According to men
original sin is a woman
tempted by knowledge.
Naked and ignorant and perfect
for a blissful life of child-rearing
And wifely duties
She gave up paradise to learn.
Her moral failing was
To fill her mind
Not her *****

We are taught the first sin
According to men
Was a woman who learned--
Learned there is more than what her veiled eyes see
A woman sought enlightenment
Truth corrupts powerfully enough
To bring a world crashing down

It always sounded so simple
As a child
I heard the rule, the man’s rule:
don’t eat the apple
And I thought
what a stupid woman
Doesn’t she appreciate what she has?
With only one no in a world of yes
Why did she do it, why couldn’t she resist?

Now I admire her.

She would rather
The real world, with it’s pain
and labor and fault
Than one constructed for her by a god
who wants her to know little enough
to accept it as perfect.

The crime was questioning the paradigm.
And whenever examination of a system
Is deemed unacceptable
Don’t we know there is a problem
Hiding?

easily found by a brave woman
With curiosity,
Willing to lose everything
To know what she doesn’t know

At a certain point                I stop picking up the phone
I can’t do it anymore                 no more pretending, I’m tired.
I sigh myself awake                     blink dry eyes that I wish would tear.
And I wonder what                     could I possibly feel deeply again?
This day could answer for but                   I realize it's a void. Yet
My slack face lifts at the thought               there’s still alcohol to help
I could oblivion myself                  pummel through till tomorrow
What a brutal relief                             this animal body needs rest
This overworked mind is best                   left entirely alone in the dark
Sparked with substance and nothing          more than emptiness itself.

I think I have to be good

Check the boxes and qualify

Every step on my good girl walk

Brings me nearer to earning a place

Arriving at yes, arriving at rest.

Travel travel travel

The road of thank you for having me

Thank you for being here

Hold my hand when I tell you

There is no arrival.

I will support your downfall if you ask me to
I will tilt the brick to trip the foot of your leg, leg, hip
I will cobweb your path and catch in your eye
Stick to your face like a smile never could
I will be so helpful at undoing you
If that’s what you want.

All I ask
Is that you do the same.

I have a sore in the back of my mouth
Like a leech eating under my molar it’s always raw
My tongue searches it out
And I’m reminded of those blind eels
Feeling my way in the darkness
Detecting only by pain
And a feathered texture
As if someone took a cheese grater to my gums
“If this is your way of getting me to notice you--
It’s working”
I think to the leech, as my eel tongue tries again to feast

--After Aidan Choi "stomach pains"--

I am hungry, not for food for sustenance.

I am hungry for acceptance. Eyes to meet mine and steady instead of nervous twitch. I am hungry for the calories to fill my blood with the sugar of love, the honey of affection; of intentional timing and attention i carry the accidents of my own and his and hers on a back not built for loads and like laundry I cycle and spill and crumple and filth. I linger in the smell of use. I’m comfortable with the stiff because to release is to trust and to trust is to relinquish and this burden must be carried 1 to 3 to thirty three.

Speaking of, time to take my happy pill. Time to keep someone alive. For me but not for you, you don’t have the time to relax with a child and raise it like a lamb for slaughter in the capitalism ranch, you don’t have the house to fill with ghosts from a childhood you aren’t sure is yours though you still have the memories; did it happen did          it         happen.?

I am fearful I might slip again, tearful that I’m here at the park pushing the swing and watching my pendulum get closer and closer to the edge where I’d like to be over, just topple me and I’ll cease to be anyone’s problem though she may have a few arise with a mom she can’t remember who’d rather die than try.

Depression is not romantic. It’s not sadness. it’s not what makes me creative. It’s not a goth girl in bulky headphones who is actually the one who rescues you, my eyes glaze and my teeth chatter when i’m hungry. I’m not here to save you with emotional depth and salty quips.

I’m waiting for this illness to turn me into an artist. Will suicide dreams become easier to hide under rhythmic words and clever rhymes? I’ve found that to be the case. I’m a starving artist who is fat with remorse and binging and watching. I eat with my eyes and everything I see I want to gobble to justify this turkey neck. When you see the art do you remember what’s right and wrong with the artist?

