Our lives are made of not but shallow things
Relax, its not you who has to worry
Let time pass by, try if you can to sing

Just sip your champagne and wear diamond rings
Assuredly homeless know no fury
Our lives are made of not but shallow things

Bourgeois in the past, it has no meaning
Be elegant, there’s no need to hurry
Let time pass by, try if you can to sing

Not you but the unfortunate will sting
Don’t fret, don’t cry, don’t get in a flurry
Our lives are made of not but shallow things

To money, wretched money, do you cling
But money, from pockets, it does scurry
Let time pass by, try if you can to sing

The sound you hear is not your own screaming
Sit calm, sit back, watch the world go blurry
Let time pass by, try if you can to sing
Our lives are made of not but shallow things

I'll only be enough for you if
I'm enough for me;
Are you the only one who
I have a higher standard for
than myself.
(That wasn't really a question).

Take it as only the most obvious
sign of my utmost respect for you
That I reserve all of my talking to you
for writing, because it's the only
way I trust myself to
relay to you clearly--

my unedited and fallible voice and moments of being
human are not good enough for your ears and
eyes.

I must fine-tune our
casual interactions to
imperfect perfection.
And I must find your love for me

in there, somewhere.
And every time come up
empty-handed from
my gold-mining of your
unadulterated body language and
voice language and textual,
exasperated responses.

I break so easily, and again find
why I respect you and
it's because you make me believe
that you don't love me,
and that makes me love you so
unhealthily and I know

that you see through me,
just like I see through me
and it stings like a pain that tastes of
blood in my mouth because
it reminds me I'm only human,
and scratches bleed.

--And get infected if you don't
take care and you
have infected me to the point that
I'm suffocating in my own blood poison(ing)
of self-doubt and desire and
the pitiful knowledge that I may just
get over you if only
you
loved me.

Let me clarify.

Loved me the way
I would have you love
me; affectionately.
my friend, my -------

the comforting statement of "I like
who you are" I
enjoy your personality and
I take your opinion seriously because
you, like me, (and you like me)
are human.

But you love me in what
way you would have--
conditionally,
with rules that change
(only you know them anyway).

And I'm realizing with
bittersweet dawning
and incomprehension:
it's not  that I want to
be you,
but that I already am you,
except,

you're happy.

And I want the secret of
how to be you (me) and
be happy, I always
thought it was a
contradictory state until I met me (you) and saw
the version of myself that
could be at peace,
feel laughter bubble from under my
cheek bones,
and know joy as an intimate
companion.

But being you only reminds
me of that truth that I am
close but can never reach
the level of you-ness I desire.

And in my far-reaching imagination
I wonder at what
will be said about your
influence on me when
I turn out to succeed despite
my self-proclaimed shortcomings
         because deep down I know I'm good
         because of the differences between us
and my sorrow writes my movement for me

and will it ever be studied and observed
my obsession drove me to success
and drove me crazy concurrently (?)

and that craziness drove me further, still.

I am a nothing queen
With sand so deep
It grounds me
To the water floor

I'm here for you
And I forgive you, too
And I hardly know
But begin to see
If you are me

Is that double homicide?

A mass murderer of one.
Just my luck
That offing myself
Can't even be a private
Affair between
Me and my sandbag
feet reaching the
Water floor,  I'm done.

You collateral damage--
It's  more your fault
Than mine
That we should share blood

The creature inside me
Rears its head

Grabbing hold of my
Veins and arteries
With strong grips
Shaking, tightening

Wringing out my stomach
To 3 sizes smaller
Throttling my neck,
Bouncing on my lungs

Swirling and whisking
my brain to hurricane

And letting the blood,  bile,
And lack of oxygen drizzle
Slowly to marinate my heart
In injury
And confusion and
Dysfunction
And sabotage.

