We would never work. I need stability and security. I need safety. But you, you're inherently unsafe. You seek out chaos and conflict intentionally because you think it's interesting. If you were on the Titanic,you'd be pouring champagne and singing while the ship went down. Everyone would be screaming, getting into  lifeboats, and you'd be standing there on deck, with your glass of champagne, laughing, and you'd still find your way off the **** boat without even trying.

Are you familiar with the story , "The Monkey's Paw?" There's this magic monkey's paw, like a rabbit's foot kind of, and it grants any three wishes you want . The problem is, for every wish that comes true , there is a terrible, huge cost. Being with you would be my wish. You're  everything I want, and everything I'm not, and you would ruin me. You don't consider consequences, and if we were to end, you would move on to the next experience that seems interesting. But I would never recover. Being with you and losing you would devastate me so much that I can't even consider taking that risk.

You're like a high -risk investment. You could make me extremely wealthy, or I'll end up on the street.

I've never known someone with so much anxiety and so little fear.

Face it, the reason you're into feminism isn't because you want to raise up other women-- it's because you want to be held to the same standard as men. You know you're not just better than most women you meet, but that you are smarter, fiercer and more ambitious than most men, too. You want to be recognized as the best PERSON in the room, not just the best woman.


Do you really want me to try and stop you? You don't , because no matter what I say, you're going to do it. If anything the best way to discourage you is to encourage you, but you'll still do what you want anyway.And if you choose not to do it, it won't be on moral grounds, but just because you want to deny yourself a passion to prove that you can say no to yourself, that you have control, and that's not much better than doing it anyway, isn't it?
You are the strongest woman I've ever met. You hardly ever know what you want, but when you think you want something, you go out and get it. You never hesitate, you ignore your fear, and you don't care about morality. Sometimes though, you feel ashamed of yourself , and hide in your charms. You do it for so long and try so hard that you forget yourself. Don't forget yourself. You seek out people who have the passion and motivation you think you lack, but you have these things more than anyone. And most of all, you are powerful. I can't explain the power that emanates from you, but it's like a force of nature. You can't hide it and you shouldn't. You need chaos and conflict and madness to keep going, because you ARE chaotic, conflicted and mad.You need to stop feeling guilty and afraid of yourself, and be the person you are, not the person you think you should be.

Four seated around a table, four proper place settings.
Napkins on laps, forks in hands jabbing pasta and grayish meat,
unused spoons and knives on the right.

Casual conversation, metal clinking porcelain.
Occasional slurps and crunches, paper wiping skin.
The household cat mews in the background.

Father.
Bills are late, mortgage is due next week.
Is there even enough in the checking to pay them?
Mother.
Tuna helper for the third night in a row.
Daughter.
I’ll just say I’m just sick of eating this stuff.
Maybe that, or…
Son.
I’ve seen her journal.
Do I say something? But…
Father.
$89.45.
Mother.
Tomorrow will make it four.
Daughter.
… I’ll “get sick” again.
It seems to be working.
Son.
…she’d **** me if I told.
I guess I’ll keep quiet.

Four plates form a circle, their propriety slowly weakened.
Food blotches have tinted the once pure white napkins,
forks, spoons and knives are laid lazily on tuna scraps.

Meaningless words have turned to awkward glances,
throat clearing and thumb twiddling signals another meal over.
The cat patiently waits in the kitchen, still whining.
He wants the leftover tuna.

Come here. I want to tell you how much the moon
tilts its’ soft spine when you close
your eyes and dream of nothing but living sober.
I once saw light reflect off your shoulder
and that is when I knew you were a starving lover,
wanting someone to lick your bones if
you were ever cold in the dark.
And even in the daylight I saw your veins plump
and blue, shaking when you spoke of wisdom.

I love you more on Sundays
because you sleep in past 3 with your hair
on the top of your head and your hands
tucked in between your thighs.
I say yes — yes to everything you ask of me
because I want you to come to your senses
that it is okay to ask and want.
I want you, I ask you to stay.
Will you bend your contours and melt into me
like the moon does for the sky?
Come here and feel naked in the palm of my tongue
as I taste you without salt and sugar,
bear your heaviness onto my stomach while I
share a language with your mouth.
Come here and be fragile,
so I can feel your vulnerable.

This is about the breath on your tongue
and the way you looked in my basement
when the world was asleep and my
fingers were wet;
because I can still smell you after
4 a.m. on a Friday night, thinking —
(****, this feeling burns like
a cigarette habit).
Your ******* are the epitome of thunder,
they creep into my skin and leave
me vibrating.

You are restless in between my legs
so I pretend this was easy like
the first time I told you I love you;
rub my hand through your hair as the breath
in my lungs quakes and evaporates
in between us.

It is cold and I am swooning in our
sweat and tears from earlier testimonies,
(I know you care, I saw it in
the way you arched your vertebrae)
and you whimper in your sleep —
waking your bones, your still-life perfection.
I could stay in this mess forever.

I could find her in the dark. I know
every *****, scar and tethering in her
skin. Know her like a blind spot ready
to submerge and crash into me. She’s
a tidal wave, concocted by natural
significance — reverberating in be-
tween covers I cannot lift because she’s
everywhere. Honey on her breath and I
swallow her whole, feel her crawling
down my throat until I can’t think no
longer, feel no pain and breathe nothing
but an addicting catastrophe.

I find the moon in between her collarbones
and the sun on her lower back, ready to
***** my waist and burn the living
daylight into my bones while I consume
her body language. She says nothing when
the lights are on and so I trace the empty
spots of her until I am five feet under —
drowning from the thought of her leaving
come next morning.

And yet, I wait for her to smother me and pull
me down until I lose my hearing but
sense her pulsing — manipulating her heart-
beat to synchronize with my choking;
the deeper I drown, the closer she feels.

This is the part where we sob
in our hands and bite our
tongues ‘til they bleed,
because the (I wish I could say
things to you much bolder
than the moon)
silence seizes our stirring.
And when nothing is said
and we’re hung over from last
night’s drinking,
I will pour salt in your
water and watch you gag on the
taste of bland, plastic lust.

Pretend we are fortunate and
make believe we are good at
this — loving each other so we
don’t have to look at reality;
we are alone
Like lone stars, we hide our
beauty in crevices we dare
not open in the dark.

So lets make the scene,
cause some action and
maybe light a spark just to
pass the time in our
small, lonely worlds.