my soul is trying to break through
            (rip through)

                          my skin

climb out and pull me into you
             as you

                          breathe in




my body though, it won’t uncurl
               (unfurl)

                          its fists

I am trapped inside of a girl,
                girl who

                         persists



so while my soul is stuck inside,
               (outside

                          your shell)

I guess our atoms that collide
               provide

                          their cells

to let our bodies intertwine-
               a wine

                          to taste

for but a moment, what defines
             (I find)

                         your face.

bare feet by the creek, cold mud
it’s quick-mud, like quick-sand, slithers up
between your toes
I bet it could swallow you right up
October, maybe, maybe November
swear there are fairies in these woods,
swear it. I do. Can you eat those little red berries
that grow on the bushes?
Lullaby, say your prayers. Pray to the almighty
maker of twigs and leaves and
shallow ponds- slip and slice your toe on a rock,
don’t let them see you crying
your face was cold but your tears were hot
there are no daisies left this time of year
to make a crown with
but I’m still the queen of the forest.
You can’t laugh at me.
I’ll break your arm.

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.

Shoe laces- unraveling
spilling down the stairs
Raw blisters- ceaseless throbbing
soles begin to tear:
worn out,
torn up,

Pulled In.

I think I’ll like it here.


Soft crashes- they’re echoing
murmur into fizz
Singing wind- it’s gesturing
“come and see what is:”
lovely,
striking,

Haunting.

Moved by the water’s kiss.


Loud voices- painful screeching
pierce into my skin
People laugh- unnoticing
of others’ pain within:
begging,
hopeless,

Smiling.

I cannot help but grin.

I don't want to be a writer.
I would like to be a book.
I want to sit on a shelf in a library,
and be plucked by a loving hand,
and held by a window as the rain slips down it, nuzzled in blankets
and dripped on by apple juice that has run down the chin of
some scabby-kneed kid, perched on the arm of a tree
and I want to be dog-eared and remembered
and I want to be the place to turn to, the only one to turn to
where someone whispers, "how did you know? how did you know just how I felt?"
and I want to have been gone through once, passionately quickly,
so quick I gave you a paper cut and you get a little blood on my page, but I don't mind so much, because you love me,
and then
lingered on, and re-read because maybe there was something
that you missed before
and I want to have seen so many things,
probably the best things,
and meet absolutely fascinating people
because it is only the most interesting people
who read
and I want someone to bury their nose in my pages as they morph from shadowed white to afternoon wheat,
and I want to be covered in words, and coffee, and saliva from the finger of the teacher who slobbers on every corner, and grime, and salty tears and jasmine bath soaps and ink that has leaked from your favorite pen in your bag
and I want to be ***** and held and tossed and spilled on and marked up and I want my binding to be loose, but still intact,
and I want the professors to speak about me
and I want the youth to think about me
and I don't even really care what anyone thinks I'm saying,
so long as they listen to me speak
and pluck me off the shelf.

Explosions of Colors,
Clashing and bright-
Giving me headaches
Harassing at night.
The Chattering of Birds
Noisy and high
Lacking a rhythm
And crowding the sky

Eyes closed, ears shut-the jolts-screams-splashes-jeers-spirals-pounding-faces future-people-fear- noise Noise NOISE-

and then…
it rains

and the world is painted blue
and no one can control it,
and there is nothing left to do.

Ruin me.
Tear me up
and make me something new-
something used.
Ruin me.

Step on me.
Crush me down
to a thousand pieces-
a million.
Step on me.

Do as you please.
Feed me the poison,
and I’ll swallow it
if it’s from your hand.

catch your dreams, they say,
those glittering, fluttering, taunting, phantoms
vague and undefined,
but promised to be sweet

make us proud, they say,
because only cowards don’t follow their dreams,
meek and useless,
you waste of flesh and blood

You know, I have heard
that the world is filled with some beautiful things,
and my heart pounds-
head spins- thinking of them.

But my god,
I feel so
****
tired.
and there has to be more
than this.

In the dream I had last night-
in between the ebbs of light
where nothing’s wrong and nothing’s right

someone died again.

They keep dying, in my dreams
the people that I love, they seem
to melt away by silver beams

each moon’s ****** vein.


I awoke with swollen eyes
and with breath that couldn’t help but sigh
relieved that there are no goodbyes

no more stinging pain-

but the darkness still remained
and of the morning sunshine I’ve been drained
because the knowledge that I’ve gained


That in my sleep, I’d killed them.

Glass figurines and teacups,
china dolls and painted plates,
I’ll pile them all in your hands,
and like a child,
         I will wait-

I’ll wait for you to break them,
but I’ll pray they don’t shatter-
if the pieces hit the ground hard,
they’ll slice through
        my gray matter,

and then I won’t comprehend
what is left of me at all,
beyond pieces left of trinkets
and the man
        who could not fall.


Darling, I hate to say this,
but I swear you must be blind
if you can’t see how much I hang
on each word
        that you design

and ship off and send my way
and the rest that you forget
and I am constantly a wreck
of what you
       have not said quite yet.

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

nothing surrounds me
but the deep shade of indigo
that I am lost in,
speckled with diamonds
and sparkling with the lustrous satin glow of the moon.
I want to melt into it.

I feel beautiful-
the ground is cool against my skin
as I lie undressed,
the wind kissing me,
its touch foreign and divine, exploring and gentle.
I want to give myself to it.  

And while I am lost,
your lips graze my bare shoulder
and I turn to You
and stare hard at You-
your hands are warm as you pull my body close to yours.

You are the universe.
I want to melt into You.
I am yours.

I’m feeling out of order
like inside my pocket
pulling out the pieces
and the crumpled bits of paper
are covered in crumbs
and sticking to my sweating, nervous, palms
as I look for the dollar
as the line grows longer
and the lady at the counter
taps her too-long nails
and stares cold and empty through the laughter
when I find my dollar's gone
when I reach through the hole
and there is nothing left to do
but trudge along home.

You make me smile at the pale light
that creeps under my eyelids
and whose fingers pry them open
pestering me until I wake

You secret behind my ribcage
that pulses straight through my skin
and climbs like a vine to my lips
and overgrows in my head

‘til  all I can see is flowers
and still, still, it remains you
that lodges inside of me so
but leaves me no words at all

to tell anyone how I feel,
so  I will remain silent
or I will just shrug as I say,
“he’s alright most of the time,”

and no one will know I’m blooming.

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.

I wish that I was small-
small enough to climb
into your ear
and into
your head

Once I am in your head
I can touch your brain
kissing it all,
making it
better

I could fix all the pain
the pain that sits there
and lingers on
even when
lips meet

I feel so helpless, love
that I can’t fix it
like I’m meant to
with only
my love.

So I wish to be small
to live on your brain
and keep you safe
from all that
haunts you.

Forget the hands that held yours:
remember your spine.

Wear your hair how you like it.
Stay up late to sleep through the day.
Research what that lump is in your back.
Do nothing about it.
They tell me: You look prettier when you smile.

They tell me: You have no right to remember,
Because it made you sad.