I lived within you, now
your blood is in me, and
we both dwell inside our
living memory, of

birthdays and bath times,
lectures and retorts, more
jaws clenched and accumulated
anger we didn't sort--it

was held in our chest, near
our breast, never said, till
we piled on words, hoping
that bottled-up beast we'd find dead

from the weight of false smiles, and
sorry's not spoken, till
mother and daughter becomes
just a title token.

The tenderness falters,
degrading to tolerance,
of sameness and difference, concealing
eye rolls,     sighs,        a wince.

And I want to be close, I
hear it in your voice, but
the bitter hardened case around
my heart makes a choice

to judge and to quip, to
sneer and humiliate,
you but more myself for
the actions I facilitate.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that
I do not like you right now,
which has more to do with my faults,
because I don't really know how.

Please forgive and be patient,
know it's always on my mind, for
every time I ignore or anger,
remember I love you, I want to be kind.

Deep breath,
glance to the bed,
wonder how tonight
I'll wind up dead.

And if I'll have
a birds-eye view,
or a quick cut to black
before I turn blue?

The natural way?
A shark, a bear?
Or horror familiar,
a deeper despair...

This time will
the others survive?
Or must I watch their fate
before my 6-foot dive?

How many seconds
stirring, confused?
Until I realize
I've again been abused

by imagination morbid,
unbridled and cruel.
I'd rather try flying
than watching blood pool.

Unable to save
myself or others,
can't throw a punch
or hold my brother's

hand as he's pulled
into dark, into black;
just watching as I
sink deeper on my back.

A voice: stolen
two legs: un-moving
enemies: countless
slumber: un-soothing

I'm in for a night
after night after night
I've grown accustomed
to fight the good fight,

and see an army
of Me's at my feet
who've died for the cause
of dreams not sweet.

A glass of water,
a goodnight kiss,
prepared for battle,
in lonely abyss.

Unpleasant as it is
I try to be kind.
In a way, it's my home,
it's all in my mind.

"Too late" I remind myself,
too late to go back now.
There are some stones
that can't be turned
because I'm an adult now;

That's what this means.

The love I feel
exists,
but it's not
what I chose.

And what if I'm tired
of being the old soul?

I begin to discover--
there is daring in
playing it safe.
And I'm happy--

enough.

Don't look in the misty waters of
"could have been"

what is? what has been?

I rested my head
on his shoulder, a plea
of my youth
asking the world
"is this all there can be
for me?"

But the May in Maine is over.

Let it go
let him go.

And after weeks go by,
I can look back
on myself looking back,
and I'm so grateful that it was
too late.

I'm happy.
And that's enough.

How cruel for
time to make her
slip away, further
and further out
of view, but
never from
my memory.

My mind's eye
holds her fast,  though
I can't see her
Anymore.

They say that my only way
to be home for Christmas
is in my dreams.
If that's true, my
reality must be in
a far away land.

Who knew Boston was
so mysterious...

How long then, must I walk
to either reach the
land of sleep or
wake up to a reality
that includes a home?

Will, I hear your voice, I
Still, I have no choice,
My heart is that strong and
Apart just feels wrong.

I've memorized your hug,
I'm sensitized to the snug
Embrace of your arms
My face nestled, no harms

Can reach my core,
Can breach even your
Simple affection,
This supple connection

Belongs to you and me,
The wrongs and the fees
A small price to pay
To fall in love every day.

Unknown, my hands
Wring and pick, I
Stick myself firmly
In the unknown, the
Places, the faces of
My future acquaintances,
The footsteps that will fall,
Small, unsteady, unknown
But ready, I walk,
To fly, to arrive,
I contrive this plan
Of unplanning, of
standing to face unfamiliar
space and sound, the
Ground beneath unknown,
Blown winds of seas,
I flee my home for the
Unknown, that I may
Be shown how little
I've grown, how far I've flown
To confront myself,
The true unknown,
Never out but in,
In, within my heart the
Uncharted map of
Blood and bone.

