When I hear her voice
     it rings
     it sings, it soothes
like a warm fireplace
    and she smiles
like she knows all your
problems and
      more than anything
loves and understands.

This gorgeous girl
feather earrings
orange and blue fingernails
long dresses flowing

She is poetry.

She writes messily
with tender hands
that know how to
hold a pencil like a
weapon of mass
love-making.

    She creates.
She makes
She just pulls emotion
out of the air
and breathes it onto
canvas, notebook
pages,      the backs
of my hands.

She makes color
   come alive. She
is poetry.
She is poetry
  She is soul.
She is kindess
    She is color.

She is passion

The pain of not knowing
this gnawing feeling
cramps in my sides
squeezing my blood dry
this bed is always too hot
or too cold
wake up freezing or sweating,
always thinking of you

spirals downward
into the hopelessness district
where souls crawl, missing
their other half
leaves fall, trees naked and bare
crawling to the sky like vericose veins
         and I
                       won't
                                      call


because knowing would be worse
knowing that you are gone

and never
             ever
                    coming back to me

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.

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

your heartache
your heartbreak
your -getting ****** over by some girl that thought she loved you
is so familiar
it's dangerous.




your stories
of hurting people
and calling the cops
and punching idiots waving their ***** around
make me scared of you
in the best way.


you get me

because we feel the world
through the same
(sc)a/rr\e/d skin.

so when the broken glass
gets too much to handle

and the fluorescent lights
are buzzing like ******* bees
crawling all over me
keeping me from sleep


i'll take your advice
and punch holes in the walls

of this ******* life

*I won't take it anymore.

the first step to all of this
is to convince you i'm not crazy

and the second step is to get you to kiss me

and the third is to make you happy.

fourth step, tell you that i love you

repeat

how many have met you
with their lips
or fingertips

or their pumping blood ***** attached to their hips


how many have seen your redness
how many have felt the blood you bestow
each month

it trickles
like water down cave side walls



my cave
how many have seen you

and not wanted to touch

why do they always want to touch


I curl inside my cunte
on days when my heart stops beating
anvils on my eyelids
keeping everything out of sight


so i don't look
i touch


I feel
the words
the whispers
upon my skin
the hair of my mons crawling like Medusa's crown

snakes, serpents
slithering


around
whatever is put inside

I will ****
if anyone touches me
again

I have to protect
myself

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

i cried the other day,
laid my head down on the kitchen table and sobbed

no one was home.

no one was home.


i left wet drip drips on this piece of paper

where i was writing to you a letter
that started with
"Alex-"

and after three pages of anger and sadness
and "why are you doing this to me
why would you do this to me
right when i was finally going to be okay"

i ripped it up

and wiped my face

there was a pile of tissues, just like
all those days i cried in your room

when
you would try

try desperately to wipe away the tears


but we would always look
flustered and wet

like we had just run through the rain

Now that we've decided to
Start Over

I want you to know
that i don't want
anything
to be how it was last time



please, please please

just let me breathe you in
and don't say anything
when i pull away from your kisses

don't make fun of the tears
that you (will) make fall from my cheeks

boy boy boy.
just teach me piano
and hold my hands
(yes, both of them)
please don't

hurt me
this
time


just boy
boy, good boy

try to hear me
I'm trying to explain

if I leave again
i won't expect you to chase after me

but boy,
silly boy
do it anyway.

just look in my eyes,
good boy good boy

you'll know
that the love i've got in my heart for you

never
left

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

i'm listening to our breath
and the buzzing of a minnesota mosquito
in my ear




i fall
deeper and deeper
into the pavement
and the grass
and the air
and you.


and it's easy.
there isn't anything important
that i have to do in the morning.

so this can just last.
if you want.




because this is different from anything
i've ever seen
heard
tasted
smelled
felt
before.

it looks like the minneapolis skyline peeping over deepdark water
it sounds like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, alongside your nose breathing
it tastes like the saltwateronmyupper lip
smells like sunshine burnt skin and long grass and sweaty armpits(myfavoritesmell)

feels
like
joy.

