So right now I’m confused
Reading Howl is a lot
of work
   But I’ve heard
that it’s worth it.
But I’m distracted
by the stubble on my legs
and my sharp toenail digging against the
inside of my fetid weakened shoe
and how my mouth tastes
like sour milk


I should have
brushed my teeth.
I’m distracted by the macabre yellows and
emerald greens swimming in my head
I’m being thrown off by the ads
and the sadness
and the media
that is inescapable.
by the *** and the commercials and the products and the stores
so inhuman
like I used to be
before I learned how to breathe.
I’m vomiting.
I want to crash through the ceiling of the people living their
maddening
bitter lives in the apartment below mine
and I feel light in my head
like it might float away,
filled with air.

But my legs are so heavy

Like anchors
just begging to break

through the table that I’m
sitting on


And now I’m thinking
about death.
how did Ulysses S. Grant
feel about death?

It makes me wonder
I hate wondering about things
because I never come to the right conclusion
I can never figure it out
how does death work?

does it hurt?
is there
a period of time where you
know that in a few
moments, you will cease to
exist.?- - - (except to those that
find your body, naked and wet
on your roof top)
How did you get
up there?
I floated
you can’t float
Yes I can.

i aint got no money
but we can shove each other into the pool fully clothed.
or we can kiss each other with smoke tasting breath
and we can watch those bugs devour that tree
we can play truth or dare until four am, when you fall asleep wearing my *******
or we can walk around town for a while and i can listen to you remember things.
i can put some music on and you can swing me around
when it gets more chilly, i can pinch your ******* through your shirt
we could count my freckles.
that would keep us occupied for hours.
i could write you poems
and you could listen to me read them to you
you could read me lord of the rings.

i could cook you tofu
and you could show me some of your favorite songs
even if they make me want to throw up, kind of.
we could get sunburned together
i could tell you jokes about dinosaurs.
(what do you get when dinosaurs crash their cars?
tyranosaurus wrecks)
i could tell you about my favorite christmases.
or can we please just pack a picnic to eat on the carpet of my room
pretending that it's not actually raining outside.
I'd like to learn how to say i love you in different languages.
we could lay in that patch of wildflowers next to the grocery store on Rice Street.
i've always wanted to do that.

i cried so hard i thought my heart would fall out of my chest in a bleeding beating lump of an ***** onto the ground. my tears watering the ground and my voice screeching
screaming for you to hold me and kiss me again. it feels like the pain has become me. it has transcended being just pain, it has become a tangible thing that i could extract and put into something else, but i can't find a container big enough or the right shape so it pours and pours and pours and pours out onto the floor and into this poem and into my old scars and i can't hold it and i can't hold it in
so it pours and it pours and i cry, i cry for you, and i miss your lovely touch and the kindness that you put into me and taught me how to be me. i hope you never regret anything because i'll never regret it. this poem isn't for me anymore. this poem is for you. i'm weak, remember? if this is hard for you, it's excruciating for me. repeat. i can't hold it in. you feel me. you felt who i was. you know me inside and out. you've touched and seen every corner of my body, you've explored the depths of my soul. even the parts that are harder to look at, you've seen them. you've looked at them and told me that they are beautiful. that word feels alien to me. beautiful doesn't exist anymore. beautiful was meeting your grandmother. beautiful was how i felt when we sat on that couch drinking coffee and tea and talking and watching people and listening to music that made me feel things. i wish i knew how to have everything i want. i wish i knew how to make me love you. if i knew how, this wouldn't be happening. and i could be everything for you, just like you always wanted. but i don't know how. but you should know that you taught me how to be me. you should know that i have never felt more beautiful than when i was crying on your couch the day we really said our goodbyes. and i want you to know that when you held me, i was so sorry for all of the hurt i had poured into you. i never meant to do that. i meant to just pour it out onto the floor, to keep my beating bleeding heart company.