Down, down,
Do I drown?
I could float
I have the fat,
I could swim,
But to what?
There is no shore,
There is no boat,
Life is in the water
And death is down below,
Make what we can
Of this treading and dreading,
Some taking beautiful
Strokes all around,
Right now I'm floating.
But when do I drown?

I'm a little bit here
and a little bit there,
my eyes, they dart,
my lips, they part,
and on and on
go the thoughts
during our chat,
this way and that,
here and now gone,
humming a song
while writing a line,
while drawing a face,
while lost in space.

I pet my cat,
I feel her fur,
I hear her purr,
I'm a little bit here
and a little bit there,
I'm in my chair,
then up then down,
smile and frown,
remember a thing
and forget the present,
scatter, find,
lose my mind,
leave the room
to fetch a broom,
see something else
on the shelf,
examine, pass,
step in the glass.

leave again,
find my pen,
write a note,
forget the quote,
look it up,
follow the thread,
realize I'm
still in my bed,
my foot is bleeding,
there's glass on the floor,
someone at the door,
could I have done more
to do a little less--
to clean the mess,
and write the note
and save the pen
and find the quote?

I hear her voice
the child inside,
coming in through
the static of
my constant critic
radio, she's been
screaming 'that's enough,
that's too much!' for
so long, she's been
hurt, she's been
wronged by a louder
sound I'm more used to tuning into,
the station of
doubt, fear, suspicion,
so much I've lost sight
of how much those
words sting,
bring
me down, tear me up,
convince me that I'm
not enough.

I think in causing
this initial pain I'm
saving myself from
the surprise of my
own mediocrity,
but living with a
lead coat on to
protect me from
the bullets of a
battle I'm no longer
fighting, it just
weighs me down,
till I'm ready to
give up, and I think
what's the point of
sparing that pain in
exchange for a less
humane option?

I can't sit with myself,
I'm the worst company these days.
I keep walking away
in the middle of a one-way
conversation,
short durations
only please,
I can't sit with myself,
as it won't be long
before everything goes wrong.

I can't feel this feeling but
I can **** well name it,
words come easy, its the
noticing that's queasy so
look there it goes, it flows
out the door so I don't have to
feel it anymore. i wish i could be sure,

but that is a lie, I know,
I can't be honest with myself.
my heart is a shelf and
the volumes of trauma have
collected so much dust, it
must take a lifetime to get
those clean and shiny.
who knew this tiny collection could
carry so much weight,
i'm guessing the heaviness is hate.

I can't look at myself, not
without thoughts thoughts thoughts
about the shoulds and oughts,
my body is not subscribing to my
beauty standards, deciding instead
to demand respect by taking
no **** about whether or not
it can sit or stand or stop eating,
defeating my idea of will power
with more force than i've ever known
and causing me to cower.

i can't write this poem
because I can't stop thinking about
writing the poem, and is it good, is
it good yet? should I take a bet
on whether it will ever be enough
for this semi-tough critic
who knows she's not really
a poet, so why are you doing this exactly?
you know it will not be good,
you should know it by now. you should.

i can't sit with myself,
i try to say what needs to be said
the thoughts i have just before bed,
the dread and memory,
forever in my flesh and bone, alone,
I felt so alone back then and now
with all around to be with,
i still sit with myself and
am lonely again, feel homely again,
i can't feel it really, can only name it again,
can only hear HIS name, again.

i can't forgive myself. I sit
here complaining to me about my
split personality which is really just
a hurt child inside, mild and trying to hide,
but all I do is hear her cry and try
to shush her, slap her, ignore her,
bore her, i'm not a good parent
to my memories, i don't ease
them the way i should, and there
i go again, if only I could
stop using should to scold her, me,
and see me, her, for what she is,
not cold and ***** but alone and afraid,
made to think it's all her fault,
the yelling, the silence and the assault.
but it wasn't, my love
i imagine a dove, i try to be tender
i try to surrender my thorny casing,
erasing the added burden of self-defeat,
just trying to meet her where she's at,
and seeing that she is me, and I'd
never call her fat, never call her selfish,
I'd never be rough, id say you're enough
to that little she who is little me,
trying to see that it's really my own
opinion that matters, and I'm grown
and no longer battered, not by others,
and no longer by me, i cross my heart,
and hope to survive, to be alive, to thrive,
i cross my heart to nurture this part.