I'm angry

and I don't really know why.

I think it's because you're angry
and I'm so used to feeling how you feel
good and bad

because we used to hold each other
when I cried that one day
after finding out I didn't get that job
or when I felt like a failure.

you held me
you held me up.

you would kiss me and inject your strength into my mouth through your lips
and I would feel
invincible
because you were there next to me.


but now I'm angry
because you're angry.

and I have been trying to fix everything like you used to fix me
i want to pick you up off the floor
and
hold you in my arms

and kiss your forehead
and tell you it's okay.

even if it's a lie
and even if kissing you would be the worst thing i could do.

i want to inject that strength back into you
because now,

i think you could use it more than i could.

where are you

the bees die one by one, i find them frozen on the windowsill
i wonder
if they loved me the way i loved them

i run to the mailbox day after day
and see if there is new love to receive

but what about the days when the bees die?

and there are no letters?

and where are you?

I'm done



with love.

with you
and
you

and you



and especially
you.


I don't need ***
i don't want
skin

i tear it all
away



and start over



but

please know

that i'm sorry
that i hurt you


but from the start,
i told you

that the boys fall in love with me

and i never love them back.

you're like a little checkbook

i pull out blanks
and write
"three, four, five kisses"


signed
*michelle

The very second I placed the
tip of my pencil on this sheet
of paper,
      I ruined it.
This piece of paper could have been
used for so many things.

A legal document
a beautiful origami crane
or a fire to keep someone’s someone warm.

But it was inevitable that I
would be the one to ruin this
sheet of paper. To press hard
and make thick grey lines inbetween
theblueones. To run my hand
back and forth, smudging these
pointless ******* words
and here they are.

you smell the same way i always remembered you


like a sweet musk musty with sweat and heartache
every crinkle on your face
every single pore

was almost forgotten


but honey,
i will keep your lips from getting chapped ever again

just wait wait wait.
wait just a little longer

i know it's hard

but when we wrap ourselves in each other

and the skin of my hands
is your skin on your face
and the freckles on my knees
are your freckles on your shoulders

and the light that shines in my eyes is a greyblueblack

happiness
will evade us
we won't apologize to anyone

for the grains of sand under our fingernails

i will sigh every winter
deep, just like you

and we will breathe the same air

like we share the same lungs
same heart
same eyes
same face


same hands

you didn't have to try so hard

to convince me
that you loved me.



your poems were enough



your eyes were enough.

he lifts up my skirt
and says not to worry

but I do anyway

but I don’t tell him that
and he gazes into
my blossom

while I am cringing
because of the cold

but i don’t tell him that

and then it’s hurtinghurtinghurtinghurtinghurtinghurting

and then it’s over
and I feel the exact same as I did before
but I don’t tell him that

and I don’t think he proved his love to me
like he said he was going to
he didn’t make me feel good
like he said he was going to
and I still don’t love him

but I don’t tell him that

I once told you that you are like ice cream.
I want you to know that you're not just ice cream.
You are like sunshine, or air.
You are like cilantro, or laughter.
You are the water I want to dip my toes into,
a crisp clear lake


in which I see my reflection

naked after a shower


i sit, my knee
pulled my chest


my chin resting there

then, my lips kiss the little mountain peak i have created

brushing against
my soft skin

i reach up, feel the back of my neck

fragile in my fingertips

                      with my other hand
                 i touch the dark red curls

in between my warm legs, covered in soft blonde hair


i am so in love with my body

and my own yogurt
                                scent

when i came back
a few weeks after i broke up with you.

i came back.

we both had to come back home
and we were faced with the reality

that we live in the same building
and we work with the same people


you saw my new nose ring.

I saw your new sweaters.
You were so handsome.