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.
.

last night
we were both half expecting something


and it never happened
maybe we were both tired from the fifteensixteen seventeen *******



we just laid on top of the covers
of my bed
six inches away from each other
my eyes pacing pages of my book

and you solving a rubik's cube,
the creaking of it making me smile.



and i listened to your soft nose breathing
raised my eyes toward my ceiling
clenched my toes
and thanked god
silently

that you found me

i would see you in the bed, with the blanket tucked underneath your big feet
which would probably be hanging off the bed
because you're so tall.

hair smooshed up against a pillow,
                             naked under the sheets.

you make little sound
                         other than your slow inhale and exhale
sleep suits you wonderfully



and i would take off my cardigan
then my shirt
then my skirt and tights
then my socks
then my bra
then my underwear
and for a few seconds, i would be very cold
              
        but then, i would peel back the sea of blankets surrounding you

and feel the warmth being thrown into the universe by your skin
i would
                   i would kiss your shoulder

pour myself into the space between your arm and your waist

                   and nestle in deep, breathing in your scent
pulling the ocean back over us,
     not giving you a chance to shudder at the cold.

you are

musky and soft, the scent of a log cabin in the woods
                        with bread baking inside

you are warm enough to bake me.

                        and your warmth
fills me up

like a cup of love

that you will pour for me in the morning

The way I felt when you came up to me
on the second day of school,
and I thought you were being nice,
but you only did it because the teacher told you to.

The way the sound of your laugh is deep and heartwarming
and how I hear it in my head when I take the dew covered back roads home
on my bicycle before 8 p.m.
because my mom will yell at me if I get home at 9,
and when she does yell
I just think of your laugh
and your face
and it’s better.

The way your cat tries to chase the light
reflected off of the face of your broken watch
and how you always put it on the ceiling
and drive him crazy.

The way I took a shower that night with all of my clothes on
and I couldn’t explain why

The way the water reaches out from under the wheels of your car
while the rain beats down on the hood, and I smell the dead worms from my window, wondering where you are going

The way I can’t sleep without noise in the background
because I used to live in the city
and you would always turn on a whirring whispering fan
so I could fall into dreaming with you next to me,
smelling the mildew and flour in the air
my mother calling and calling
but we would never answer the phone
because the ringing just made it easier to sleep

The way your hands knew exactly what to do
in the night
parting lips and hips and breath
when my mother went to her book club
and I snuck you through the back door
praying my neighbors wouldn’t tell

The way you looked at that building
in the middle of the dark damp city
and brick didn’t come to your mind.
But instead, you saw the single soul that designed that structure
that you could live in one day,
if the world blew up.

The way the sky is the ocean when I’m with you.
The way the ocean is the ground when I’m with you.
The way the ground is the sky when I’m with you.

The way we both knew that I wouldn’t know what to do here if you ever left,
and now I’m lost

The way I feel while I send you this letter.
The way the envelope tastes bittersweet
And the way I know you will never get it
because you live somewhere else now,
in a sad place where you can’t hear me anymore,
although I sing as loud as I can.

The way I think about you
while standing up on the roof of my house
shivering in the sleet
on a sad Thursday evening
my mother looking for me all over the house

The way you feel when you hear Bob Dylan,
and I just don’t get it.

The way I feel when I hear a baby crying,
and you just don’t get it.

The way sometimes I think maybe we’re not supposed to “get it”
but *******, I want to try like hell anyway.
And we can both understand that.

And when I ask you,
“Can you hear me?”


I want you to say yes.

Yes, muy bueno
Yo puedo te ollo.

