hope

a word that sparkles, shimmers

as it dances before you
daring you to follow it
as if you had a choice
as if you had a chance

to just leave it

to just walk away

to leave it with its crestfallen eyes
sitting on the floor of your bedroom
where the papers are a mess
and the stories don’t make sense
anymore-

so you must pick it back up
and carry its weight

even as it mocks you
and your face flushes red
and your arms begin to ache
and you want to throw it across the room

and watch it shatter.

don’t tell me I’m pretty
when I know you see
the girls on the streets
and in the sky
with the same eyes
that can see
that some girls are
prettier than me
have more striking eyes
and thinner waists
and I don’t mind
but don’t you dare
tell me that

I’m pretty

when you can’t say
I’m the prettiest
girl in the world
when your eyes
trail other girls
because pretty things
should be enjoyed
and I don’t mind
that you look
but you better
think of a better
form of compliment
than

pretty
which means
nothing to me
and rings in my head
like a word said too much

words come at me
like light
bouncing off the wall
before hitting my face
sinking in warm-
they’re in the air
but I can’t feel them
can’t feel much
can’t feel much but
the coffee in my veins
the joints that need to crack
your words I can’t believe when
you tell me those things
and I’m not immune to them
not immune to it quite yet-
I hear but don’t feel anything
but myself draining out
being willed to you
and I’m draining,
and I can’t feel you
like I should.

I see it in you
what you can’t help
but to think
that what you
try and say
is innocent
when somewhere
somewhere dark
you know you have it
you have the truth there
scratching at your insides
an invading virus
that you can’t even see
but slowly slips into
your conversation
before you can tell
it is even there.
But I ‘m not mad.
You are human,
only man.

lean your head back

whiskey goes
straight down
when
your cheeks
were blushing

red all week long

were blushing
from shame
and
being
so *******

inadequate

I’m still here, I think
I feel myself climbing back into my body
sometimes
I feel my cheeks filling back up with color
somehow
the voice that tells me to speak
is melting back into my heart
and away from my brain

and my lips
are non-robotic
my lips
are real

and I didn’t put on any makeup
and my face is mine, not a small glass bottle’s

I want everything
I want nothing

I’m melted crayons, I think
I’m mixing together
and I don’t care
because I’m warm
and melting

I’m mixed up
but make complete sense
like atoms
or balloons.
I want to sing.

I think my skin’s missed me.
I’ve missed me too.