make it work
make it work
i tell myself to make it work
i sell myself on the idea
that so long as i try hard enough
i can patch up any
shredded quilt, if i just
feel the guilt and take the blame,
exhibit my shame, and tarnish my name
i can fix us because the mix of
you and me is the only
thing i know anymore,
i don't want to explore
another us, i want to be yours,
so i try not to fuss, not
to expect more than i should
say you did the best you could
and i can always do a bit better,
leave little love letters
for you around our space,
do the dishes in case
that might be the last straw.
i know i've made you so raw
with my careless levity,
and you use such brevity
i can never be sure
if your love is still pure
or is it tainted with resentment,
visualizing a contentment
with me that you cannot see,
not now or ever, so i have to be
careful, and thoughtful and
scared, my mind wrought full
of questions and hopes
that you'll stay, that you'll cope
and maybe learn to accept
then learn to love
me for who i am
with my faults and my sins
see that i'm still a win,
i'm a catch, i'm a find,
i've got my **** but i've
also got my mind,
a mind that gets you and sees you
that lets you just be you
i want to grow
but i want to grow with you
i need to know that my lengthening stalks
won't fall unsupported, unheld,
but that together we meld
and create something beautiful
with roots that go deep and
flowers that blossom and die,
our love is a plant, you and i
and the work is the water and
the roots are commitment,
the flowers are moments
that must come and go
but the going is part
of the growing and art
of relationship lasting.
this shadow we're casting
is just proof of the sun
and the light that's in sight
if only we'll look in the direction of right,
not the wrongs and the bads
and the i can't stands,
but the beauty we're clad in
and the touch of our hands
in each others, as we band
together on the journey through time
it's a crime not to try
and to fail and repeat
it was never neat
and it's never complete
but i'm yours yours yours
and i need you to be mine.
oh please let us be fine
let this be a phase
a growing pain
just before the bloom
let it happen soon

Where are my words
When I need to speak out?
Gone is my ability
To articulate, whisper, shout.

Where is my 'no'?
My 'don'ts' , 'can'ts' , won't flow.
And where is my 'yes,
Yes, yes, please, let's go'?

Where is my honesty
Brave kind and true?
Hiding being the fear
That I won't be loved by you.

If I say 'look here
At my scars and stains',
What more will I be thought of
Than a list of my pains?

Shortcomings proving
Ineptitude and reason
That I have no business here
Or there, too unseasoned.

I start to vanish
Behind a false picture
Of who you want to see,
Complete with all fixtures

Of a well-spoken, anxious,
Nail-picking woman-child,
So terrified of yelling,
Always taming her wild.

I love to love fiercely,
Proudly, loudly, undaunted.
But reciprocation is fleeting,
I'll never be that wanted.

These are the words
I keep to myself,
They've gathered inches of dust
On my mind's endless shelf.

Collections and volumes
Professing learned truths,
Lessons unintended
Throughout all my youth.

There's something wrong with me,
Inherent in my veins.
All whom I love will leave
As marks washed away by rain.

Where is my power,
My comfort and ease?
To be enough for myself
Not needing to please.

Where's all my joy
In the blessing of being?
I've spent it on others
To keep them from fleeing.

Where is my love
For the body I'm in?
It's time to explore.
Its time to be more.
Its time to begin.

