I'm a raging retort
Burning air and searing flesh

I'm rough rainfall
In the dead of December
When it's too warm to snow

I'm a scarred navel
Touched by lips unknown

I'm a dog left outside
To rot in the Sierra sun

"Don't beat yourself up about it,"

He said this as if by hearing those words
I would not receive the bruises and scratches
That he repeatedly gave to me.
That by hearing those words,
Every hurtful thing he told me was flawed
Could be erased
Dissolved.
He told me not to beat myself up about it
As he was slicing me open.

I am a home.
I am the house that always smells of freshly baked cookies
The one that is always abundant in blankets and warmth
The kind of house that makes your friends' jealous
The soft place that makes them always come over
Even when they have worn out their stay.

You
Are wearing out your stay.
My windows have fogged over,
My door has rusted shut.
My floor boards are flooded,
And my welcome mat has ripped.

You see,
The key to keeping a home warm and cozy
Is by giving it tender loving care;
Not letting the trash and dust and ghosts pile up
Like you have done with me.

I miss the touch of candlelight on my skin
Faces pressed together without discretion
Thoughts projected onto cluttered walls
Littered with forced memories of years past

I'm confused by nostalgia
and conflicting desires
and the will to make it all right
when it's not my place to do so

I remember years ago when I looked in my wall-wide mirror
and realized that I'm not who I think I am
and I never will be
and I'm different by every sunrise

Reborn in a new light
singing new songs
humming old tunes
reclaiming lyrics from scrapyards

This is my destiny, I realized;
to be ever-changing

Each night I find myself clawing
the skin off my face

I find myself singing along to love songs
that I'll never relate to
not because I won't find love
but because I won't let myself

Each conversation blocked by doubt;
this is my curse
and my blessing

I'm forever safe, guarded by gates that
will never open

I'm leaving my windows open tonight
with the hope that it'll help me sleep
because when I wake up
I don't want to feel like I'm falling

They say the eyes are the windows of the soul
and I'm looking out
seeking something
and I want you to tell me what you see
when you stare at me
because I don't know what to feel

I've heard songs sung by long-dead stars
recorded on instruments divine
and I want to know what it sounds like
when the rings of Saturn spin

I'm getting over a fever
that's hobbled my mind for far too long
but instead of triumph I feel only
emptiness

It took everything from me and I took it all back
but I'm looking down into my outstretched hands and
I don't understand what I'm seeing

Take my hands, please, and cure me of this
disease

Close my windows when I wake

Is this all I'm good for?

Rewind.

Newly charred, you look like a
match lit twice

Oft cheated, I see the darkness in
your eyes

Pull those strings, boy
Look me in the eyes, boy,
It only gets worse from here

Never bothered to count the years
between you and your lover,
he left you broken on the roadside

No better than a puppet, you lay
seeking salvation

No fairer than the day, you lay
losing breath

Is this all you're good for?