these words aren’t about you .

they’re about the person I let rent space
inside my heart .

they’re about the times I wished I could go back

and say to them ,

*“no
it’s okay , you can stay longer ;

I don’t care
if your payment is late ."
*

because having you there was enough.

but these words aren’t about you .

they’re for the person still hiding behind these drained eyes .

these shaking fingers .

these weak limbs .

and I’m still not sure which is better ;

to feel everything at once or nothing at all .

because sometimes it is both ,

and you are the gushing waters drowning my lungs .

and sometimes it is neither ,

and you are the words I wish I could drink from the sea .

*we always left so many of them unsaid ,
*
letting our bodies do the talking .

but now I wonder how many conversations 
we’ve had with each other when we

thought we were asleep .

it was may twentieth and
he asked me
why I always tried to **** myself .
I never liked this question ,
but I loved him ,
so I told him .

I was like a broken table ,
in the kind of way
where nobody wants to have me
because they're scared I'll
break ,
and even though they know
I'm going to break ,
they keep putting bricks on me ,
expecting me to be **strong .

she stepped out
into the light of day ..
bare .
she was completely alone ..
and worthless ..
and small .

she swallowed silence
like she had not eaten in years ;
she looked just the same .

the silence and beatings
and numbness
she felt
was poured from her wrists
in hundreds upon hundreds
of beatings of her own .

her skin was pale .
her bones were fragile .

she was eighteen ,
born on an april tuesday .
she had lost her name
to the voices inside of her .
they had named her ana .

she trusted no one .
she loved no one .
she was harsh and numb ..

but most of all ....
ana
was lost .

my four-year-old sister asks me where we live , and I tell her
that we live in a land where america is the punchline
to one of god’s jokes
that half of us are busy debating
the existence of ,
while the other half of us are holding
our bibles like they’re grenades that we can lob at
anyone who doesn’t agree with our opinions .
I tell her we’re still busy digging through the mine rocks
of our subconscious for some hope of gold ,
while on the other end of the world there are tribes of people
who are happy just to have charcoal to eat for dinner .
we live in a world ,
I tell her ,
where streets are filled
with the bodies of people who work harder trying to find
a place to live than the people with 5 million paychecks ,
and those bodies get stepped over like doorsteps just the same .
where “ soup kitchen " is a synonym for “ system failure ,"
where sometimes the pops of firecrackers and gunshots
are indistinguishable .
here in america ,
I say , we wear
those pops like bling rings on our index and middle fingers ,
and we flip the middle one at anyone who dares to suggest
that handling a gun like a solution is actually the thing
that creates the problem in the first place .
my four-year-old sister
wants to know about how come
we tighten our coats and purses closer to our bodies
whenever we pass someone of a different color on the street ,
and I tell her that in america ,
we only trust the people
who’ve got the same color of a mood ring as we do .
we live in a place , I tell her ,
where the system has failed
but then again ,
the system wasn’t very much
of a system in the first place.

still faced child ,
the memories slide against your skin
almost as easily as your makeup .

you don't forget on accident ;
you forget because it's convenient .

something tells me
that it's getting hard to juggle the memories
that you want to remember
and the ones you want to make disappear .

your atlas eyes
take me
to the trailer in petersburg ;
to the cozy neighborhood in warsaw ;

to the dead man in the basement
in dayton ,
with his head on the tile
that was stained red
and the needle
next to his limp hand .

lucky you
that you got to see him .
that you saw his face .
that you were the first to see his
body as relaxed as it was .

a couple days later
you dressed in black
and saw his body again ;
not quite as relaxed ,
and without the lazy smile tracing his closed eyes .
he was stiff as a board ,
and had as much emotion as one .

his sister has gotten a tattoo ,
her arm still sore to the touch
as she recieved hugs
from family and friends and other people
who had that same
lazy smile on their lips
and around their eyes .

the tattoo told you the year he was born
and his name
and the current year
and that he had gone fishing somewhere .
there was a colorful fish between
the sloppily-gathered information ,
greens and yellows and browns .

you look her in the eye ;
she looks like you do
when you are trying to catch the good times that are flying
away ,
caught in the breeze
of ****** ,
and of the funeral feel .

it's sad .. because she has bad memory
and you can tell .

you hug her ,
and make sure not to touch her arm .
it's a sacred limb
that she will skim her fingers against in the mirror
so that she may collect
the good times
and sit down to dinner with them
on sunday evenings
instead of going to church
and sleeping through a sermon .