I feel like screaming and
I feel like doing nothing,
always teaming with
this imbalance,
not quenching either thirst.
By holding my tongue
and quieting my voice,
and interrupting my attempt
to do nothing by worrying,
worrying, and then that nothing becomes
something, it becomes wasted
energy, anxiety gone rotten,
a fruitless activity, producing
neither rest nor product,
my motivation to freeze
and stiffen and wait and
recede overpowers even the
fear of my own judgement,
who loves to blare loudly
that I'm lazy, that I'm
not enough, this stuff
i do is meaningless,
and I need to prove my
worthiness by being
exceptional in all ways, not
only all ways, but always,
not just sometimes,
and god stop complaining,
about the hurt and the pain,
it's so boring, it's so
standard, it's so privileged,
it's so bland, and
the more I do it the less
value I hold, i'm told
by my own self,
every poem that i write
that pleads for sympathy
and reaches out for connection
is just another title to add
to my collection of pathetic
writings, proving my biting
nails and troubled mind
do not an artist make,
but that it takes much more
talent and brain and effort
and refrain for this to
be any more than words
that fall to the floor to
be stepped on forever more.

I'm arrived and I'm here
and I'm still just me.
my personality didn't exchange
i thought with that kind of range,
so far away, i couldn't stay
just the same.

but i'm no different, i'm not
working out daily and finding
my inner peace,
I thought travel held the keys
to improving myself, beyond
recognition.

where's the discipline?
i thought my derision of
habit would fall away,
shedding my awful in my stay.
i could be thin, i could win;
where's the discipline?

In buying the ticket
i thought i'd agreed
i was also buying the seed
to grow a new me, prettier,
funnier, healthier, sunnier.
but i'm here and i'm near
a breaking point.

I want to shed
my fat and my lack
of focus and sense,
dispense with the nonsense
and get sharp and get cool,
come home like a knife
come home a better wife.

I was so affirmed
By only a text
It took so little
To warm my cheek

It made my week, and
I paid the price.
So nice, so nice, so
Don't speak, don't seek
Better. can there
Be better for
Someone like me?

I don't see any
Alternative, I
Was told I wasn't
Worth it, a cold
Honesty shared
So early, I cared
So earnestly, spared
No hurt from
The long line of
Just fine, but unkind,
Men and boys.

They deployed
Compliments so
Sparingly, with a
Tactical training
So practical for
Blaming and shaming,
With just enough
Sugar for my starving,
Unloved self, carving
Little marks on my
Arm, so alarmed
To find out I might
Get your kindness, fight
For the scraps of
Your light, but the
Rays were traps to
Capture my body's
Honey and I'm left
Bereft, faulted,
Confused, assaulted.

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?

It's like the two haven't met,
these different parts of me.
hard to see how they could be
residing in the same person.
But still, I think they'd get along.
After all they both belong
in the same party of misfits
that comprise this puzzled mind.
Fuzzy, trying to find
the connection between my
confident leader, and the shy
private eye, studying, studying
to see how she can make everyone
just a little more happy, just a little less
suspicious of just how vicious
I am on the inside,
always trying to hide these
thoughts of destruction,
disruption from my joy and ease,
I tease out the depression,
find the compression in my chest
and build the tension with the best
suspension of disbelief that
I'm still ok, and this is sustainable,
and maybe happiness is attainable,
but for now i'll just be so sad
I can't breathe because eventually
I'll get back to me, right?
the ending is in sight....right?

I want to feel love
Like a hug that comforts
Not a drug that quells.

I've been taking lines of love,
the only form I know.
It doesn't penetrate, it just coats
My surfaces.
I'm so hidden, I can't even find myself
Under my approval-seeking mask.

Will the me who tries less
Receive more?
I can't know until I try
To stop trying,
And feel prized for who I am
at my raw material
Not what I do
at my most fearful.

My costume is adored,
Maybe my nakedness would be too,
Even more so in it's realness?
I risk losing my accumulated love stash
In exchange for a single drop of the real thing.

It's the difference between an endless supply of  painkillers numbing my broken feet,
Or putting faith in a cast that heals slow and sure and warm.
And then I may finally walk on my own.

Maybe I won't be so tired all the time,
Not expending all that effort to be worthy,
no belief that my inherint value exists in the sustainable landscape of being.
Maybe I'll finally have the energy
to rest peacefully
In the knowledge that I can be me
when I wake.