Yo quiero tu to say yes
But you never can
Because tu estas en el agua
Floating around
Like a little baby
Before it’s born
Except, that baby has ears
And it can hear me
It can listen
Probably
If I yell loud enough.
Pero, yo quiero
I want
I want you to hear me
To hear me
But you are in the water
Never listening
Except to the sounds
Of the waves
That don’t even exist
Except to you por que
No quieres escuchar a mi.
All you hear are
the whoosh of the air as you ride by on your bicycle
the crackling of the leaves as you jump into that dead pile, imagining that it is alive
the groaning of the door as you sneak out past three in the morning, unsure
but uncaring
and you can hear me
but I’m muffled by that ******* agua
que tu estas en,
aqui.

it's as if

we have known each other forever.
but i'm really glad we met last week.


because i know that

if you had known me when i was
suicidal
drugged up
glazed over ritalin eyes
sappy dramatic
lonely
teenage hormones
with an extra kick



in the chest



you would have ran in the other direction.

she awakens to the hum
of her phone vibrating
as usual
        she creeps out of
the room to take
the call,
                so careful
not to wake me.
  
         But I am awake,
a ringing in my ears
                and you are
   on my mind.

In the other room,
I hear the smile in
her voice, and I know
it's her boy
her boy that left for Chicago

She is so happy
for those five minutes
of phone conversation

          Her voice
gives her away.
                       She still loves him

After saying goodbye,
she comes back in the
room,      crawls back
into bed.


I ask, "How is he?"

She is so full of
relief
            at hearing his
voice



            and she has no idea


                              how much I would pay
                      for five minutes
                                 of phone conversation
                  
                                                    with you

I sit in a stranger's kitchen
in the town
we once called home
a bottle in one hand
and a pen in the
                        other.

the things i have done
                                      today
would have made you
                       so happy.

I smoked a cigar
and drank a hot caffeinated beverage
outside of our favorite coffee shop
at an old deteriorating wood table and some plastic chairs
while breathing in
the early autumn air.

I missed you
on the car ride from the interstate into town;
we passed the
park where we saw the
lights
               and you told the
man in the costume that
you wanted me to love
                                        you.

Do you remember when we
picked up trash?
        I do.
   You wore that sweater I
                                     like,
but you were still cold

I wanted to keep you
          warm

Today
I went to that store
you love, the one
you would insist we
always go into.
They moved down
the street to a
bigger location.
They have more games,
more cards.

I asked the owners
if they had seen you
lately. They remembered
                                     you

Because you were so tall
              and friendly:
two of my favorite things
about you.

I bought a card
    with a dragon on it,
the one I always thought
was so pretty.
I asked for it by name.
I remembered the name
                           after all this time.

Tomorrow I will see a parade
and spend time
with our friends.
   They miss you,

but not as much as I do.

I am so glad I
left this place

because it only makes    
        me sad and
                regretful.

I wish I had
           not given up

because your soul is
  more beautiful
             and full of truth
        and connection

          it is a soul I
             have been looking
                for in other
                          people.

You do not exist
     in other people.


You exist

in a town I've never seen

with people I've never met


and emotions I've
                       never felt.


but, to summarize

I had a perfect day
albeit I was *missing one thing

this morning I was thinking about your skin

and getting lost in it,
unbounded-- had never felt like a better plan for the rest of my day

but you’re so far from me
heart and soul and mind

your spirit from mine

hearing my voice feels like damp mountains in a sunny valley of ground and sweat


and don’t you dare break my heart
I’ll light myself on fire

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've never done this before.

i've never admitted to myself that i need someone
and i have never felt so pathetic because of it.


but holy ****, i need you.


i need you like i  need air to survive


frankly, i was dead from lack of breathing before i met you


i'm so scared that these weeks will turn into months without you
and i'll cease to breathe
again.


*******.
how dare you
make me fall in love with you
i want to scream into your chest and pull out your hair

and then cry

i've never cried this much

i want to push you off a tall building
so my heart will stop feeling

so sad
all the ******* time

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.