....

maybe
she will invite you over
for dinner
with her beautiful stories
and her memories
caught fresh from the sky .

**the lord only knows
how much she needs to move
her mouth ;
how much she needs
to speak .

i was raised up
to sing ,
and to praise god ,
and to say amen .

nothing else .

but as i live this life
with all of the forks
in my yellow brick road ,
that i was urged to travel on
by people in my life
who i realize now
were children
compared to people who cared ,

i see no god .
i see no praise ,
for him or anyone else
that is said to deserve it .

i hear no singing .
just see thousands of quarter notes
in a hymnal book that five people
pick up
and study , like it's their job .

i hear no independent amen .
it is only said after one person's prayer
is finished
and after they have used
pointless
s p a c e f i l l e r s .

" dear
lord , we just thank you father
for the day to day lord . and
god , we just love you lord . and heavenly father ,
we would like to pray, lord , for those who couldn't
make it to this service tonight , god .
remember , dear lord , our soliders , god .
remember those of your children , father ,
who have strayed from you path god , and
please help them dear jesus to
find their way way back to you , heavenly father .
in jesus' name . amen ."

THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE PRAYING TOO .
THEY NEED NOT A REMINDER EVERY SECOND .

i bet god gets sick
of his own name .

i bet he changed it
like mom does when the kids say "MOM"
too much .

maybe that is why prayers
aren't getting answered anymore .


i bet he changed it to something awesome , too .

like Spacefiller Christ .



i think a chorus of silent , heartfelt prayers
and hushed amen's
would be more beautiful
than any robotic , unified repeat ;
more beautiful
than any hymn .






STOP .


you are not just
one of god's children ;
you are whatever you want to be .

god is not glenda
and the devil does not only reside
in the west .

life was made
for you to awaken
from this controlled dream
and hug your auntie em
and to work on the farm in kansas
until you get the money to go
where you want to go .

you don't need to click your heels .
not even once .




you just need to wake up .

hands on her shoulders
hair down her back
lying to her daughter at home
making barely enoough money to feed
the posibilty of another mouth
another life

she drove seventeen hours to be crumpled
like dust

words hurt when you wait too long
words hurt when she is in your arms
words hurt when they're spat out of a poisonous mouth
words hurt when they're inked to her flesh

but in her anger
she's a fire
raging
in her arms she holds her heart
not on her sleeve just yet
but pretty ******* close

she is honest
not to her daughter
but as a mother

where he sleeps
is where she falls

to another addiction
to another shot of liquid feel-good
to another love

she has a broken heart
that she is trying to sew up
and a tattoo
to prove it

the spring after we both killed ourselves ,
I with a box cutter to the wrists and
you by leaping off the roof
of your business partner’s fourteen-story office , the crocuses
came up as usual , yellow tongues
like saxophones poking
through the earth .
when you arrived to pick me up ,
I answered
the door in my underwear since ghosts have no need
for either clothing or modesty .
you stood on your tiptoes
to kiss me , and when our mouths touched we felt
that old familiar wound
of self-pity .
at the tattoo parlor ,
so I could get the vertical scars
on my wrists inked back on in a
stronger color ,
the artist
would not let a dead couple through his door .
I pleaded with him that we would tell no one else ,
that we were not like the usual dead , not scary ,
not like zombies or ****** gang members , but to no avail .
at the café where we next stopped for raspberry lattes ,
the other patrons stared at us without inhibition ,
searched the air for the smell of rot .
there was none .
later , at home after the movie in which everyone left
to sit in another theater after we entered the doors ,
you gave me a bouquet of flowers that wilted in my hands
as soon as I touched them .
we were lovers
that had lived and died together , and our date ended as
they always had in life : with both of us trying not to cry
looking at the floor and wishing we could be more
than our shared self-hatred .

a pause                                 a little emptiness

each year harder to live within .

each year harder to live without .

and I'm finding it hard
to live at all
with the loud pauses ;
with the tiring emptiness .
something has to give .
oh , what I would
give
to have you here .
it's black outside , black enough
to hide my sins ,
and I want you to see me
like this .
pure .
innocent .

