don't think for a second that ******* upside down doesn't count, because it ******* does. rough cheeks in mean hands, sneering lips that linger on a sickly smooth neck that's been trying to hang itself for an eternity. you are my guiltiest pleasure, i scream so loudly that i'm sure the entire west side is eating up the dirt from beneath my toenails. ****, we both wear it well. beauty means less and less everyday, and i miss it from the bottom of my ******* to the neurons that **** around in my ****** up skull. i count freckles because it's the only thing i can do and you ask me to rip you open and i can't remember where i left off so i decide we'd better just ****. when did i get off the bus? i'm sure this isn't my stop, but i've been sitting on my hands so long that i'm not entirely sure if they're there, or just numb. you make them move, to cut off the oxygen and blood flow so that you sigh deep and long with me beneath you. foolish of you to throw away your last remaining breath, so foolish that i smile wide. i am nothing if not evil, ripped from eve's flesh and bones. you tell me i can't have him because i'll ruin him, but the truth is, i'm already in ruins. millions of years ago, i was something to behold, but now people walk within me and feel a strange heaviness because they desperately want to see what they've missed. there is no rewind button on the remote, just fast forward and forward and forward and forward and forward. don't ******* look back.

stupidity is nothing but a state of mind,
my mother told me as i fetched
tears from the well that i had thought
run dry when i was just a child

amazing what you can find if you
dig deep enough, and dig i did

i could feel you there, but i couldn't
see anything through the self induced
blurs that ran from eyelash to cheek
to chin to the soil that desperately
desired to be quenched under the
soles of my worn leather boots

i yelled out, senseless sentences,
about how you had broken me,
bone by bone, and watched me suffer,
and the anger opened my eyes so
that i could see i was yelling at the grains
that teased me with their dancing in the breeze

your voice still found a way into my ears
telling me that the only finger prints on those stones
were my own

i hated you then, but i recalled something
else my mother had once told me,
you can only hate someone you've loved

let me love an artist so we can breathe in each other's fumes and get high off of creation and wonder.
let us spill out paints and ink and words and ideas onto a wooden floor and watch as it's corroded and falls away, level by level, until we're so deep that we're reaching into the dirt that surrounds us and slapping it on canvass like cavemen once did.
let you see me fully and not as the crazy girl who can't stop hooping and dancing and moving long enough to see straight, understand that when i run from face to face it's not because i don't want to love you so hard that i'm exploding, it's just that if i don't look into new eyes once in awhile i shrivel up and begin to fade.
let the world look at us and understand nothing, but feel a strange sense of desire to be so unique and drenched in the secrecy of the tiny universe we've created between us to house the wild way we wander over this earth, documenting piece by piece through our hands, eyes, and hearts.

soul *******
self loathing
slow moving
seen exploding

bruised souls
hurt and it takes
an eternity to heal
what you can't see

hope holding
hands hanging
hear heaven
help handed

ears listen for
what they want
and the rest is burned
in a metal can

what i wouldn't give
to have fifty hands
and seventy two
brains so that
i could do it all

i'd take you
home and wrap
you up in something
warm and explain
to you why this
scary world isn't
going to hurt
you once more

instead i'm stuck
here wishing i
was better

you know
just as soon
as i'm settled
here you come
crashing in
like a trucker
asleep at the
wheel while
driving back
and forth from
coast to coast

my god do i
welcome these
collisions full
of rainy phone
conversations
and hopeful
hints of something
beautiful to
come my way

i'll come see
you in a dog
pile and we'll
find ways to
figure out
how to make
the unworkable
work because
we can and i
want you more
than i want
anyone and,
jesus, that's
what counts,
isn't it?

so what if
we're chock
full of fights,
fears, and
fantasies?
we're both
just children
looking for
a hand to hold
and yours
feels better
in mine
than most

you know the first time
that you go home after
you've finally cut
the 20-something year old
cord, and you
sit at the dinner table like
always, in the same seat
you've sat in since you
left your high chair, and
dad's made turkey enchiladas,
and you're reaching for
the hot sauce, and then
just as he grabs it to hand
it to you, you notice it first
in the age spots, and then
you follow it to the white
in his beard, and then it's
all written in his deep set eyes,
and his crows feet, and his
cheek bones that seem to
stick out more than ever
and you can't seem to
peel your eyes away
from the man you've known
since birth, even though
you could paint his
face with your eyes closed,
or at least his face the
way you still see it when
you have your
eyes closed

dad, when did you get old?