The last time we had *** it caused something of a
deforestation, I realized that I love men so much that I could not
possibly do their work for them. Double the amount of
calluses on my fingers and toes than there should have been:
two for every inch of hair cascading my back
when fifty-year olds would grab me and make an ocean of trees.
I cannot count how many times we have left someone
ourselves or others for ourselves, there is no difference because I
feel goodbyes in the same way that I do when I think about
missing my subway train or having hot tea
burn my esophagus on the way down. We leave people as often
as I fall in love with my thirty-six inches of hair cascading.  

Moments that did not matter, forgetting I was the one who
could have a second heartbeat in my belly
even stronger than the pulse felt in any man’s ****.

I do not want to remember you as the man who broke my heart
not long after breaking my *****, so I emptied everything
for you and pretended it was only the phone bill
I racked up that we had a problem with.
Every call amounted to a page worth of reasons why we did not
break up when maybe we should have, there were fifty
year olds making my hair cascade like rain down my back.
A precious later reminded me that I am a woman
and so I do not have to be empty:
as full as a god, there could be two lives inside of me from you.

Lungs are full of sludge and it's getting harder to breathe. Tripped in quicksand and its all the way past my sleeve as I sink lower and take at last look at what is surrounding me. My body is being crushed and I just want someone to set me free.

Recollect each memory held dear to me and wondering in my last moments what mark on humanity I've chosen to leave.

Sand consuming  my torso. The one she held onto while we kissed and wiggling to much so quickly I start to sink.

The sand at level with my back as I recall the times she left a scratch because she could never see me without leaving a mark or keeping my body intact.

Sand up to my neck while I refer to the burgundy erupted blood vessels that with her lips shes disturbed and because of it I can only hear her moans and not words.

Sand up to my lips and happiness enters my forsaken body as I recall that hers were the last ones I kissed.

Sand now over my head and in our moment of death we refer to the past and learn to love each moment in time. Safe to say that in my moment of death she was the only one on my mind.

I walked home coated in his smell,
it's under my skin.

His whispers are cutting,
little slices down to the bone.

The Earth chokes in weeds,
and his tongue is a dandelion.

But he's the shadow I leave on other men,
a darkness that rubs off me
and sticks.

You knew I never cried,
That I had to be really upset,
That if I did only the 4 walls of my bedroom would know.
You knew I never cried over a boy,
That I would never let anyone close enough to hurt me.
You said you wanted to be the shoulder I cried on if I had to,
We both laughed because I don't cry over boys.
*But I cried over you

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

You're going to do great things, You're going to love hard,
You're going to have people screaming your name,
You're going to drink beer and shoot the bull with your friends,
They're going to ask about the girl in your songs,
And for the first time in a long time you'll feel something,
You'll think about me.
Every night after a few drinks, You'll stumble on stage with your cigarette,
Telling your fans, this one goes out to the one who got away,
The one that I should of chased,
The one that has my heart every day,
The one that I fall asleep in the memories,
And on that stage you'll feel the pain,
Of missing me.