Shoot my guts twisting and i’m still hungry
Maybe it’s time to eat myself
I look in the mirror and unload
I see myself and I feast

Where will I go?
What will I do?--
These are questions
I don’t want answers to

I don’t want plans
And fantasies
I don’t want hidden stashes
Or fake smiles

I don’t want running shoes...
I want staying slippers.

I curtain my lids open but my eyes only take in dust
so much crumbs my pupil hides among the iris

brush my eyes, sweep along my body
beat it clean like a rug and watch debris float into the air

I pollute the room with feeling
watch me sad my way into your heart

and dull my way out of it with equal pace
run, don’t walk toward new content

there’ nothing to see, here
see here
nothing but sea--
hear it crash

Man or bear? A timely question
In vogue at the moment
And like many assaults, this too
Will pass through people’s minds
More quickly than the memory
Which stays to linger and fester
And pester, creating children
In the brains of victims while
Their friends and family slowly
Forget, they are left to raise the offspring
Of violation, learn to live with them,
Teach them, love them, reach into
Their hearts and unlearn hate and
Shame, cast off the blame of someone
Else’s crime, time will only mend
This wound if tended to routinely
But remember, most everyone else
Will forget seemingly in an instant
Much like this passing joke that isn’t
Really funny at all, a cultural moment
That fades into the background, but
I’m asking that we stay here a bit longer,
And wonder together, bear with me as
We collectively realize that bears are less
Scary to women because at least we aren’t
Questioning if the bear will enjoy our
Pain and then explain how we were
Asking for it, if you’re going to hurt me
I’d rather we were on the same page
About who is receiving the rage of the
Other, man or bear they ask and I can’t
Imagine a bear would try to ****
Me in my sleep, would butter up my
Friends and turn them against me,
Would tell me I was overreacting to
His claws and bites, would
Meet my tears with delight and spite.
I’ll take a roar over laughter any day
If in either case I’m going to pay;
There’s more dignity in the bear’s way.

I hold my pen in
A grip too tight, no
Accidental slip from
This hand that lands
******* the page, a
Stage set for greatness,
At least that’s the hope,
Feast your eyes on
This masterpiece, cries
Of delight release from
Lips who mouth my
Words soundlessly, an
Unheard hymn to
Sing praise to me,
Raise me up, cup
Your hands to catch
My rain and drink
Of me, stain fingertips
In ink, sink teeth
Into these sentences
Like meat and tear
Me from the bone,
I grip my pen too
Tight so that you might
Delight in the pain I write,
See yourself in me
And be the light
That shines on we,
This is now our
Experience, we’re in
This together, feathers
On the same bird
That flies over water
Always looking for the sand
To land upon, I’ll beat
Our wings if you’ll
Promise to find your need
To read me, listen
To my monologue in
Your head as we
Search for our homestead,
I grip my pen too tight
To keep us aloft,
Our bird in flight.

I can't do hard things. This shard of
glass thought rings through my head,
fed by the memories and voices
of times past when I haven't been good enough,
tough break, I'll never make it in
that business better try a different one,
desperate none of my skills will transfer
but I'll force myself to learn anew, get good
enough to do the bare minimum again
and then forfeit my ambition to the
voices that tell me I'll never be good enough,
remember? Jack of all trades and
master of none, talent in spades but
no faster at reaching the goal because
I disallow myself from working hard
enough to regret the effort, why try
and give all I have when I know
how it will end, I bend and then
I break, I get onstage and shake,
I leave the page blank to ensure
my failure rather than risk
scrutiny and come up short, hear
again the report that I'm close
but not quite, in spite of all my sweat
they regret to inform me that I'm
inadequate; adorn me in rejection
letters I could make a gown from
all the times I've been turned down.
A black and white dress that flutters
with all my stuttering tries, the words,
words, words I wrote, begging you
to love me as you stand there above me,
my palms out for alms, my mouth
open for water, rain into me and
feed my growing spirit -- no.
I've pocketed my hands and
pursed my lips, I make jabs and
quips at attempts these days,
play and dance around the issue
but dispense with the idea that
I could see recompense for all that
I have given away. I lied before;
I have tried, and done my best- but
it hasn't been difficult, because
I'm not capable of that.
I can't do hard things.

