looking at you is like
looking at a car crash
because although it is over
the damage has been done
and i will never unsee you

looking at you is like
looking at a wildfire
it is uncontrolled and blazing
and the longer you stare at it
the more beautifully encapsulating it becomes.

there is nothing more perfect
than the freckles on your nose,
and the way they scatter like raindrops
on your cheeks.

they remind me of a sky
with new fallen snowflakes,
each one different
in size and shape.

i know how much you hate them,
you say they're distracting,
misformed,
or decorate your face wrongly.

maliciously, you cover them,
peach-colored paint dries
the bridge of your nose cracks,
and a piece of you fades with it.

summer comes and the paint melts off,
the facade with it,
and once again the sun can paint
drops of caramel on your skin.

i made you in my dream last night
and i did not realize it
until i looked into the eyes
of a terrible sea storm
its rolling waves called out to me
and the seaweed grabbed me by my arms

i made you in my dream last night
and i did not realize it
until the soft pillow i had rest my head on
tucked a small piece of hair behind my face
and the soft silk brushed my cheek

i made you in my dream last night
and i did not realize it
until the kind, gentle breeze of a fall wind
swept me by my feet
and an old oak held me in its branches.

don’t let someone make you feel powerless
break all your bones till you have dust
slap your hand when you reach for the sky

don’t let someone make you feel powerless
hold you prisoner in your own body
shackled to the doubts you once had that are now illustrated for all to see

don’t let someone make you feel powerless
and let them change your mind to feel truly powerless

let someone make you feel powerful
don’t let the people who restrained your tongue and bound your fists
keep you from feeling powerful again.

there are powerless people
who feed their power to those who they pick on.

don't let anyone tell you
that you aren't good enough
for you are far more
than what anyone would ever expect you to be

droopy eyes
hold the world's pain
the world's secrets
they know more
and see more
than they care to reflect.

I was called a ****
because of my body today.
It didn’t phase me, because my mother
taught me not to listen to boys
who use their egos like knives.

I find it odd,
because they don’t know that I have a freckle
just above my hip bone.
I keep it closely guarded because
it is the only part of my body that I like.

No one can say they know my body
until they know which one of my arms
has a scar from when I burned my arm
cooking for my family.

They can’t understand my body
until they look into my brain
and see how the right side must be vibrant
at least that’s how I see it.

Did you know that I grew my hair
to hide the way my body looked
in the summer? To hide it from You,
so that I could at least be held steady
in my own roots.

I lied, you know
my favorite part of my body is my eyes.
My soul is climbing out of the window and holding to the window pane.
It longs to leave the cage.
It longs for separation from the cage.
It longs to have its picture taken, to be drawn, to be remembered, to be won, to be loved and cherished and wanted.

But it sings for just me.

i am not a poet
i say
but the words
in my head
fill the pages
and i just
let
myself
go

mondays were the worst to begin with
they always are
the feeling of uncertainty
the unknown
it haunted me
plagued my stomach
with ants lining the intestines
my organs clump together
each with a kick
but now it's worse
the unknown becomes known
and it's worse than i knew it to be
now mondays are waiting
waiting for the old to be new again
waiting for tuesday

you look at my eyes and tell me to stay
you hold me back and tie my chains
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

i stay in the house and notice your hair turning gray
and my respect for you wanes
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay

you faked a disease, the world was your pray
and the iv cords entered my veins
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

i open my world, it's a new place they say
and meet a man who sees me without my pains
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay

we made a plan to free me one day
and now i look around me at the carpet with stains
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

as the threads on my jail jumper begin to fray
and the color on my face drains
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

hey,
i just wanted to tell you that
you are amazing
but when you look at me like that
you confuse me
you smile at me
but sometimes you look away
and that hurts.
so if you could give me a sign
not just a :)
it would be appreciated.

okay because you make me so happy
when you smile
my heart squeezes my head hurts i sweat and
i am just a mess
so please stop smiling.

