Music Box

When I rain, I pour.

But this year broke me.

Sank its fingertips

into my shoulder blades

and tore me asunder.

Nailed me to the

floors of this apartment

that weeps like a willow.

While you wrapped yourself in goodnights

I screamed into the floorboards.

I licked at your fingers

like a dog.

No matter how deep I dived

I never reached the ocean,

And I cried.

Sweet Jesus, did I cry.

But men aren’t supposed to,

so I begged instead.

At the age of twenty

I discovered shame.

I felt like calling for help,

but my voice cracked

like a frozen lake.

You’d tell me you were going out

with a few friends, and I’d beg you to stay home,

but my guilt tied my tongue down

with fish hooks.

When I rained, only ashes fell.

And no phoenix clawed its way out.

Only my naked back, flayed by the chains of the prison

I forged for myself,

bleeding out poems that I’ll never see

again.

******* out air from music notes

in order to survive.

This year I discovered guilt.

I could never count how many times I said I’m sorry,

but I tattooed it to my chest

so when I made love to you

I wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

I used to burn.

Burn so loud that

when spoke

smoke climbed from my lips,

I lived my life like a car crash

but sang like a music box.

I plucked smiles from strangers

and drank up the voices

of girls

like wine.

I played loud.

And at the age of nineteen I found myself unworthy.

I inhaled smoke instead of speaking it,

and never let the car

leave the driveway.

I cried ink from my fingertips,

and used you as a telescope to search for God.

With you, I discovered far too much.

I still feel that only shackles embrace me,

but I want to shred open my rib cage

and the let the songbird

out of my chest.

Pull the hooks from my tongue

so I can say

I love you.

When I rain, I want to ******* pour.

So the world knows my heart’s beating.

My wounds are canyons,

that I’ll stitch up with poems.

I want you to know me.

I want you to hold your breath

when you press your hand to my chest.

I want to scream so loud these

walls split open

to let the ocean pour forth from their eyes,

so I can swim to the surface and write my name on its face.

Sing the moon into my hands.

And free that fire from my music box,

so I can find my way

home.

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