Hijacked by the side of myself
That can’t stand to see you cringe for
Your love must be so frail that the
Simplest error could cause rupture,
An earthquake toppling structures built
On unfirm foundations, say that you won’t
Make that face at me. I must be
Mad to believe, but I’m never
Mad at you, of course, that
Would mean needs and I feed
Myself, thank you very much, I have
No requirements of you, truly I do
Not.

But.
What might you do if I were to ask, to
Beg, task you with the burden of
Supporting me, see me for what I am
Past sham and charade to the scared
Child, wild and wide-eyed, terrified,
And violent, but ever so silent. Quiet
As a squashed mouse held too
Tightly in hands so mightily clenched
I can’t wrench my voice free from
This giant holding me, fingers not pliant
But plaster, an alabaster carving starving
My throat of speaking, it’s protecting me
By deflecting my own thoughts onto endless
Mirrors and I’m stuck in the funhouse echo chamber
While you remain safe, un-doused in my
Hose of half cries for help. ‘Hear me, please’
I manage to whisper from what feels like
The grave though I’m floating out of body.

Catch my thread and tie me down, fly
Me like a kite you once loved, watch
and I'll dance in the wind knowing I’m spiked down
By you, and whenever I choose, you shall
Reel me in and steal me away from the
Harsh gusts, I need not be battered by
Everything, even though I know I can take it.
I make it my duty to be put through all,
A tall order even for me, but ‘no more’, I plead.
This time, I’m asking myself, not you.
This time, it is me I must appeal to,
seal my self-inflicted wounds with kisses,
Square my hips and say with brave and trembling lips,
‘I need you. --
I need your help.’

My body is not the same as it was.
A most obvious statement with an
All too familiar accompanied disappointment in the truth of it.
It rings in my ear like a persistent alarm,
You. Look. Different.

It’s been a year since I had an infant pulled out of me from a tear in my belly, they pried me open then sewed me closed,
I’ve never shaken so much in my life
as when I was bringing it forth.
I look different now.

I reached out to touch her face but my quaking limbs scared me, I didn’t want her first touch to be by accident, I
looked upon her instead, and then I fed her.
I was so pale, she so red, like she took all of my
blood with her on the way out,
A weight lifted from me,
but not the one I wanted.

I have weight, still.
But I’m not carrying anyone inside me anymore,
besides the demon that stayed in her stead
and sprinkled dread and convulsion into
My abdomen. I see my belly, and I’m repulsed.

But remember, a gentle voice reminds me,
Do you remember what you have done?
From sunlight and water and time in the world
I have created a little girl.
And that creation still lies within me
even though she is without,
I am round with fertile ground,
I’m not fat, I’m full.
This mound on me is sacred and now used to hold life as she grows.

I look different now.
My body is not the same as it was.
It’s become tree and canopy to raise
And shade a life bigger than me. When
I birthed her, I became as old as the earth itself.
And the world is not excessive, but abundant, and
Isn’t that a most wonderful thing?

I brim and sing with possibility.
I overflow and flower.
I look different now.
My body is not the same as it was.

it won't surprise anyone
who knows me to find out
I'm an aggressive player-
impulsive, I see my advantage quickly
and take it or make one from go-
show no mercy, I love beating men
at what they think is their game.
see the shame on faces as they
realize their assumptions,
she actually could be good, and
should I choose to, you will lose
to me so fast you'll be on your
knees and not know how you got there.
It won't surprise you to know
that I play with a ferocity of
fighting for my life, because, in
a way, I am. my heartbeat
is tied to winning. But they don't know
me, and it's with disgust
and indignation I remember,
yet again, they are shocked that
this girl is a force, could
give them a run for their money
and have no remorse.

I step into the elevator, wait
For the doors to shut, hate
Seeping out of my pores I
Raise my hand and take a breath,
Land a palm upon my face and
Replace my despair with pain,
I gain a redness to erase the
Shameful droplets I’m so
Tired of mopping up.
I strike again.

A fist closes and makes contact
With abdomen then thigh, my cries
muffled by a relieved sigh
That I may release the fury that
I could not curry favor with all
My labor I have done for you, you.
I strike again.