My eyes remember you
   differently than my skin does

I can see you
getting into your little white car
and driving away

blurry

        you didn't look back


I can feel the warmth of your skin
   under thick blankets
your softness was delicious

I can see you sitting at my kitchen table
speaking to my mother, but peeking at me
over raspberry tea
           cheeks pink, watery eyes
    Getting ready to leave
you are always leaving.

I can feel the soft strands
of your hair, my fingers wrapped
       around the nape of your
       neck, smoothing it down,
pulling gently.

I can see you looking at me,
staring at me, exasperated,
frustrated. Your mouth says
I can't do this
but your eyes say
I can't leave you, either


       I can picture you
at your warm and loving home


surrounded by the family I
never quite fit into

I can see you
holding on to your beautiful mother
then,
driving around our town
to look at pretty lights
maybe with your brothers,
maybe with someone new


Months later,
a whole year later ( only one day later) (after a whole lifetime has passed)


when I allow myself to close my eyes for a moment

I can feel your body holding mine

my feet tucked underneath me
my face pressed against your chest,
heart beating against my eardrum
your chin resting on my head

       I can feel your love
       emanating - shining
into me


                                    on this day
                I am grateful to have
                ever touched you


    I am grateful that I
            ever laid eyes on you.

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.

I wrote poem after poem after poem for you

when all was said and done
you had a stack of my words and carefully thought out phrases to your name

words that did nothing but express
how much I loved being near you

i loved your musky scent and
the way your hands felt wrapped around my neck

I loved that you never turned me down,
like i was a dog forever begging for your attention

i was the puppy

and you were the disaster

we were both engraved in each others' lives,
living as though tomorrow would never exist

and when tomorrow finally showed its ugly head,
we told it to go **** itself

and we would stay in bed all day
then drive to the coffee shop
and smoke cigars while the maple leaves fell to the ground.


I remember how,
I remember your skin

your skin is my fondest memory
i used to live there,
in your wondrous skin


the tips of your fingers
were soft and forgiving

while the skin on your back was
indescribable

i would trace my name onto your hips with my tongue

and i would run my fingers over your flesh

the softness of it would make a person believe in heaven,
although we would tell heaven to go **** itself.

when you got excited

you would press against me
something long and hard
resting against my belly button

because you were so tall.



and there were moments
when we would be in the very thick of it,
me on top of you
moaning into your ear,
not caring that the sheets were ***** or that you had a paper to write

we would plunge into each other
and i would pull out,

mid-gasp

to look into your gorgeous eyes

and lie to 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

the white of this padded room
suffocates everything
'till it's blue.

i will drive for miles
and still feel trapped
inside.

the speed limit here is only fifty five.
and all i want to do
is crash off the road.

i pass by hotel beds
and still feel like you are dead.

i will cry.
yeah, i will cry for you
my biggest question isn't
do you love me

it's always been
will you stay?

The first official day of autumn

             like we needed some excuse
       to refresh

everything is so new
                   and at the same time
old- like my grandmother

familiar until she
had her stroke
                           and became someone
                                new and unknown.

like the trees when
         the leaves die

                        and fall.

we never needed
            an excuse to refresh

we fell apart,

          sick of summer
       and the sounds of construction

we longed for a change

         and we got rid of
         each other

so that eventually,

                   the leaves would grow back

we would always default
to
                  refresh

watch each others
    leaves grow back
       and change
    and fall again

                    and
    
                           grow back

but
         how do

you watch someone

                   be happy without you?



how could i watch

      your gorgeous leaves

crawl up the wall
                of a new house

with a new person living inside of it


when i was the one



                  to make your leaves turn brown and die


when i was the one
      
                           to bring winter's frost to your forest green

My black gloves, coat, boots
Make me thick and heavy and slow
I am trudging through this white brick wall
I am tired and dripping.
This snow is ungainly
As it piles on top of the dead
Black, are the silhouettes of branches on drooping trees

Car crash.
Car crash.
Car crash.
I had forgotten that snow makes death unforgotten.
I am a beacon of safety
Inside my warm hut
With my life and my body, attached still.

