all the eggs, the garlic,
containers of cooked wild rice,
store bought broccoli cheese soup

the butter or margarine or rat poison
or whatever it is
I'd never touch it.

The jar of homemade canned sweet pears
                    from when my mom's brother
                    had an excellent harvest
                                                        two years ago.

there's a small circle of browning black mold floating on top.

four cans of Thirster brand orange
juice, only 80 calories
per serving!





puddles of nasty gray hardened sticky gunk
i don't know what it is.
or what it used to be.

Then the drawers of vegetables

the browning lettuce
the dirt covered mold covered unopened
bag of broccoli and cauliflower

5 red peppers
                        squishy in some places

The             shelves                         all    come   out.

wash with warm soapy water
                                             i wipe the sweat off
                                          my face with the dry
                                       part of my arm


                  I put everything back in its place.    

                    All clean.

                                               Now my refrigerator

                                    has lost all its

                                                     character

blood drips drips drips into the sink

flows between my fingers


my forehead
throbbing

dripping sweat

hair plastered to my cheeks
and eyelids



then, in a streak of insanity

i settle deep into the floor
and pull the shower curtains off the rod,
over my head



falling deep
into the floor
past the tiles

past the pipes
past the old couple living in the apartment below mine

and they hold each other
and i watch


as he tries to put it in her

he can't.

they're both too squishy
and wrinkly

and tired

(he collapses on top,
rolls off of her

her ****
sagging towards her arms
******* with a diameter of my balled up fists
she sighs at him and gives a yellow toothed smile)




i want to feel something hard
and slippery
against my skin

i want to get ****** up

                                           i'll never forget
                                 that blood stained towel
                                      we placed under my hips

                                           to stop the blood
                                                           ­                    from staining the bedsheets.


                                              just like the one

balled up under my head
on the bathroom floor



eyes closed