Please.
:)

the way i look at a piece of paper
knowing there are words to describe
you
knowing there is not enough i could say to do
you justice
but taking comfort in the way i feel as if i have known
you forever.
the sweater i left in my fathers closet.
the soft blue knit i knew
and had only now worn it
and taken off the spare pieces of thread
and had understood the purpose of the use of it.
the piece of sun that had met me before today and
yet it introduces itself to me every morning
and now i had understood the beauty in seeing the world in golden streaks on rooftops in the snow.
knowing you has been dawn.
understanding you has been spun
i wish to fervently describe the way i feel as if you have spun me a web to protect me in my dreams,
my nightmares, where i know they end just as i expect them to
in my hand.
you trace every line and stitch of work evident in my skin that you now know my hands like your own.
and i would wish that you would trace my life as i do yours, over in my mind turning it to knots that i know i can undo.
and i wish there was more time in the morning when the sun kisses me on my cheek and knows me like you do

a black leather boot steps in a puddle
shakes,
and goes back to walking
going wherever it may

I never understood
how people could drink tea right after it left the stove
or how holding hands holds that much
importance,
or how many times i miss you counts over and over
and how someone can do so much for one
at a table for two and feeling like it, too
not that one side, one-handed, one backhanded
table tennis serve, practice wall *******.
And i never understood how someone could take their coffee all sugar
i never understood what physical intamacy was
and how you could have both emotional and
physical
and how hard it is to stop myself from caring
or how irrational i could be
and how you can matter,
you and your Bob Dylan, broken chair, black projector
can matter, how
grocery trips and carwashes
can matter, how
much i can care about something in no more than a month
can matter, how
i hope you can be after because i hope i can be too.
If i could show you how much you mattered i would,
I never understood
how to before.

Suddenly she found herself on a park bench
Alone at school
    Not eating, being careful
       Those pesky calories
                             Can get to anyone.
The thinner the better and she was not thin yet
    She ate herself raw
      From the inside until it showed on the out
      Her insides were always twisting inside her
And though the wind blew strong that day
And her eyes were teared up
And her skin was pimpled
And her stomach lay like a stone
She sat and waited for someone to call her
                                                         Or touch her
                                                         Or anything in between
                     But no one ever did.
And that's why you won’t see her here
   No, she’s in the clouds
                    She’s flying upstairs.

Happiness can’t be found
It must be made
Prosper in some way

Happiness can’t be found
In wishing
Or wondering

Happiness can’t be found
In metal objects
Their own shininess doesn’t compel me

Happiness can’t be found
In a dark shower
The rain dripping off of my forehead
Stinging my eyes

Happiness can’t be found
In late night stands
And old band sets

Happiness must be made
In nightly sing-a -longs with old friends near a fireplace
In warm dark showers with music echoing in the background
In crying over something that won’t matter in the end
In finishing what you set out to do

Only you can make your happiness.

Dear blanket
The last time I held you was the third grade.
You were soft in my arms, the not yet faded lilac hang around my face like a willow tree
I loved you, I wore you out
You were all i needed.
Then i forgot about you because all that comes from a long relationship is wearing off and pain through the battlefield. I forgot that I loved to hold you when I needed support from an inanimate object who's inanimate imaginary endeavors were far greater than the ones I held in life. You, you are what gives us life. The small things are what makes us who we are and if we forget and give it up we leave it be. We are missing.
And so, you are all I need
I love you and I wore you out
No longer soft but still comforting shreds of cotton hang by my face
And alas I hold you tonight

and at that moment
i realized that the
soul-cutting anguish i felt
was heartbreak.
my head shattered on the floor,
unbeknownst to the warm area around me.
i am alone, i thought.
yet my strings were already being attatched
to someone else.

the red strands of hair
float,
drowned in the hot tub.
red solo cup tangled,
it holds drinks
steady for hours

i met you at a party
my tears were glued to my face
but just enough
so that
there were some
loose drops
rolling down my cheeks.
i am a silent crier.
you gave me tissues,
i trusted you right away
thanks for helping
thanks for understanding.

i get into my car
tired


the cold sweat on my scarlet dress
with the lingering smell of men's cologne.
my feet are pounding
baby toe screaming at the tight strap
of my one inch heels.
i do not recognize or acknowledge this.
my thoughts in my head
are louder than the screams of my body
exhausted after a school dance.