I love                                                   you
more than you will ever
see ;
more than you will ever
begin to fathom .

blind yourself
with the dark of night ,
and visit me
with closed eyes ;
visit me
with open lungs
and an open soul .

sometimes goodness comes

from treating yourself

not like you burned earth to dust

but like you made it

into a beautiful body . 

crowned it with stars ,

put a precious coat over it

and called it home .

you spilt love too young

too young to know how to bend ;

too little to carry morning dew on your back
you fretted about things that made god angry ,

who sends a wolf to a praying child ,
even if they were born running .
forget dreams that make you old

learn to make love

without breaking everything that  you touch .

the year we dissected a squid and ate its tentacles piece
by piece down at the pier next to your house was the year
you expanded while I grew into myself .
we kissed one another
like good luck charms ,
like talismans , and used
our bodies in place of
fortune tellers .
I read your palm lines
and came to the conclusion that we would be together forever .
you hated the word forever and settled for a long time .
as we grew more familiar
with one another’s skin ,
I watched my intake .
I wanted nothing but you ,
would inhale nothing but you ,
counted my calories
like sheep before
drifting off to sleep .
the less I ate , the more
room I saved for you .
you wanted to swallow me whole
so I fed myself to you
piece by piece , the tender red flesh of my thumbs
and ******* until they grew bruised
by your mouth .
In those days I ate nothing
but a cup of cold cereal .
when we watched the whales dive in the surf ,
slapping the water like winners of an arm wrestling match ,
you were almost as giant as their cavernous ribs .
I was smaller than the smallest school of fish .
I wanted to fade into you, into the house of your lungs ,
so I spent hours ******* in my ribs in front of the mirror .
we became opposites of one another .
but in the end , my wish to become part of you failed ,
and I simply became the skeleton in your closet instead .

when she kissed

the moon good night 
stars bashfully twinkled .
the black on her lips

stained the night sky
 .
everyone thought it a bad omen .

I said

this is how the heavens love
 ;
this is how you love
 .
you paint home your favorite color
I put lavender flowers in my heart .


everyone said

this purple
doesn’t make you king
 .

I said

*this is how
you start being human .

peter pan said

to
die
would be an awfully big
adventure .

and I've had my bags packed
and my gym shoes on
for the longest time

I had put 
healing on the list .

the grocery list .

the to do list .

the night list .

the things to pack list .
because

I thought that it would help me
to remember
that people care
and that I am worth it ..
but they came to visit
my little apartment
in seattle
and asked what the lists were for
and I told them
and they laughed

those things are not true .
those things are no good .
silly girl , don't be so foolish .


that night
I cried and I ripped down
my lists
and laid face first on my bed ,
letting my makeup run away
from my skin .

but that same night ,
my windows flew open ,
and I saw a shadow take shelter
from the rain outside
and he flew in
with a roosters crow
and a smile
fit for a child .

come with me
to neverland .
you will be away from them .
you will never have to grow up ,
or be saddened by burdens .
you will be a  lost girl ,
not a  lost soul .

I grabbed my backpack
and wiped away clean cheeks
and tied my laces
and flew away .

I always spill my stupid feelings
and they always
get all over the floor
and I've got to clean

because no one cups their hands
or gets a towel
or helps , or anything

they all just stand and watch
as you try to wipe it up
and they smile
because it's their house
and you're cleaning it for
free

and my godfather
definitely isn't
a fairy*

grandmother's ice - cold words
frosting a gown
a pair of glass slippers
that you smash on the ground
bleed
keep walking forward , like you're told

and my mother isn't a step
up from anyone I've met
she's just like everyone else

my father is silent
dead

we met on a
busy
new york sidewalk .

how about this ..
I'll save you from yourself ,
and you give me your heart .