I don't think you will ever really understand
how good you looked.

too good.


you looked too good for me.
you,

           a giant
                            with hands more beautiful than the sea

and the most beautiful smile
       i have ever seen.


you were too good to be true.

or
had i built you up in my head?

what was it that made me end things?


there have been so many mornings where I ask myself that question
and I just can't

remember

i don't know if I'm lonely
                     or hungry


either way, I have a hole in
my stomach


                  i want to grieve
I want to weep giant giraffe
     tears onto your toes
and then kiss them off.


He tried to shoot me through my shoulder
and missed


                                                             he hit me here instead.



can you see where I got blood on my
                                                scarf

stop liking me

stop enjoying my company

stop thinking that my hair is pretty

stop telling me that I'm special

stop it
                 right
                           there.

stop looking at my lips

stop laughing at my jokes

stop missing me

stop calling every night

stop being so **** nice.

        *I'm not worth

           the inevitable pain

               that i will cause you.

do you ever
think that

maybe we were just too different

to be meant for each other?


i believe in souls.
you are stuck in the mud of being clearheaded and logical

i write poetry
you get frustrated trying to get words to rhyme

i try to fill up this hole in my heart
you never had a hole to begin with

i have scars on my wrist
you tried to fix it because it felt wrong

i have so much hurt in my heart
and you



...
and you

and

well
i guess you do too.

This pen bleeds on this page.
I grow older every day I age
and I'm not sure I like the way

that he looks at me when
he's confused.
Boy, I don't have all the
answers.

I read books
      to figure out where I'm
  heading

  and i lack the capacity
to explain to you
                   where i've been.

So I'm sorry
that after we make love
in your room that smells like
a basement, I don't
want to talk about
all of my past boy-lovers
because- and this must
be hard for you to understand, --
they    *****     me.
So when we're lying naked
in your dorm room
mattress
(that we put on the floor,
somehow thinking that it
creates more space for
us), I'm sorry.
Don't feel like I don't
talk to you about anything
Maybe I can't tell you
because I have spent my
whole life trying to erase
it from my head

I tried to lose it
but i'm just
losing you.

I could tell you in a
poem. But i just
can't write anymore
because this ink
looks like black blood
and i'm so sick
of cutting myself open
for other people.
This page is bleeding
because
     ****.
I need to bleed
                      to feel.

        I remember when I was 14
and i watched the bathtub
water turn red- i would
smile at the crimson flowing
like some sort of sign from
God that I was alive
and now, I love it when
I get bruises.
or when I cry
because it means that I'm alive
and it's not socially acceptable
to remind myself anymore.
I have scars
      so i smoke cigars
  and i get high when
I inhale. and you're not
supposed to inhale. But i
always do because i
don't just want to taste
smoke in my mouth.
I want to float
    away.
I want to feel
    again.
I want to lay on
a cold bathroom floor
and feel safe and
   protected by the locked
      door
while I watch a small
red puddle
form
on the tiles.

to shed one's own skin
is a painful process

letting go of something that was once a part of you
makes you question your existence in the world

who am i

i peel this layer of skin away
leaving paper thin paper white patches all over this house

the skin underneath is red and raw

in some places, i peeled away too much
and the skin bleeds

but the pink flesh is so beautiful

I am so beautiful

i have removed and discarded the shell of me
i will start anew

skin replenishes itself
and i will be a new person

but

i will also be me



the skin will fall away and grow back
and
this new skin will be untouched

by you


but for some reason
no matter how much skin is peeled away,

these scars are always visible


i desperately search for ways to speed up this process

to change into a new person
a person who knows how to be content

a person who has never known you,
and therefore will never miss you




but as it is,
my body is bleeding
my hair falls out in clumps

and my heart aches
for you

underneath these broken ribs

tell me about your girl

tell me about how her hair
was red as a sunset
blazing through a meadow for miles



tell me how her lips were stained with blood
from the fist of her pa'


tell me how you kissed her deep
as she collapsed into your
heart



tell me how she cried
into the nape of your sweet sweet soft neck


and how you patted her on the back
wishing she would shut the **** up

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

what a
hypocritical mess
I am.                                "forget about him
                                             he's no good for you"
                                                           -i tell her

But i am hung up
                and down

hanging by a thread
                         noose
                         string

by the strings with which you
                               strung me along

a long
way from home, I
                                    walk on

an adventure for
                               one

I reminisce of when
                              we walked

all over the compass rose
                                      rising up

rising sun,
raising me up



from the dirt.

