i was never a daisy.
i dislike the term "dainty"
and i'm tainted with dark and broken beauty.
instead of absorbing water i leak it
my knees go weak when my freakish mind is left behind
see my blue iris eyes don't always symbolize
faith and hope
like the iris flowers do
peonies can live through winters and bloom in the spring
but that's not really my thing and
january days can make me wither away under skies of gray
oh those nights oh those nights
i'll slay my own brain one of these
roses have thorns,
thorns have roses
but i wouldn't buy a bouquet of me
for fifty george washingtons
in this garden
held in by a white picket fence
you won't find me,
i promise.
tiger lilies have spots
on fiery orange petals
that grow wildly
not mildly
i was never a daisy.
or an iris rose peony
right now
i'm a tiger lily
because i'm inventing myself again.
but being a princess in neverland
means i never have to change again
so sleep tight, i just might have found me.

this is my song in the desert
stumbling in my pursuits
when my mind, it is dry, but my heart it does beat
dug deep inside my pretended screams

i yell to hear myself feel
buried beneath a silent mind
clawing my walls and playing my keys
someday my hip bones will turn into wings

flying across this desert of skin
i cling to the hints of hope tossed within
and wait for the stars to fall closer and near
as i wait to whisper along my desert song

my fingers bleed so desperately
hungry to cling to that tree made of pain
but i am afraid of my weight so to stay sane
i lean into silence and kiss my own fingers clean

i walk along the curve in my spine
only once i heard the muffled sounds come clear and clean:
i am not free
and this is my song in the desert

i smile my denials, what a sweet smile
i don’t want to be the judge in all of his trials
please stop these thoughts from running too deep
add one more thorn to your crown to bleed

when i cannot breathe, still this is my song in the desert
when everything in me is dry
please let me hum and escape this quiet brain
until the sun falls out of the sky

i tried to find my rooftops
to find my wings in bloom
i tried to leap into your arms
but afraid to tear your scars, i fled

i slept inside my skin instead
tracing shapes with my restless legs
but oh please send help, i am not fine
i harbor the assassin inside my mind

i grasp for an angel and touch a dream
lost in a city with only me
i threw my maps and watched them drift
my knuckles are mountains and my veins fake streams.

in the very dark back corner of my brain
up a serpent arises
to kiss my lies in slow depart
this alone i cannot slay

and this is my song in the desert
my flesh i am desperate to bleed
but my weapons are dull, rusted and old
and my battle cry fades into silence

on the day that i cried
she said she saw an illness in my eyes
your deathly crown sits along my waterline
cupping my iris, reminding me of their crimes

this is my desert song
sung when my heart is so heavy
that it crushes my lungs
and with its deflate finally i see your name

but rip my tightly woven threads
and gently untangle my knotted hair
the wind has blown across the dust of my thoughts
please sweep me up and wash me whole

perhaps whats been dried will taste sweeter and longer
brighter vibrations with growing explosions
the victory sweeter and my strength grown softer
maybe when your water runs

again i will grow green
and i will be clean
under your tree
thorns will turn back to dark lashes again

this is my song in the desert
as i search for streams inside my soul
drain me of the dust inside
and cup a single drop into my side

this is my secret song, please
teach me to be whole
loud and clear with silenced fear
my unsung song will scream through

and in you i will hear my soul again.

I had to look up
the word
'dating'
on Urban Dictionary
because I didn't know
what we were,
what we are.

And it said things like
'a socially acceptable
form of prostitution' and
'feelings of
puppy love that usually
dissolve
in a few weeks'.

But this is
not
puppy love.
This is not going to
dissolve or
fizzle out or
whatever,
you're not a
fizzle
you're a *******
fireworks display.

And you turn
everything in my head
into this
multi-coloured
turbulence and
I can't keep up with
how much I
adore you.

But the thing is
I don't know
if your view
is as good as mine.
What if you're
looking at something
a little less
beautiful.

What if I'm your
fizzle.

What if I'm as
temporary
as the flame you use
to light the
cigarettes
you find more
addictive
than my touch.