I look at you .
skeptical .
shaking in heavy boots .

okay .

you are reliable , and safe ,
and your eyes look like leaves on trees
and you smell like a forest .
I can't help but give you all of it .



you didn't lie ..
you saved me
from me
but we stood there , and you got bored .

I have to go .

and you dropped me heart
on the cold pavement and went away .
it was a black , disgusting mess ,
and you and I both left it there
to rot .


to die.


and I see you sometimes .
we pass each other on the sidewalk and
look into eyes
that are glazed over and haven't seen anything
worth while
in centuries .
I can't muster up a smile .
you can't muster up strength to wave .
we walk by .
silent .


I shot myself that night ,
and I left you a note .

please give me back my heart .

so you picked up my heart .
went to my funeral
dressed in all white
like the angel you are
and dropped it six feet under
along with my sealed casket .






thanks .

I sit before flowers

hoping they will train me in the art

of opening up

I stand on mountain tops believing

that avalanches will teach me to let go

I know

nothing
but I am here to learn .

here to breathe
and live a new life
among stars and planets .

here , where
your mind
and
your body
are desperate for the same thing
desperate to learn
to know .

to know the secrets
of the universe you fly in
and the happiness your soul
has dived in .

to know love ;
to know life ;
to know all .

I was in the winter of my life ,
and the men I met along the road were my only summer .
at night I fell asleep
with visions of myself ,
dancing and laughing and crying with them .
three years down the line
of being on an endless tour ,
and my memories of them
were the only things that sustained me ;
my only real happy times .
I was a singer - not a very popular one ,
I once had dreams
of becoming a beautiful poet ,
but upon an unfortunate
series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided
like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again , sparkling and broken.
but I didn't really mind
because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted , and then losing it
to know what true freedom is .
when the people I used to know found out what I had been doing , how I'd been living ,
they asked me why - but there's no use
in talking to people who have a home .
they have no idea what it's like to seek safety
in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head .
I was always an unusual girl .
my mother told me I had a chameleon soul , no moral compass pointing due north ,
no fixed personality ;
just an inner indecisiveness
that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean ..
and if I said I didn't plan
for it to turn out this way
I'd be lying .
because I was born to be the other woman .
who belonged to no one ,
who belonged to everyone.
who had nothing ,
who wanted everything ,
with a fire for every experience
and an obsession for freedom
that terrified me
to the point
that I couldn't even talk about it , and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me .

I dreampt of you again last night ---
so sweet , it was a nightmare .
an apparition of your hand embalmed in mine .
"poofing" in the smoke of my reality come back to life .

the way you looked at me so fond ; I can never forget .
it brings the tears like a monsoon .
the time going on and on ; post -traumatic .
I age ten years in the span of two months .
living ; learning .

and I still love you .
like pneumonia that never leaves ...
there is always a risk of the sickness again .
take caution .
do I want to fall ill again ?
the second time may come to pass ---
my death would then be on your hands (yours are so lovely) .

and I am so lonely ...

once upon a time I felt
your hand on mine
and I loved you
and you loved me .
my mother always said
that love was a treasure
that pirates tried to take
from peter and wendy
in neverland ;
our love was kind of the same .
always needing guarding .
always needing tender care .

you flew away to be with the mermaids

I stayed to protect the gold .

when death comes
I’ll need not love –
consumed ,
no wreath or dove
could offer me salvation ,
not when I’m no more .

a weathered stone will bear my name –
identity of once a being
living out existence in
a world of risk , and never seeing
sense of why we’re here .

my genes will die away through child –
hue of eyes and hair , the way of thought ,
will quickly dim with generation –
bow to future dominance –
memories of provenance
resigned to curious few .