The two lights up, and I claw
Nails into the soft underbelly of
An arm, it’s mine but it’s not,
I’ve taught myself dismemberment
And I treat my limbs with a disdain
They don’t deserve but I can’t
Beat my brain so I trigger nerves
Within reach instead. I calm
This dread of imperfection with a
Swift direction of more blows.
I strike again.
And step out as the doors close.

gather me in scooping hands
like marbles scattered
on a hardwood floor, I'm
garbled and tattered, a
pulp fiction with gulping diction
swallowed words and swelling
winds of sighs release at my
lips, I sip in air and expel
with a gust that rushes past
honesty and straight down
the throat of unsuspecting
victims who leave their mouths
open to receive oxygen but
instead ******* misgivings
in the form of a breathy exhale

I'm cold all the time, I think
my bones are frozen, cooling
me from the inside out and
that's why I shiver and quake
like a trembling earth about
to erupt and crack, it's core
dead, reaching the end
of my cosmic life
and ready to become a moon,
(is that how it works?)
let me pull your tides so you
may ride the waves of your
own sea while I cease happily
to be.

I'd like to ride again. I
wait patiently in line for
my ego rollercoaster, ready
to rise slowly, building
my anticipation, only to glimpse
the drop before falling down
down
down
into a spiral of nausea and
head jerks from left to right
looping back on myself and
ending at the bottom,
coming to a halt at
self-loathing, only to
start creating again so that
I can feel that tick tick tick of
my cart being pulled up the track again,
eager for the nosedive.
I'm addicted to the adrenaline
of feeling great and then remembering
I'm terrible and my art was the best,
no wait, the worst ever created.

the problem is
I'll never be good enough for myself.
I've no one left to get approval from,
they've all come and gone and I'm
left with me and she is a naysayer,
a slayer of dreams and it seems like
she couldn't deem me adequate if
it meant saving my life from knife or
rope, yet here we are, she and I,
standing on the same precipice.
I look down and she says my chin
looks fat like that.
I raise my head, and am asked
what do I have to be proud of?
shroud of imposter syndrome,
begone! Bygones, all of these
insults I've tossed at me, I
can forget them all each day
and wake anew, ready to redo
all the hate I slew at myself
just hours before.
A short memory is important
for my survival, I can't thrive
in these harsh conditions I've
painstakingly crafted, but I
can have a raft for these rough waters
as I traverse perverse landscapes
and try not to scrape all
my skin off along the way,
maybe that's a win, I'll hear her say.

When they call me 'prolific' I hear '****'.
churning out product like it costs me
nothing but a little time and a wince of
entrance pain that fades away.
doing it all for the quick gratification
of seeing yet another something by me me me.
I'm so full of poems I propagate like
my fertile little weeping pine, she's
probably a *****, too, but
that's her job and I'm doing this for free.
I've got less self-worth than a tree.

A tiny fist clings
Wrinkling the chest of my blouse
Fingers fat with milk and love and bananas
Draw lines in linen and decorate me as mother
Wet spots polka dot my clothing,
Residue of tears and drooling and more milk.

This uniform is at once costume, straightjacket, cape and mask, nakedness.

She has my eyes, but hers are green.
She has his smile, but he doesn't smile as much anymore.

She carries our confusion like a torch, leading an angry parade,
we carry her little body like a sacrificial lamb up the stairs.

pulled this way and that, I
reach my hands out, palms
up and wide, fingers splayed
like my cheeks, open and
quivering and receptive,
please be gentle on me, though
I've asked for everything but
that, I've forgotten me and
what I need is gentleness, again.

they scratch my skin so
I don't have to, leaving
red rocky channels to
pattern my landscape,
hand shape mountainous with
ridged knuckles that buckle
under pressure, tectonic plates
collide under your pinches,
inches separate my continents,
compliments mean much less
to me than land and sea
decoration on the world that
is my body, swirled with
tide pool bruises and oceanic
wetness, sweat accumulates like
dew forming my atmosphere
that you clear away with
thrusting earthquakes, shaking
my foundation, my creation
started at this *****, molten core,
more, more, more, it rang out,
pangs of pain and guilt
marble my thighs in stretches,
desert wasteland abdomen
with a dried-up well, swelling
******* pour forth milk and honey
but this is no promised land, sand
scatters and swirls, curls and unfurls
into furious scabs that could
serve as cityscapes, I have a metropolis
on my face and I'm patient zero,
latent heroes stay hidden under
fingernails while yours continue
to sail over tender skin, covering me again
in valleys and gorges and channels.