let it be
the beatles sing
my windows are open for the wind to hear their echos
my fingertips trace circles in the wind
rushing through my fingers
and i just listen
ever so carefully to the kind advice
let it be

it is so hard to just let it be. whatever it may be. but i like to place my worries on the tops of other's shoulders and if the beatles say to let it be, so be it.

i am so used to telling myself that I am not enough.
i look at the mirror and i am not enough.
my ribs hold protective of my worried and used heart, wondering if it can be used to love anyone more so much.
my core holds my balance, wondering if the perils of the earth are too much to keep me standing straight up.
my head holds my brain, steady and wise yet youthful and innocent. my hands hold my past, engraved in a memories i will soon forget.
i have enough, i am enough, yet it is so hard to say.

I received a beautiful flower today

and put it in the window,

for it to bathe in the sunlight and

wait for the rain.

It wilted.

It stood still a moment so that I could see it sway.

Its body held steadfast and melancholic,

and the petals laid aghast, weary, and cadaverous.

The flower itself looked like a young child,

whose ears had listened to the heartbroken voices of their parents,

a new spirit already bent, doomed, still yet uncertain,

as if its first morning had also been its last.

Her petals hung around her waist,

the pink silk laying lopsided on the stem, ruffled.

The reflection of the clouds imposed on her belly,

casted onto my own chest.

I look at her, astonished of her beauty, but perplexed

by the nature of her own spirit.

I questioned her vulnerability and her truth, as

it felt like she had tried to reassure me, by her coming,

of the broken promises,

alas her thorns said otherwise,

and her salmon petticoat sheltered her true olive-green body.

I studied her movement with every gust of wind,

to see if she had recognized the brisk kiss,

or if it had felt differently from when she had been in the fields,

unbothered and surrounded by other flowers her size,

synchronized in the movement with each breath,

their balletic petals holding hands with the sunbeams,

before being ripped from their earthy home,

and thrown into a foreign place where it is frigid and florescent.

The flower’s strong veins–

–you could call them veins,

had been tattered as every root seized from the safety of mother nature’s nursery,

with hope of a new start and being gullible enough to think it so. Instead,

being tossed into my arms, where I cannot supply the nutrients to be pumped into its delicate heart.

And it lay there,

wishing once more to feel any semblance of feeling grounded.

The flower stayed ***** long enough for me to enjoy its beauty, be charmed by its hope and solitude,

but also watch as each of its petals curl and begin to flinch for,

each gust of wind brings a new danger to its well-being.

And then I will keep it so I may watch it forever,

remembering the way that it was, but also the way it could have been if it had been left

untouched by unkept hands.

And I felt the flower, if not alive in the beauty that the world brings,

then alive earthy tones of a leather-bound book,

that too had once held hands with the sunlight and felt the nip kisses of the wind.

And I let it live.

this is just to say
every day is a new day
and although it feels
like the whole world is
collapsing around you
it is imperative
that you never
give up
hope.

i log off of my camera and close my laptop
deep sigh
shift my weight to the end of the chair
i think i broke my tailbone yesterday,
at your house. I remember walking over
and asking you for help. I remember
you sighing and telling me not to worry.
its only a tailbone after all.

my tailbone connects my spine, to my ribcage, to my heart, to my lungs, to my fingers, to my skull, to my eyes, to my nose, to my arms and to my body.

when i lose sight of you, will it be worth it to break my tailbone?
will it still be just a tailbone?

I say
I want to feel what it's like to burn
you hand me a chili pepper in return
I say
I want to feel what it's like to burn
you hand me a firecracker and run
I say
I want to feel what it's like to burn
and you hand me your finger
you dip it in a powder
and hold it up to my lips
i kiss your ring finger
and let the powder melt in my mouth.
you say i want to feel what it's like to know you
and we kiss
and burn together.