Snow, sky, same thing.
Both a shocking white,
The color of the white light
Of death, reflected in a black lake
Swallowing everything else whole.
An insulting shade of pale,
Unimaginable in the middle of November.

A white bleached ivory
Your knuckles are that color white,
Bloodless
As they grip the wheel
But your fingertips forget how to drive
Your mind loses all the knowledge
You have gathered over your twenty three years

Your secure little buggy
Is no longer secure
No longer out of harm’s way.
The permafrost inching its way under your wheels
You are a little child learning how to walk,
Slipping and falling,
Reaching for your mama

You really don’t want to go over there
REALLY don’t want to go over there.
Because over there is the ditch.
And you scream “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO”
But who are you yelling at? No one can hear you.
You’re all alone in your little buggy
And the snow muffles you anyway

And you are upside down
god is grabbing you by your ankles and shaking you
Hoping for money to fall out of your pocket
And then you’re right side up
And then upside down
And your brain is sloshing and slopping
All over the upholstery

And the red is all over the windows
Thick paint, splashed over the cracked panes
Your hands are covered in your own gore
Gushing from your thighs and stomach
And you are making so much noise
Why are you yelling?
No one can hear you.

And now you’re dead.
The air in your punctured lungs is frozen.
The blood on the window is turning rusty red crust
And the people in the little buggies next to you
Are watching you as they pass by
Some even fold their hands and pray
But they shouldn’t take their hands off the wheel.

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

that's how you convinced me to jump in the sack with you.



those three words.


"it's not just *******"

it's pure uncensored emotion


what emotion?


which one?


because it certainly wasn't love
- you never loved me, ever.


it definitely wasn't happiness
-you never made me happy


for sure wasn't excitement
-you never got excited about anything important




so what was it?


anger?
******* me to get revenge
who?

Your mother?

Your ex?




yourself?





maybe it was
heartbreak

******* me
to feel numb
so it doesn't hurt as bad








                                                                  maybe it was boredom.



                                  Yep,





                                                                i think that was it

my bed has become
a nest of nightmares and tears.
What once brought me
peace is now a
dreaded place
I receive no rest.
no relaxation, no rejuvenation

I lay awake, eyes open
staring at the ceiling

whenever they close, I
can only see your face in
full accurate detail.
I know it by heart

my heart aches
our last conversation
runs through my head
on repeat. every word.
the sound of your voice in my mind
makes me cry

I tried to sleep naked
but it only made my
skin long for your
touch. Sometimes

I      swear

        I can feel your
beautiful hands on
                my waist

    until
               I open my eyes
  again
            and reality kicks in


you are gone.
       lost; not wanting to be found.

I had a dream
about a terrifying woman
that kidnapped children
and cut off their faces
and glued the faces onto dolls

she had an entire house full of rooms with half child half doll horrors

and she would lick their cheeks and eyelids
with a crazy look in her eye

It cost her three and a half dollars to send me this white package filled with a bag of raisinets, a few cheap Valentine’s Day decorations, and a note saying “I’m proud of you”


It meant so much to me
She will really never know
I’m proud of her too

some mornings are worse than others.

some days, i wake up
my lips chapped, nose running
my eyes bloodshot and red,
i stare at the blue paint on the walls
and the blue sheets on my bed

and it's impossible
to pick my tired head off the pillow

it's weighed down from dreams about you
and nightmares
where you're so angry that you grab me by my hair and throw me out of the moving car

my head is too heavy
to get out of bed


pull the covers over me
and cry
cry


cry


         cry until it goes away


sleeping next to you used to bring me comfort; now the blankets can't even keep me warm.