collecting my thoughts feels
like lassoing clouds, the rope
falls through the mist, shapes
dissipate and reform anew,
I can't capture myself, my
parts have all locked themselves
away, some in white rooms
with straightjackets, the others
keeping the key and holding
the baton, ready to strike,
I'm full of bullies and victims
inside, please let me gather
myself in my arms and kiss
away the salty sweat of regret
and fear on every brow. bow
to the fatigue that plagues
these sickened individuals
all slaving to keep me together
but untethered to each other,
mother, daughter, sister, lover
they're all here and yet so
far away, stay with me, please
stay with me. play with my
inner child, my wildling self,
and my wealth of insecure
questioning souls gathered
in a lukewarm pool of doubt,
I'm festering inside. I need
cleansing, a helping hand,
a voice in the dark that
sparks a light so that I may
see, and find my way
back to me.

I'm in a quiet moment;
I sit here and you're next to me
not paying me attention but
giving me suspension above
the glass shards I create
for myself with every mirror
I've ever wanted to break, because
I mistake myself for an idea
not the real thing, but you're
next to me now, bespectacled
and cozy, rosy lips mouth
wordlessly as your eyes
scan, panning across pages,
you're a burning sage to the
haunted house that is my mind,
find me hiding in a closet and
hold me close, unfold my
tangled limbs all reaching
to protect me from myself,
on the highest shelf of my
thoughts is a knotted book
broken up like puzzle pieces,
that when put together give
me directions to weather the
storm of my brain's hurricane,
it blows through my shores but
I can find shelter, sweltering in
the heat of your warm embrace,
a face that shines like the sun,
burning me, a brand, and I
can stand on my own two feet again,
finally feeling complete again.

I'm honest but I'm flexible, one
truth today might be a lie
tomorrow, sorrow turns
to laughter like alchemy,

me oh my, are you
confusing sometimes, but
I'm enticed and derided,
nice coincided with ruthless
but I'm toothless, I have

no bite, despite all my bark,
dark eyes and dark fingernails
scratch at your surface but
you reveal yourself all

too quickly, sickly and
terrible and beautiful, you're
there and I'm here but we
are together, somehow,
plow my fields and harvest
my crop yield, there is

part of me that belongs to you
and if I sound like I'm telling
a lie, know that it's true,
if only just for today please,
believe what I say.

if I stop to think about it,
look at the words I've written
and sit outside of them, I see
that girl, in a moment of clarity,
and I pity her.

this part of me that picks
up the pen and puts down
her thoughts of insecurity
isn't talking to the rest of me
and I wish she would, she
could use the company.

so alone. on my own,
I wouldn't last long but
I'm not, so why prepare
for the impossibility of
solitude when before me
is a multitude of nodding
heads, accepting me in all
my dread and saying yes
to my existence without pretense.

I listen. I hear what sounds
like whispered kisses and
chuckles at my jokes,
bespoke love packaged
just for me, because
they see me in my full glory
while I only glimpse the
shadow of that creature
when I step outside myself
and observe impartially
the nerve and audacity
I have had to continue living,

and I realize
I'm a marvel.