I can’t help but to stare at her
and the way that she seems to brighten the world wherever she walks. Her eyes
Could rock me to sleep, sing me a sweet melody and
melt my insides. I can’t help but listen to her words
and the way they waltz across the pages, staying in tempo with my tongue. They are
leading the dance. I can’t help but to marvel at her, so
put together and so untouchable. My limbs are frozen, icy,
stiff without her touch. Oh,
if I could feel an ounce of her love, I could leave my bed in the morning. But
alas, when I wake, I am alone, watching her silhouette dance in my dreams. When she
wakes, her smile looks at the sun and burns
just as brightly, rivaling its rays. And her eyes are like
embers, while my eyes look like ***
and my clothing is wrinkled, while hers is folded neatly on
her bed in the morning. The
way that she can brush her hair aside, and it looks like an untamed fire,
the way her bangs look as if I could touch them, and feel the hot
flames. My hair is a cold dark open night, one worth chasing and
leaving behind. Her light will go fast,
you must catch it in a glass jar and
hold it close to you. When you feel angry,
you can watch as she darts from side to side, as
her aura fills you with glee and hope. She
is the reason why I get up in the morning and feel like I can
breathe. She is the reason I let myself be.

this morning went like razors on skin
this morning went like a headache you can't stand
this morning went like a bad dream that went on and on
this morning was rain for weeks and weeks
this morning was regret of waking
this morning was hoping for the next

While I walk to Hendrick’s
early in the morning
I hold tangled up headphones
and feel for the keys in my pocket
which I am always forgetting
and I have
previously
relied on my roommates but
after last week
I try to remember them
being locked out is never
fun

I walk by the empty streets
in the new spring warmth
listening to the sounds of the wind
pass through my hair
watching a single
silver Honda
slink away
I wonder where
they are going
as the sun says hello
I wish I could drive
if I could
I would go to the lake
and shake hands
with the sun himself
maybe he would
say hi back
if he knows me


I know the sun
knows my face
and knows my cheeks
the freckles reflect that
and his kisses leave
rouge the shade of
peonies
every time I sneak
a smile
if I could
say hi to the sun
we would talk about
David Bowie
and we would decide
he
is one of the best artists
of all time,
not comparable to
Elvis,
who the sun would say
had a few great hits
but nothing could beat
Labyrinth
and I would agree
and I would tell
the sun that
he’s doing
a great job
because I don’t think
that anyone tells him that
and I think so

thank you for saying you love me
sometimes it feels as if no one could
the more i push
the more you want me
the longer i stay
the longer i wish to love me
thank you for saying you love me
even when i think no one could

I don’t know what I deserve anymore.
They say the world,
but I think smaller.
An ant on my tiny finger,
it’s world is my fingertip,
wondering the labyrinth
of my finger print.
Each callis it stumbles,
until it falls into sleep
under my thumbnail.
I feel as if I wander my thoughts,
it’s walls as tall as my doubts.
I can never find a way out.
Instead, I stumble on hardships, confidence and hopelessness,
only to fall asleep snug
in only a blanket of the unknown.
I belong to my own world of thought, though I often wonder if it is
what I deserve.

a stare
so gone and so empty
so dull yet it could cut someone's heart in half
that is a blank stare
the feeling of wanting nothing more than to feel
but perhaps feeling too much as to let yourself go
and float in the empty space
it is feeling alone in a room with people
it is feeling alone in the daylight
it is a stare
so gone and so empty

as time grows weary
so do my eyes
they droop as low as they must
to block the images of the world
it is so hard to take the pain
when you can't see who is there to help you
for you all alone must open your eyes
with prongs of hope
that are so few and far

i feel cursed somehow
with guilt
i am ridden with guilt
and the only thing protecting me
is rhiannon playing over and over

attachment is the pill i take every night before i sleep
it isn’t something that i want to do
it is the cure for my need to serve
my need to satisfy
and i know it isn’t healthy
that’s why i take the pill

cicadas are the only thing that makes me feel safe anymore
there is nothing more therapeutic
than the song they sing in the warm summer nights
amongst the cooled leaves
and willowy grass
inexplicably calming,
they surround me in their song
rocking me to sleep
on the backs of their rhythmic wings

defeat is being burned again
by someone who you would give the world to
it's like an asteroid hurtling towards your mother's heart
and there is nothing that you can do
except sit there,
silent chains in your mouth
hopelessly waiting for the blow