I did that.

I am the strong woman

who screams from the bottom of her lungs
from the top of stadium road


i don't need anyone


what a crock of ****

I used to run my fingers through the hair on your head
And it made me so happy
Because I think maybe I helped it grow

Maybe it was my love injected into your forehead
everytime I kissed you that made it so dark and thick

or maybe I was watering the roots of your hair with my tears and sweat and saliva when we made love

or everytime you kissed my pantylips
my lemon-and-dirt smell made it a whole inch longer

and when we held hands
it grew down to your knees

which is just where I like it.
So I can run up behind you and pull on it and spin you around to face me



But we’d cut it all off with a beautiful pair of scissors
So I could see your eyes

wipe the lipstick off with the back of my hand
wipe the mascara black drenched tears from my cheeks

I get scared
           driving in my car
because I still want to run red lights
and I am terrified of how life
is so unrelenting. It just
******* continues. You are gone.
You are gone but the world moves on
and I just want to break down
and crumble because these hallways
still play Chicago
and my mom just
keeps on gardening
     Elise keeps on painting.

And I live life
        day to day
              getting my hopes up every time the ******* phone rings.

my body is covered
in foam

i run into walls headfirst
and feel nothing

i inject hate into my own blood with rusty needles
and feel nothing

i walk on hot coals to feel something
other than emptiness
i feel nothing

i am just an empty shell filled with only your love
it's the only thing that keeps me alive
and i don't even want it.


i make these mistakes that i can never take back
but it's okay
because i feel nothing

i know i change my mind a lot

I like your hands
;slender beautiful/ fingers
.

(it's silly, probably
to think about hands so much) (  )

And your smile, unexplained, inescapable.

but i can trust you
to understand, take things slow, with me.

I wouldn't have it any other way, I swear

and i will never compare you
to all the people that came before you



and i won't sing about your hair

or write poems about your lips

( even though i will) want to


i just don't want you to think


that you're like everyone else
I'm not
worried
though
.

you know that you're different
( i am pretty sure... that)
we both know
that i think about you
a lot
and i'm going to miss you(r hands)

i'm taking this slow,
like a train ride into the horizon

we can take a few years getting there,
and i'll enjoy just taking the journey
*is this okay?

I keep searching for you
      Or a replacement

But there is no one
                      around
to make my heart beat
                             anymore

And so I am lifeless

                     and jealous
of your life in
                            
Texas

Just give me the
                 word, baby

We can press our lips
        together again

like that last time
                on the bench

Where you told me you
                     loved me.


So tell me

                    where the ****
                              is your love now?

I'm drowning
                            and
you are nowhere to
                   be found

I stopped eating
you would tell me to do so
but we’re not talking anymore
and food tastes like ****

sweetness lingers too long on my tongue and turns bitter
textures feel odd, make me gag


so i’ve been eating soup
which I hate
but you love


which is ironic
because I love you the way you love soup
or the way you love snow

or the way you used to love me, and don’t anymore.

I swear
the farther you are away from me,
the more i ache.
but this is pointless.

this chase so isn't worth my time
my heart feels full
of water, breathing
is difficult
when i think about
you
because in a month,
you'll be across the country
meeting new people
and even now
i rarely hear from you

and it makes more
sense to just

                             Let go.

I should just let go of you
find other company
instead of waiting by the
phone, crying
and writing poems.

I should let you go now

So it won't hurt as much
when you leave



But, that thought
just makes me
want to cling to you

desperately.