I saw a girl, 23 year old
wearing a white coat, white scarf
with a very white face and
                  white blonde hair

and her cheeks were wet

I know how that feels


I sometimes wish that I could
fade into the snow
         and disappear

                                   too.

my mouth is so full of questions

did you ever love me?
or did you love the things i represent?

did you just love the fact that i'm independent, that i'm a feminist, that i write poetry, that i like video games, that i have a nice smile?
did i give you a clear vision of a future, of where we would live in a perfect little teacup house with our perfect little children

or did i make your heart thump?
did i ever actually make you feel things?

did you ever see something so beautiful that there were no words to describe it
but you wanted so badly to try anyway

not so you could tell someone that you had that experience
but just because it made you feel something




did you want me to meet your grandmother because you wanted to spread love and joy in all directions?
or because you saw a future with me
a future wife
and you wanted to be able to say to your perfect future children
that I had met your grandmother
and I could vouch for you
when you said she was great

was it all just a metaphor

i'm so confused

because you
you say that you loved me
but now i don't think that either of us knew what the **** that meant.

we had *** in the shower, pressed up against each other like some **** movie
******* each other, searching frantically for ******

when,
if we really loved each other

we would have been just fine
making love in a bed, kissing each other sweetly




but then again

i don't really know.
does anyone really know

i mean really know when they're in love

or do we all just think we are


because love is such a big scary thing
that
no one can see it.
maybe i'm projecting.

maybe this is all just how i felt
and how i could never tell you
that i wanted to make myself feel something

but, it's a problem that i've had for a long time.
i can't ever make myself feel anything.


because it's like a high

and i don't want to feel numb anymore

when we ******

it was never

reassuring.

(i guess i wanted
[i realize now, i never needed reassurance. i only ever ached for love, which
you could never find

time for] us to say goodbye)

it never made
me happy
(okay, one time)


every time (except one)
it felt as though

you were sweeping the floor
completing a chore


so that your mother would stop screaming in your tiny ***** face


Never stopping to ask me

"is this okay"


"it's fine"
would have been my cold, numb answer
; thinking about how you used to sing
to all those other girls
but you never wrote your own songs

and how i could never be yours
because
you
never wanted me(you would never admit it,
your pride will **** you before i do)

but when you pulled out of me
and laid beside me, (your cold slime oozing out, disgusting me)
staring at the ceiling


**i hated you

dear god
everything is wet
it's like *** in a bathtub

you asked me if i was a water child
the answer is yes,always,yes

and i keep trying to tell you with my eyes
how much this means to me
how much it burns in my



chest

how badly i want to tell you

that i'm deep in water-love with you.
this is the moment that has been eating away at my fingernails and teeth and the roots of my hair for days.
days.







so i say it

and i'm covered in you,
i'm covered in the scared looks you're giving me


and i refuse to return them
i ******* refuse
to apologize for this
moment.


i will live to be 749 years old but i will look back into your greyblueblackeyes
and know
that i made the right decision
when those words flew out of my mouth
and then slapped me in the face.


and i don't give a flying ****.
if i sink
in this waterlove.

it will be
the happiest death of my living life
and i've died more times than a cat

alright.
so i'm determined to write about something other than this boy
because i keep writing poems about him
and they basically all sound the same

because i think maybe i'm desperately in love with him
and he hurts me
all the time without knowing


but i'm going to write this poem about something else.
i'm going to talk about grocery lists

and cell phone numbers
and matching pale blue shirts
and push up bras that make me blink rapidly.

garage sales where i buy a wallet, a movie or two, a dress with a stain
on the top left shoulder


but it smells really nice.




and vegetarians.
why are they all vegetarians?

i'll talk about
tall glasses of cold milk
and little old ladies with bonnets on their heads.
how could anyone steal from her?
it broke my heart to see her cry as she spoke to the police officer.

i'll talk about not wearing ******* on a sunday night at the computer
wearing that dress with the stain
that i bought at the garage sale (smells like clean laundry and my fifth grade teacher)
and an uncomfortable bra

my scalp is itchy



i'm going to write about new york.
it's so ****** far away
but movies make me feel like i live there.
and movies that are set in minnesota(my homestate)
make me feel depressed and angry
(like NewInTown,Juno ***** that crap. we aren't like that.)




