It breathes memories into my charcoaled lungs The calluses on my palms The ever lingering self doubt following my every step Its heart beats in the herb garden on my balcony Pulses through my broken alabaster skin And quakes in the grooves of my cracked ribcage It sleeps on the folded fitted sheets in my cabinet Stirring restlessly at the smell of stale beer and fresh tobacco It awakens with a jolt whenever it smells blood Its stretching into my pinned back colony hair Weaving its way through the secret stories Into eardrums saying "you must **** yourself to get out" This ghost of my family Whispering commands into my ears I am only now hearing it's voice Because I always believed it was mine This goodbye is not reconciliation with the voices It is a resurrection of my own.
You are a collector Of beautiful things Art and artifacts You can dust off To show your friends Turn the lights off When they leave For beauty is only real If it makes others Feel ****. I finally understand Why you only call me When you're with them And stop holding me When they leave.
All my life I have kneeled down at your altar Sacrificing my innocence and self worth A lamb who's blood would gain me favor "the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist" Yes, I worshipped you like a God I was afraid of Old Testament wrath brewed in our home And I readied myself to **** what I loved As Abraham would, as sheep do for their shepherds For I knew my creator loved me, and called me love "For he disciplines those he loves, and he punishes each one he accepts as his child. " By the stripes inflicted upon me I would be freed Of this shame and unworthiness you bestowed
But it turns out "Father" does not mean "God" Sometimes it just means "alcoholic" Sometimes discipline just means abuse My faith is now placed in me, and the God that made us both.
I am lucky She says ardently So lucky To be so young And clean I do not feel lucky. My mother recently Stopped jumping when The phone rings in the night Knowing it isn't a call about me And the ditch I was found dead in I just remember closing my eyes When I was in cars with strange men Afraid to open them just in case They were the last things I'd ever see I just remember throwing up in bed Bed was a bathtub in a bathroom Without a lock or a blanket Bed was ***** and hospitals were not I wanted to die in a hospital That was my only dream, to die. So I do not feel lucky to be so young I do not feel lucky to be clean I just feel lucky to be alive And lucky to open my eyes wide And lucky to have a bed Without faucets
I have dreamt of this many times The warm hand resting on my ribcage Rolling over to find love sleeping soundly Gentle calls of frustration about running out of cream Rushing out the door, late due to too long kisses goodbye Simple little dreams of simple little pleasures Yet when I find them I feel like a ghost Hollow and never quite present Seeing it all unfold but it passes right through me I have never belonged in my dreams Because I dream of being someone else.