It's a leap of faith,
For someone who has grown comfortable
with a hopscotch recipe for success,
Fleeting but with a guaranteed buzz.

I don't want to be a tweeker any longer.
I want to sober up on the real thing.
The pure glass of water that is
genuine affection,
The bedrest of trust,
Puking out my instinct to please
And filling up on the notion that
I, by myself, am enough
For others.
And more importantly,
For me.

I fly by night
over scapes of sea and isle,
I'll fall gently down,
a floating cloud,
a feather landing
upon sodden earth,
damp and bedraggled,
a small part of a whole.
A small bit of soul.

I pick and pick my
fingers, the nails flake
and chip, limestone
on tender red waves,
riding over sediment of
knuckle-bone.
The plane drones on
and I can't cross my legs,
collapse myself like fire logs,
I must supplicate to
the outstretch, the lack
of bend that mends
an anxious brain, feign
sleep, down deep
in the fog of wakefulness
the foreverness of an
alert brain that wishes
to rest, a cat tail that
swishes, a bat awake
at night, I am nocturnal.

On airplanes, my red eyes stay open,
closing down thoughts of
dreams I may live to
forget instead I get
streams of consciousness
and cramping legs,
too straight to be
built for slumber,
can I slowly timber
and fall into
unrest? the best I can
do for now, how
would it be to kick
down the seat
in front of me, and
have them fold
neatly in two while I use
the space to take up less,
needing more, the
floor is too close,
the window touches
my elbow, my toes
cramp, damp in
the ever so slight bend
in my knees that squeeze
into 90 degrees of discomfort.

Only four more hours
of this poor excuse
for a seat, meet
a real chair, why don't you,
and learn by example
the ample room
you could provide.
My behind, find it
in your stitches
to give more room
lessen the gloom
that lingers on
long flights, due to
this upright spoon
position, a notion
that makes my
nose crinkle as my
knees crackle and pop,
let the drop happen
soon, may I fall,
may I float,
land this air boat
that rides unsteady
waves of wind and fog.

May I rest like the tail of
an unhappy dog.

The glory of busy
Isn’t lost on me
The shame of time
Seeps down like rain
Drenching my lank hair
how dare you have
The luxury of restlessness,
I whisper to me.

The way my hands wring
And feet tap, toes cringe,
Teeth bite dry lips
And eyes glaze over
With this lack of action,
I feel my body revolt
When not called to duty,
To serve, to provide
To do the most.

Shivers travel down
My spine, enter my heart
Pumping electric blood into
Shaking limbs,
Quivering muscles
Empty throat and squashed
voice box, ears
Ringing, singing
Jingles to myself
In disgust and fun

I need help.
Save me from
The indignity of a frozen
Mind and a body too stiff
To act upon all
Those tasks that could
Make me so perfect,
fit and thin
Clean and together
All gathered into one
Human who didn’t forget
How to exist in the moment
Because what might I do
With the next?

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

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.

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.’

I wonder as I write
are they your eyes that scan,
that pan across the screen, meanly
assessing what was unseen,
caressing the language,
tenderly, ******* this
author from behind her
shroud of words, clouds
waved away expertly, heard
nakedly, mistakenly (but not).
there is intention here,
queer as I am and this may be,
I flee not from this tangled
nest of support and rest and
tension, suspension, and
disbelief, for behind the
scrutiny there is a fire
to be stoked,
a wet cheek to be stroked,
then slapped and squeezed,
pleased over and over again;
desperate to serve to be
broken, submission awoken
by challenge and dispute,
refuting not by habit but
necessity that I be seen,
I'd never say please until
it's pinched out of me,
take me, break me, rake
nails across my stubborn back,
have the patience to wrack my brain,
give loving pain and let
me learn to serve and receive,
believe in me (but never
say you do), who would you
be to give me praise
(please give me praise)?
I'm getting ahead of myself
while falling behind, watching
your steps and countering
all I find, call me
old soul if you choose,
but I lose to naivety, every
time, spend some with me
and see, what all I have to give--
may you finally
see me live.