So
I guess
I will stop here
to avoid redundancy

the therapist said
that i have to
"strip away my earth suit
and find my true essence"

find my true essence.
who the **** am i without a boy by my side
and a hand in my hand?

who am i when i'm alone in my room, listening to silence?

who am i
without you?

It's hard.
it's gonna be hard to figure it out.
it's gonna be a journey

a journey that i need to take.

but at the same time, it's like
the Matrix.

taking the red pill?
or the blue pill.

you make a choice.
you can either hibernate
in another person's reality

or you can live your own.


but it's so much easier to fill this gaping hole in my chest with people that don't fit

than to try to let it heal by itself.'

i was feeling empty, lost
without you.

on days when you were far away or busy
i didn't know what to do with my free time.

i would sit and feel strange.
i would miss you;
not used to alone-ness.
never wanting to get used to alone-ness.
I was afraid of free time.
I was afraid of silence.
I was afraid of myself and the thoughts that sit in my own head.

I wanted someone to take care of me

these past few days though,

i've been finding things to occupy my time.
yes, i cry a lot.

but
last night i played music.
and i danced alone, in my room.
like i did when i was a kid.

and today, i got some work done.
i'm eating right.
i'm reading a book that i never had time for before.
i'm playing music again.

i'm taking care of myself.

and now i'm writing some poetry.

yes, i cry a lot.
yes, i miss you.


but i'm starting to be okay.
i'm learning.



i'm starting to learn who i am,
what i like to do.

i'm figuring it out.



and i'm realizing that i'm not just surviving anymore.
i'm living

and i am so glad that i'm giving myself that chance

there isnt a **** thing i can tell you
that i haven't said over and over

honey, go ahead.
ask me the same questions
why did it fail
where did it stop working
when did i stop loving you



but at this point, it's just masochistic

why do i have such a desperate screaming want need to plunge into something
and yet
how do i even begin to do it in a healthy way
without hurting myself, hurting him, hurting you, hurting me

because you gave my heart a beat
that's a scary thought.
is it too soon
is it right
is the time right
is this right
my soul is so confused
and it wants so many answers

all i know
is that you gave my heart a beat.


it's a good measure of how much you like someone
when you forget that time exists and that
the world is still turning
at four in the morning

and you're still writing poems and breathing in
and out
listening to your heart beat


and you are completely ready to risk
your whole heart
and a whole lot of pain and suffering
just because you like
where this might be heading.


you can go to sleep tonight,
knowing that you gave my heart a beat.

which is something i gave up on a long time ago

well
yesterday


you wiped my slate clean
i was reborn.
baptized


in a lake of sweat and happiness and tears.
mostly
your tears.

my ducts have been dry for days,
for days
days.
i had forgotten how to cry.
i turned myself off from feelings

to save myself from the pain of losing him.
but i still feel it.
little pangs, here and there.

and i hope you understand, because i can't help it.
i can't remember the last time i felt something other than content

when did i last feel pain?
mourning
grieving is hard work
and i'm too lazy to be sad about
anything, really.

i want something to tear my lips off
and pluck out my eyelashes

or run over my kneecaps with a truck

so i can feel connected to my own pain.


like i used to be
when i was 13
and suicidal

but at least i was human

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

the world is spinning
and I wish I
     could stop *******
             caring about you

I wish i could
stop caring about
the ache in my heart
and the blood
pumping through
            my body

useless until

you come around

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 might not always be ready
for something so new
and different from
what I was used to

but I like laying in your
warm nest of blankets
and lingering scents
of cigarettes

and smooth skin brushing for hours
because we can’t think of anything else to do

and I could spend the rest of my time asleep
with you

when your hip bones part my thighs
and we don’t know whose hair is whose

I want to cling to you

and listen to your heart
cry for something you’ve never felt

our voices
blend like Robert's and Alison's
even when we're not singing
even when you are making
little grunts and i am
making breathy
             moan love
                        moans

and those sounds make me
want to cry just like
Robert and Alison
make me cry

     but they are always
                     happy tears