wow, this poem ***** even worse than the ones about that boy.



life is funny that way

read some bukowksi today.
he's an amazing poet.
He really is.
but he's a ****** up old man.

and i'm so terrified of turning into him.

i'm so scared of turning into a mean old pervert
that never falls in love.
instead,

just ******* people until their soul falls out

because they think that they've fallen for someone talented and deep


but bukowski

his poems used to make me chuckle.


not anymore.
now,
i read his poems of
******* to little girls
and killing the people across the street
and being alone in a room full of people
and wanting to get so ****** up that the walls become the floor


and i can relate

rewriting my life
                now that you're
not in it
  mostly my evenings are
        spent weeping quietly
So no one worries
           or asks questions
that I can't answer.

My days are spent replacing
your presence
              with the comfort
of other people and I find
myself
          weeping softly again
    to them all,
                at all times
When I see acorns
             When I drive alone
on certain roads (especially in Eagan, MN)

                  Whenever I hear
                      the word "home"

                                          -everytime.

coping mechanisms

like sleeping far too much

and distracting myself with anything i can get my little hands on




I wait for you
to pick me up
into you

into your warmth and your body

and hold me like a child



because this sweater doesn't smell like you anymore
and this house seems so empty


i only have the cat
and a melting snowman to keep me company

I fell apart
   I fell hard to the ground
Felt myself shatter into
some large pieces
and some small ones.
too small to pick up again.
                              ****** fingers-
                                            shards of glass.
Nothing could be done.

I fell apart
               identity split between
thousands    -       millions of
things that make me up.
split between
                         daughter/feminist
                     partner/student
                       privilege/marginalization

split between
                         "it was bad for me
                       worse for you"

how does this erase

                  how much light does this
             give?
                             How much love is
                shared and exchanged

    when we fall apart

                             by choice

she's the girl that drinks too much coffee


the girl with the long skirts

she's the girl that looks through you, blankly
(when she's looking into the thing you don't want her to see)


she is the girl with sticky fingers.


the girl with honey love colored eyes



she's the girl that wonders who wrote all that mean stuff on the bathroom wall
who is becky?
why is she a gootch?

...what is a gootch?


she's the girl that has hair like
silk
halfway down her back

it covers up her spine
which pokes through her sweaters

and sometimes her overalls.


she's the girl that gets up early and stays up late
because she thinks sleeping is a waste of life



she's the girl

that begs you

with a single look

to love her



for as long as you can

and when you don't anymore,

let go


she's the girl
that will

understand.

the last time we saw each other
I was a mess

and you never got to see the person I was after that


you just gave up
that I was a cocoon and that the butterfly had perished inside
and might never come out.


but those wings are bright orange and purple

and I don’t really miss you at all.

You stand up there
with the most gorgeous curly black hair
you look out into the darkness,
the light shining on you
                                  and out of you.

I can hear your heart pounding from across the stage.

the world stops.
I stop.

           I can’t breathe.
I feel like I’m in a dream.
I look at you, you gorgeous thing.
                              and I feel you.
and I’m not used to feeling things.

And then,
               and then,
                               you open your mouth
                                                    to speak

you speak.
You speak with eloquence
you speak with passion.
you speak with a voice like velvet.

you speak
and the words chosen,
so carefully put together,
wrap around my throat

choke me

Slavery.
****.
******.
Prison.
*******.

All with a forked tongue.

Without thinking
I sink in my chair.

It will not be until later, when I am riding home in my car,
listening to the radio with the windows down,

that I realize
I am ashamed to be white.

I hate it.
I hate it that you woke up one morning angry
at people like me.

White, symbolically representing innocence
but you know **** well that we are ******* guilty
of everything.