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.

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.

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.

keep her going
one smile at a time
one chin lift, tear wipe,
forehead kiss, at a time

keep her healthy
one breast at a time
one heaving chest,
and wobbling lip,
just do my best.
one drop at a time.

pick her up,
as she gains and gains,
the pains in my back
fade to make way
for her stay
on my hip.
her grip tightens,
and so does mine.
she is fine.

keep her clean
one bath at a time,
endless changes
and soaks, soaps
and suds and slips
and bumps and splashes
and crashes and just
stay still
will you,
for one single minute
my dearest one

brow sweat and
milestones unmet
this job robs me of
wallowing, for how
can i bow to the nothingness
when i have everything to do
and everything to be
to this little one
who is everything to me.

Untethered, untethered,
Feathers fall away, this
Ugly bird can't fly
Anymore, before the
Dreams to soar seemed
So close--bore yet
Another audience
With your unfulfilled
Aspirations, perspiration
Is my fountain of youth,
Truth bringing me salty
Foolishness, grab my
Wrists and force me,
Please don't ease
Me in, course success
Through my veins,
An IV, try me,
I'll consent to the
Harshest treatment
If it meant time spent
Bleeding love.
Come at me, give me everything
You've got, I've a lot,
To see for myself
How red my blood is before
I bleat, far too much,
Far too late,
Fate doomed me,
Sisyphus pushing my
Hopeful Boulder up
A hill of predictability,
Only to *** with a frown
When it comes crashing back down.

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 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.

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.

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 see her lower lip
Curve downwards
To form a circle with
Her scrunched chin,
A slight tremor
Turns to a quake,
A shake, and I feel
My heart break-
How dare I, so
Meanly, suggest she
May need a nap,
Take her from my
Lap to a little bed,
When I know the pain,
The dread, that may
Ensue instead of
Deep sleep and an
Hour's time to keep
A semblance of sanity?,
Oh the vanity
Of a mother! I
Apologize profusely
To her wet eyes,
Cries start to calm
As fat cheeks get
Pressed with sweet
Kisses, tears are
Wiped gently, I relent
My selfish aim and
Ask a now tame,
Tiny one, whose face
Could rule my world,
Hurled out of existence
And back by the mere
Crack of a voice,
What's wrong, little
One, what can I do?
Sun and Moon, it's
All for you and
Should you choose
To refuse your rest,
I offer my breast,
This chest is best when
Given to you,
As all the rest of me has been,
Again and again and
Again

A slap across the face,
my thoughts' palm imprinted
all over my battered body,
beating me with every
judgement, steamrolling past
any rational compassion,
lashing out at any
dangling fruit, mangling
my esteem on a minute level.
Disheveled, I can see
I'm a mess from my latest
abuse, and I gently put
bandaids on bruises,
take rest, attempting to
set broken bones with time,
unwilling to perform
the work that would truly heal
instead of a quick feel of relief,
because until this belief is gone,
that I'm worth less than
any and everyone else, come
forth all imaginable injury,
all infection and poison,
rejection of self-love,
in favor of sickness and
pain, please someone explain:
is happiness even real?

Joy has become a fairy tale
to me, and as a child I'm
starting to realize the stories
aren't true, they don't
apply to you, this
contentment remains a
concept, illusory, not adept
to application in my
reality, and I'm just
here waiting and reading
the tales of peace
while my mind beats
and breaks, pinches
and punches, brings me to
my knees with a gun
to my heart, always
cocked, safety off,
and at this point
I'm screaming to just
pull the trigger, I
figure being over is
more tolerable, after all,
I can't disappoint
if I'm not here, don't need
to fear falling short,
appalling the masses near
and far, if i've traveled
where I don't feel or know,
If I've gone where
my thoughts can't go.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.