the sun drips
like
a
yellow yolk

oozes
down
the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
quickly
all the times we had
vulnerable;
gone.

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
sister
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you

Daughter,
You were born on a battle field.
Forged from years of hunger for more
From the dream of women who couldn't stay contained-
You have wildfire eyes.
100 years of insult and mockery as armour
Do not let them down.
Scream so loud
That it can be heard across the killing field-
Scream until you can hear it echoed back by your sisters.
Together,
Proud and ready
You could lead us into victory.

- they tell us we are weak
- We use their bones to clean out our teeth

i.
it is in the nature of grief to cause pain, to burn like a candle wick from the inside out. it's fore-bearer, loss, is a gnawing hole in one's heart. passion has always been give and take, but you feel it has taken more than it has ever given.

ii.
'all is fair in love and war' they say. but what of this misery is fair? 'it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.' a seed of love had been planted, and took root, and the roots took the soil with them when that love was ripped away, leaving only a hole. such bereavement cannot be comforted with such cheap words.

iii.
love is a many splintered thing, the edges cutting even as the euphoria sets in. you planted flowers in your chest, so that it may become a garden to harbor if they so chose to reside in your heart, hopeful flower child that you are. alas, the writing was on the wall, and they only grew thorns. they torched the roses and reveled in the flames as your heart withered. ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

iv.
now is the winter of your discontent, just staying one day ahead of yesterday. the ocean of your salty tears is deep, and you are barely keeping your head above the water. time is meaningless here, in the seas of your despair. your barren soul is the land that time forgot.

v.
now you know that crows are black everywhere, no matter the beauty of their feathers and the shining gifts they bring. your infatuated delusions were a far cry from reality, and you can only mourn your innocent naivety from when you believed in miracles.

vi.
you wash your hands, sloughing off garden-soil, flower-ash, and sea-salt stains. you pluck the glossy feather from behind your ear and watch it spiral to the ground. you remember. you remember. you remember. and the fiery memories swallow you whole.

h.f.m.

i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.

My eyes are so weary and tired
But sleep wont come to me
It seems like it has forgotten its way
Too many mindboggling thoughts
Thoughts exploding in my head
Why wont they just go away?
Why can't I just forget?
Why can't I just give up?
My mind is fed up trying to convince my heart
This stupid, stubborn heart
It is still beating in a hope
Hope that one day
He is going to come back
Come back to stay
But this heart is stupid, isn't it?
Wishing for the impossible

What is this i feel?
                            A sense to speak,
             A need to say something.
                                                     Yet the words,
      They fail me.
                  Yet the feelings,
                                     They go away.
                                                   I sit in words i cannot say aloud,
In the void of nothing.
          I feel nothing.

I.
                                                    ­       Am nothing.

                Mirrors are bullies,
                           Fathers are abusers,
Toilets are comforters,
                                                     ­    Yet I still feel nothing.
         Yet I cannot find the words…
                        to express the nothing I feel.
Why?
                                                      ­     Why do I hurt?

               No one understands,
                                     I don't understand.
    I am an empty well.

         Why do I continue to swallow pills to make me sick?
                              He tells me I am beautiful…

                              She tells me I am not fat.

   How come I roll?
                                                          How come I don't fit in like they do?

                                                  Why do continue to write him letters?

                           How come he hasn't showed up in seven years?

    How come no matter how many times I tell him

                                                            ­                      I forgive his abuse
                I still get angry
                                               And want to die?
  Why do I want
                 What everyone seems to be so afraid of?
                                                             ­         Death
So sweet
                                       Asleep forever.
                                                                ­  In a place where I don't have to
                Feel
                                            The
Nothing
                                                                ­ That
                         I am.

I think of you as the sun.
Brightly shining down on my world.
Giving me what I so desire.
But then there comes a time where you disappear.
And I get cold.
I get scared of the dark and cry until I see you appear again.
I crave your attention
Long for your touch,
I am addicted to the way you feel.
You are the sun.
And I am a flower.