If that's the case
I'd rather
I left you
craving.

Because
if I'm your flame
you're my
forest fire
and you're burning
it all down until
the only thing left
standing is
you.

And I'll walk for
miles across this
carpet of ashes
just to feel the
softness of your skin
against mine.

And I'll cough
and I'll splutter
on toxic smoke
but you'll just
breathe it in because
you never realised anything
was even
lost.

You don't see me
crawl
you just know that
I'm here,
I'm here
I made it
I'm yours
I'll always be yours
because there's
nothing else
left.

And maybe
I can be
content with that
if only
you will see
that
you could burn down
everything
and I still
wouldn't put you
out.

smiling a denial
what a sweet smile
"you're always so happy"
a clicking music box

i am free i am calm i am smile i am happy i am
and in the annex alone i listened to him speak
snow falling like angels' feathered tears
on black wet pavement glassy.

i heard his voice and i heard him speak
and my skin it ripped and suddenly i knew-
and
i heard the muffled sounds come clear and come clean
(i am not free)

shaking every angel
as my own serpent arises
in the very dark back
corner of my brain

that i conveniently forget about.
a loud mind. singing foreign songs, a dream lilting deja vu.
his voice opened me up, he spoke about his mother joy reality and
as candles they do burn melting red over faded photographs and the sacrificed man's naked face
opened and i knew

and when his voice faded, screaming stopped their tearing of thunder and ripping of tightly woven threads-
the hole closed.
and oh father
i am numb again.

do you spell nicole with an h or no h
my question for you father is do i spell neglected with the prefix emotionally or was the one time you told me you loved me supposed to make up for all of that
i can still hear it
through my post-suicidal brain
believe it or not
I remember how to spell YOUR middle name
i guess i thought family
would be bound by more iron strings than intelligence genes or my-god-that's-a-lot-of money
and i guess i thought fathers
of daughters dying of anorexia
would give up the scales in a slowed-down heartbeat
instead of masking them in more excuses
hidden beneath hardwood floors
but then i also thought forever
existed outside of neverland
so i see i was naive.
just tell me one thing
do you even love me
or was this an experiment gone wrong
that you feign concern for half-heartedly.

i fell in love with her knees first.
they blushed. angel kissed.
two tiny red patches within the dips of the bones and skin of her knees. she was all skin and bones- and angel kisses. always.
she said she was born with them. birthmarks, she seethed.
but I sketched them later on paper.
angel kisses, i wrote.
her eyes were gray. she loved it when the sky was weeping. i fell in love with her eyelashes, her storm clouds above the snow sky.
i watched her and
i loved her and
i breathed her name.
but they said i should give up on her. gently let her go.
she smiled at my neck. swept away my breath and her fingers spread
over my cheeks with the blood that rushed
(like paint)
and she smiled my name and she turned away
she never fought to keep me there.

Here’s to the kids lying on the floor.
Here’s to the kids whose hearts that drip and spin and ooze and pour.
Here’s to the kids with hands spread wide with open doors to their cars and shudder with lies.
Here’s to the kids with cat scratches, metal latches, kitchen sinks, emotional tumors.
Here’s to the kids with paper masks, who smile when they scream and snap when they cry.
Here’s to the kids who want to say “I’m sorry” but have forgotten the lines,
Here’s to the kids that touch bone, say they’re fine, and have lost their shoulder blade wings to the sky.
Here’s to the kids without laughter lines,
Here’s to the kids with smile scars.
Here’s to the kids that press on, live on, watch the trees and sing bravely on.
Here’s to the kids with eyes made of steel, the kids that fight to feel.
Here’s to the kids that leave prints in the snow and who fight for their right to say no.
This is how we fight for our lives, this is how we breathe.
Leave your lost name at the door and bring us your thoughts
Your insides, your reality, your strengths and
Your weaknesses and your smile and your tears and your hands.
Take off your mask, kid, take it off and release the butterflies with fangs that live inside your hushed brain.