White, symbolically representing purity
but our past is as ***** as the floor underneath the rug,
where we have swept all of our genocide and pain.

I hate it.
I hate them.

I can’t seem to understand how,
with this privilege that I was given at birth,
that I am more likely to be America’s standard of “successful”
although you are obviously more talented.

I can’t seem to understand how
White Middle Class
is better than
black gorgeous badass.

It’s ******* criminal.
I want to tear my hair out.
I want to **** the men
that have hurt you and your family.
I want to cry.

but instead,
(weak as I am)

I sit in my seat,
listening to your voice.
It causes me to shake.

I hate it.

The words etched into your black skin
Mean so much more to me
because they were cut and burned into you
with White words
White knives
White cigarettes
White privilege.

Like mine.

I hate it.

But, I have no way to escape it

Like you are unable to escape the pain
the pain that people like me
people with skin like mine
have inflicted upon you.

So, I sit there
like a naughty child

and I think about what I have done

so
i heard that the play “the glass menagerie”
is really an autobiography of the author
Tennessee Williams.

and woah is that a mindtrap.
if this play is an autobiography
he would have had to have
this conversation
with his mom,
then write down exactly what was said

and then
THE PLAY
would be about
Tennessee Williams writing down **** that his mom says
and not his ****** up sister
and her stupid typewriter
and alcoholic teenagers.

Maybe I didn’t really get the symbolism

high fructose corn syrup and garlic salt
burn my throat

(i have made a habit of eating ice cream out of the tub after ten pm)

and i kick myself in the shins

everytime i think about you
and smile.

i'm so ****** at you
for being the one person that i can't stand to be away from.

why are you always leaving me

and why am i always happy when you come back?

i won't be your ******* science experiment
anymore




i'm sorry.
i didn't mean that

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

the
      smoke
         fills his lungs
           like a smokestack.
                   the butts litter
                             ashtrays like
                    little potholes of ash
           throughout
                        his room.
              stacks upon stacks
          of the disgusting things,
brownish yellow- just like
           the **** on his
                            teeth.
                              
                                 his
                            breath
                                smells
                               and tastes
                                      as if you were
                                 lying facedown
                            on the hot
                              pavement, tongue
                            to the ground
                      gravel, dirt and gasoline
         on your tastebuds.
                  he burns
                             he yearns
                          for the fix.
                   when he works on his car
                       in the hot sun,
                             his fingers shake
                   unless he's
        holding a smoke.


                                           And every day when she comes home
                                            she kisses him full on the mouth and
                     breathes
                            
                          it
                              
                           in.

I'm turning this **** around right now.

Valentine's day is about love.
It's not about whether you've got someone to hug and kiss.

It's about making mix CDs.
It's about having someone smile at you in the hallway on your way to class.
It's about calling your grandma.
It's about giving a little extra when you've got enough to live on.


It's about spreading love;

not worrying that you didn't receive enough.



so get off your ***.
go love someone.

You only get this excuse once a year
to do something perfectly wonderful
for another human being.

anger
shaking my whole body


you're mine.

you could never be anyone else;s

it's too soon it's too soon it's too soon it's too soon


please
just a little longer




you could never be trash

you're my
you're my
you're my




light
at the end of this tunnel



the light
at the bottom of this pit

this grave

that i am digging for myself




i want you here
more than anything

don't give up on me don't give up on me don't give up on me




i weep daily

in public places

just for you

You can't just pluck
the pieces of me
                       out of
                                   your life
like a game of operation

You can't just **** the poison out
because i am not a snake
and I didn't bite you.

Maybe this is like chemo.
             It's painful
                                and difficult

but it makes things better

and eventually your
                         hair grows back

and you'll be (more or less)

just how you were

                         before

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.

i used you to numb the pain of reality
to cushion the blow of the outside world
to muffle the loud sounds of gunshots outside the window


and now i'm sober

cold

scared as ****

**hand shaking for the bottle