I want you to expect from me
greatness, loveliness, reject
from me the loser I know resides
in my depths, hides behind
excuses of tiredness, fire this
engine with the thrill of
anticipating excellence,
participating in my self-
annihilation of that little girl
who lost sometimes, who tried
for the joy of it, boy did
she fail, but she also had fun,
her sun has set, and risen
in her stead is this high achiever
who rarely tries, buys favor
with lies, savors the rare
moments of feeling special
and tears flesh from bone
the rest of the time trying
to expose herself to more light,
fighting the instinct to go
extinct at first sight of
being a ******* loser. shoes hurt
and waist aches from sculpting
my body to be high stakes,
steak me through the heart
I've become a vampire
leeching off of the validation
of others, salivation at the
thought of turning you on,
without consideration of my
own pleasure, measure me in
victories please, and don't deduct
all my last places, faces that
set in disappointment of my
false anointment, I'm not the
chosen one, I'm just becoming
the unhappiest version of myself,
a ******* of what could have been
would that I had let go of
being a constant one-woman show
that shocks and awes, causes
locks to unlatch and people to
patch me up with ribbons
and medals, if it's not blue or gold
I'm convinced you won't be sold
on me, and I'm constantly for sale,
frail and fettered as I am, I pale
at the idea that I'm too fat
or thin for you, so much so
I forget what I look like, what
I might be if I knew nobody could
see me, how I long for that
invisibility, an ability to
become a ghostly shape,
mostly vapor and smoke that
could choke the insults I've
heard along my way, why did they say
those things to me? can't they see
how fragile I am, not agile, I can't
dodge the bullets of snide remarks
shot my direction, sniped from afar
and bludgeoning me up close
begrudging acceptance from
those I love most, feeling as
much like a wound as the
untarnished truth, my varnish of
youth is fading, too, and soon I
won't have my age to fall
back on, I lack the small
support that keeps me standing and
I've got canes hidden in my coat
to keep me afloat,
to link this boat to the sky,
so I don't sink but don't get too high.

I smile at the bruises I've
given myself, knowing they
are evidence of a life lived
rashly and brutally, a full and
unapologetic purple speckles
my shins, my back, my behind,
and it's from dancing on the
floor of three different rooms,
a classroom, a club room, a
bedroom, and I do these
dances so well, the other
day I fell and recovered
and laughed and was
smothered with cries of
concern to which I learned
I'm so ******* resilient and
this body is brilliant at
taking a beating and
cheating death as it has from
my mind time and again

I don't believe you when you
say you were just asking
a question, no reason, tasking

me with an answer for your
nothing inquiry, cancerous
doubts form about your intent,

time spent wondering what
you meant but you said you
were just asking, well what

does that mean? unseen
motives lurk around every
corner of my mind, I'll find

your reason, interrogate
every suspect thought,
detect and untangle the knot

of lies in your absence of
motive, but you asked me,
didn't you? and when you say
for nothing, is that true?

I need help. I pick
at the dried, dark red
on my arm and I realize
it's from blueberries,
not blood, and I'm flooded
with realization, alarm, it
could easily have been
from self-harm not the
little pancakes I made
this morning, stakes
are high in this household
I might die but tenfold
more likely  I'll cry
as I make more
blueberry pancakes.
I need help.
My back aches on
the side that I grip her
tender body, my hip hiked,
my drink spiked, liken
me to moss on a tree I'm
pretty from a distance but
messy when touched and
probably just invasive,
pervasive is this thought that
I'm fraught with broken
pieces, spoken leases on my
affection, but I'm an infection
to be eradicated, erased,
replaced with a plastic
version of me that sees
only what needs to be done
and miraculously does so,
how though? I've never
learned the trick to
accomplishment, stick
around long enough and
my impoverished mindset
and slobbish nature will
bore you, too, tore down
among me are all the
trees I've rotted to the core,
but not more so than
myself. I need new seeds,
new roots, new leaves,
leave me now and imagine
me beautiful and strong,
wrongly assume I'll
heal and grow, show up
with the best intentions
and follow them through, too,
but I won't. I'm too
******* tired, I can't, I yelp.
Cast me into the fire,
reborn scant, I need help.

please forgive me, though
I don't know what I did, I'll
scour my brain and memories
for evidence of treacheries

