my body is
so used to
telling these
lies in hopes
of finding
safety
sooner
than later.

so used
to answering
the unspoken
question.

my legs
shaking,
*******
swelling,
blood,
rushing.
pulse,
throbbing.

my voice is
used to
there never
being the
option of,
“no,
i don’t
want this.”

it is hidden
so deeply
away
that even
when i
am with a
lover,  one
who values
my words,
one who
honors my
needs,
i still
can not
find it
inside of
me in time
to stop you.

no,
i do
not want
this.

but this
time
i do
not cry
silenty
in the
darkness
of your
bedroom.

this time
i allow
myself
to become
numb.

nothing
but stale
breath
and dead
nerve
endings.

the space
between my
legs, becoming
incresingly
foreign to
me, becoming
more and more
void of
sensation
more and more
void of
arousal.

vision,
blurring.
pulse,
slowing.


it feels
as though
i have wilted
and withered
away.

i am not
here
anymore.

my mind is
standing barefoot
on the shoreline
of the northern
atlantic ocean.

the tide is
kissing my feet
before scurrying
away, only to
come back and
kiss my feet
again.

i look
for seashells
and colorful
stones.

i don’t need
my voice or
my body, here.

i only need the
sounds of
waves
crashing and
birds calling
to one
another,
all so vividly-
all so
beautifully
and intricately
designed,
all of my own
creation.

tomorrow morning
i will wake up
with wounds in my
chest the size
of my silence,
but for tonight
i am closing
my eyes
to it all.

for tonight,
i am becoming
the sea.

the dust begins
to settle

the blues fade in
to blacks

the moon casts
her dreamy eyes
far away
from here.

i pull my wounds out
from the inside,
one by one.

i fold them into
paper birds.

i leave them at your
doorstep-
just something
to remember me
by

i awake blanketed by the morning sun and
the celestial frost that lingers on from
the night. the sound of laughter jolts me.

i watch the couple walk leisurely along
the side of the traintracks. "Hi!" the
woman says behind stale eyes and
wispy blonde curls. she stiffles her
laughter until it bellows out like
a warrior cry.

i can hear the harshness
in the words she speaks of me to
her lover, they grow more distant
as they escape my view.

i can smell the sweat of the lost
souls who found themselves here
before me.


i can taste the saltiness of the tears
that slide down the contours of my
face; an emotionless, knee-****
reaction.

however, i feel
nothing. there
is no despair
left in me. no
more hatred.
not even
sadness.

i feel only
the bitter
cold of the
concrete bridge
beneath
the weight
of my resting
body.

i feel only
the hunger
that aches
in the core
of my being.

i feel only
the rattling
of the train cars
passing , only
the rumbling of
the morning traffic
on the highway above
all of which
are lulling me back
to sleep

listen, travelling soul
our spirit guides stumpled upon
us with their ideas of
a twisted serendipity
the day that they
watched you enter
my life. the wind roared the words of a sacred knowledge. the rain
lept from the sky
with a passion unmatched
by a nun in prayer or
a blossoming rose hip after the frost, or the
child's undying
curiosity.

i asked a lot of
questions and the
answers tasted like
moonlight tinged by the
unmistakable bitterness of
darkness and unknown.

time froze before it ran out.

listen, familiar soul

i send you silently
every unspoken question-
they cling to the shadows
of the streetlamps and
the soundwaves of the
night.

i will wait and hope you
return to me singing and strumming your broken chords, so
together we can dance to the rythm of unspoken answers and the sounds of
the storm.

bring me back to
pulps of milkweed
floating in the
wind

bring me back to
the night we all  
took shelter in the barn.
the storm that shook
god off his feet.
the laughter we shared.

these tender
memories,
are tinged with
palpable heartache
and nostalgia.

i crave
the unspoken
synchronicities
of us all.