when death comes
I’ll need not grace
below ; no grieving face
will call my resurrection,
not when I’m at ground –

it wasn't just the way you
looked at her
or the way that you didn't even
flinch
as she accidentally placed
her hand on yours
when you both reached for
the same thing
it was the way you
talked to each other
the way you guys spoke
like she never broke your heart
in the first place
the way your eyes seemed to
shine
when she made a comment
toward you revealed that
your feelings for her
would never change

and though it seems
like all I've ever wanted is
for you to look at me
like a blind boy who
had seen the sunrise for
the first time
and talk to me like we have
known each other
for years
I can't hate her

I can't even pretend
because she makes you so

*happy .

there's no easy
way to say
these things
but god you
break my *******
heart sometimes
what's worse is
I no longer care
because its you
breaking it
and I can feel
the pieces of
my heart splitting
and falling away
from the vessels
like rocks from a
cliff
i don't know if
I can breathe the
right way or talk
the right way or
if it is even possible
to be the same
person as I was
before the first day
of summer
when your lips
touched mine
and I kept my eyes
open because I
wanted to see how
you acted
I wanted to remember
you by this moment
by how you took
off your glasses
and by how you
looked at me
and ran fingers
through your hair
and how you acted
like a child holding
death in his hands
holding me in
your hands
but they were big
enough to catch
all of the cracked
pieces of my
heart and you didn't
give up on me
when I bit my lip
and said

i don't know

it's what I needed
it's what I need
but you've slipped
out of my grip
my hands are not
as big as yours
and I lost you
to something else
or someone else
or whatever else
you are occupied with
it's not me
and I feel selfish for
saying such things
but I can't help
thinking that you
should answer when
I am crying
because your hands
are not beneath
my heart right now
and the pieces are
stabbing my insides .

**I can't live anymore .

it’s 3:50 a.m. and I am laying here

thinking nothing

feeling nothing

dreaming nothing
I have no fate

no destiny

just plans that never turn out right

plans that I make

plans that I destroy
I regret it now

the day I looked at you

and my heart stopped beating

and my mind whispered

" you will love him , and he , love you ."

it never goes according to plan
because I love you now

enough for 
7 billion 46 million people

who have the audacity to

think they matter

feel they matter 

dream they matter
and you 
have not given me

a second glance ..

let alone 
a first one .

you will never be let down by anyone
more than you will be let down
by the one you love most in the world
it’s how gravity works
it’s why they call it falling
it’s why the truth is harder to tell
every year
you have more to lose
but you can choose to bury your past
in the garden
beside the tulips
water it
until it’s so alive
it lets go
and you belong to yourself
again

when you belong to yourself again
remember forgiveness
is not a tidy grave
It is a ready loyal knight kneeling before your royal heart

call in your royal heart
tell it bravery cannot be measured by a lack of fear
it takes guts to tremble
it takes so much tremble to love
every first date is an earth quake

sweetheart , on our first date
I showed off all my therapy
I flaunted the couch
where I finally sweat out my history
pulled out the photo album from the last time I wore a lie to the school dance
I smiled and said
“that was never my style
look how fixed I am
look how there’s no more drywall on my fist
look at the stilts I’ve carved for my short temper
look how my wrist is not something I have to hide”
I said
well , I was hiding it

the telephone pole still down from the storm
by our third date I had fixed the line
I said listen ,
I have a hard time
and by that I mean I cry as often as most people *** and I don’t shut the door behind me
I’ll be up in your face screaming

“SEATTLE IS TOO RAINY SEATTLE IS TOO RAINY
IM NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO LIVE HERE .”