I'll leave black and blue
marks, sifting through my
fingers at the words I've been
typing and withholding,

behold my repentance, I
will make a show of
what it is I do not know but
fully believe I did, please accept

my bid for attention again
as you once would, should
you go before my dance,
glance back as you leave,

at least, your beast wanted
to tangle with mine so
give it that little scrap
of meat, as we cannot

wrinkles. crease lines
that deepen then disappear
as I open and shut my
fists to fingers and back again,
ripped cuticles, hangnails,
dried blood, dirt lines
shove them in my mouth,
I taste the grime of my day
and remember that I did
a single ******* thing, and
if it weren't for this bitter taste
I'd forget I'm living, so
I beg the question-- can
I swallow both of my hands
and realize I'm worthy
of being alive? Will
the feel of my years of
survival and trials
be sweet on my tongue?
If I shove my whole arm
down my throat will
I ingest all the lifting and
lowering of my daughter
I've done, and see the
softness with which
I embrace her and all
other tender creatures
besides myself?

let me out, please
stop, I want off this
ride, hop an exit early,

and hide, surely that's
not too uncommon for
a mom and her depression
no recess in the home
of a parent with stress

and no where to go, roam
free my mind but my
body must stay here and
fear absorbs my joy like

a sponge, rob me of
life's little moments I
hear about, ***** grout,
tears and shout and
clean while she sleeps
and veg out, deep

in the bowels of my
mind I find the desire
to be let off this ride
no one to confide in

that I am beside myself
with rage, no pride,
pages get stagnant
unturned, unread, unsaid

let me off, scoff
at my selfishness,
I know I do,
but here I am
and I'm begging you.

the shame of having--
a lighter load to bear than
discomfort of lack

they spill out, words
flood my eyes and cry
sentences down cheeks,
my pores leak letters, my
sweat is sweet nothings,
discharge a disclaimer, i
burst with thoughts
turned to words turned
to hand clenches

Did you like me? I thought
you did but there's no

response and life's taught me
I'm wrong so often, I soften

my brow in realization that
you won't message back,

I lack something, of course,
you found wounds that run

too deep, that seep too much
into the cloth of my words

and personality, finality is
heard by what goes unsaid,

inside your head is the
goodbye unspoken and my

trust in myself broken yet again
by thinking that you
could have liked me.

may I scratch my way under your skin

I want to be so close I'm in your blood,
flood me in your veins

vain attempts to reach beneath you,
feel the space between your breath
from inside your chest

death come quickly to me if I can't
be where I can see your mind from
behind your eyes, spying mine

despise my morbidity if you will
but I still at the thought of

scratching my way under your skin.

I want to crawl up
onto the stage
and become invisible,
only my voice heard
and my shape seen,
anonymously,
appreciated for
what it is and how
it sounds and what
worth I've found in words,
my girth neither
here nor there, square
me in in your mind's
eye, cry at my tears
that fall to the floor
from nothingness
like rain, because like pain,
I'm am not really here, hear
my roar across the floor
and wonder from which
cat it erupted, you'd never
guess me, less is more and
I'm so lessened I'm
transparent, listen
to my wind and observe
the outline at the altar,
the nerve of this ghost
won't falter so long
as she stays invisible,
united in fear indivisible.

he played for me,
"I don't do this".

he did.

I hear, not see,
the fingers dance
a familiar tune
so competent but
not quite confident.

there is a story here.

it's one I know only
in my own twisted
version, aspersions
received over again.

how dare they.

I want to slap away
every hand that
criticized yours. I want
to kiss each fingertip
and whisper
"you've done so well"

play me another.

I can always spare her a smile
through my tears and
contorted face of anguish,
a light can shine through
my eyes to hers and I will
tell her without words
you are safe and I love you--
she smiles back, and so
I may look away and
again return to sobbing.

they'll miss you, but
how much, really,
and for how long? she
says this to me
almost daily, the part
that yearns so much
for rest she considers
death a vacation.

it's for them, always
for them, that my
hand stays shaking but
away from that bottle
of little white saviors,
and I sacrifice myself
every time I think
of those who might
miss me but not
very much, kiss me now
but kiss someone else
later, they'll benefit
in the long run.

when can I be done?

I'm barbed, my spines
poke unsuspecting victims
intertwined among softness
are poison spears that
***** with doubt
and about what? well
anything, sling and slug
punches, cut a rug with
this manipulation tango
I dance starting first glance
and ending inevitably
pending your 'goodbye, crazy',
my sigh at myself seals
this missed opportunity
in a wet exhale, the
envelope is shut, but
the letter contains the unsaid,
a love poem unread.