I sobbed on our fourth date

I can’t live here
in my body , and by that I mean
I can’t live in my body all the time it feels too much
so if I ever feel far away know I am not gone
I am just underneath my grief
adjusting the dial on my radio face so I can take this life with all of it’s love and all of it’s loss

see I already know that you are the place where I am finally going to sing without any static which means
I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back ,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already .
when we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already

it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love ,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars ,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart .

just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart .
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my separate parts
and none of those parts are going to be wearing the romance from the overpriced vintage rack
that is to say I am not going to get a single speed bike if I can’t make it up the hill
I know exactly how many gears I’m going to need to love you well
and none of them look hip at the hot coffee shop
they all have god saying

“good job . you’re finally not full of ******* .
you finally met someone who’s going to flatten your knee caps into skipping stones ."

throw me
throw me as far as I can go
I don’t want to leave this life without ever having come home
and I want to come home to you
I can figure out the rain .

as he tells his stories , I watch , curious .

does he ever feel the body walking next to him ,
the one whose life ended so quickly .
does he feel the ghost of his friend ?

does he hear the guns firing , the bombs booming ,
the cries of his fellow soldiers .
do the sounds play over , terrifying music
without melody ?

does he ever close his eyes and see the battlefield ?
the destruction wrought by only man .
did he ever take a step and feel as if he was on their soil ?

does he ever turn around when called by name ,
and expect to see his fellow fallen soldier ?
does he ever turn and expect to see
the war raging behind him ?

do the images haunt his nightmares ,
his dreams ?
or worse ,
do they haunt his waking moments ?
has he been able to find happiness,
after all he has saw ?
I only hope he has .

my mother told me
that life
was worth living
and that dying
by my own hand
was selfish

my father said
that he would always be there
after leaving
five times

but I wonder if he knows
how many times
I died
by his foot steps
or by my mothers
second hand smoke

I would rather shoot myself
in the head
than have these demons
control me
and I would rather suffocate myself
than let your smoke choke me
I would rather choose my own fate
than have one chosen
for me
let me breathe oxygen for once
and not have my lungs crushed
by your gym shoes
let my heart not be smashed by
another slammed door
or have my mind poisoned
by your treatment and religion

god was manifested to manipulate
in whatever way
suits you best

let me not be tied down to a leash

let me not die by your hand

let me die
by my own

I listen to comedians on pandora 
because it's the 
comic relief
in the midst of my tragedy 
and I always fall asleep
to the sound of laughter 
just to dream
of death 
and of worthlessness 
and I wonder if maybe
I fell asleep to the sound of
your breathing
that I would dream of better things
but for now
I will lay in the dark
in my black sheets
and stare at a ceiling that I can
barely differentiate 
from anything else in the room
in the world
and I don't know 
how I got here or how I get back 
but louie c.k. and lewis black
remind me that things are funny
that life itself
is one
big
joke
so I go back to sleep under my
black sheets
listening to hard laughter 
as the comedian says 
" if I can prevent my son from being gay , I will "
" I say hate in a harmless way "
" you hate child abuse , but you like strippers "
" taking your clothes off for money is the easiest job in the world "

and I wake up 
to death
and worthlessness

I wake up
to
the world

love is a flame
but mine doesn't warm you
I love you like an inferno
you would be ashes in the blink of an eye
maybe that's why you stand so far back

sleeping feels better than being awake

but the more I sleep , the worse I feel when I am awake

which seems obvious , but nothing quite is

when I am not with you , 
which also now seems obvious .
I want to do my one good deed for the day

but as soon as those words enter my head in that order

I feel disgusting and it feels ruined .

my head prattles away
with some other part of my head

about this and that ,
I don’t know . 

I wasn’t invited .
I’d never say this is the worst day ever ,
or whatever .
not everything needs to be said .

for the longest time I thought that maybe
I
could suffocate you
and
your demons ,
so that you could die
and live
but your parents refused
they said that you would have to be
shocked
and have water that they had to kneel on their knees to make holy
poured onto your face .
it's a little funny though ,
because I don't think anything could shock you more than I did
the night we both heard the
crackcrack
of your ribs as I told I didn't love you
as much
and that I have made you cry
more than twice ,
and your demons know how to swim
because of it .
I never saw you in the hospital ,
but I bet you looked beautiful ,
and vulnerable ,
and scared ,
and scarred ..
I regret it now , not visiting you
because at least you were feeling something there ....
and I would've liked to have seen that ;
I would have liked to see you live
as they watched you ,
and as you died .