i get that change is meant to hurt, to push
and pull at all of those bits that need it
i understand that i made the choices i had to,
that i'm strong, and that i live life for myself-
but the truth remains, none of this feels like love

i wake up cold and sweating, the echoes of you
bouncing around the room

sometimes i wish that folding was as easy as it seemed,
that we could climb back into my princess bed
and fight the chills with our body heat, that you
would wake me with kisses on my eyelids before
you caught the early bus to work, that you'd
hold my waist and dance barefoot with me as i
whispered old crooner songs to you in my kitchen

instead my backbone bends, but somehow the
weight of this loss doesn't break it

i know you go on living, but it's hard to define
what you're doing as life, i worry always that
the unknown number is someone calling to tell
that you've finally lost your physical self,
just as you lost your spirit so long ago

my strength isn't made for two, just me,
even though i lent it to you each and every
time your eyes became glued to the floor and
your body shook so much you lost your sense of self

i know now that i'm no jesus, that lover isn't
synonym for savior, that i did everything i could

there is no reassurance in reinvention, you see,
this time around i already know who i am,
the decision was long and labored, but came
about without question or hesitation

comfort doesn't come just because i could
see the fissure coming, instead the pain
is slow and deliberate, a dull ache in my bones

I live silently in the shadow of the Olympics, losing my center by one degree daily. Pounding through enchanted forests and taking in all of the negative ions I can before I return to my treehouse. I should come home and stand on my head, but lately I've been telling myself scary bedtime stories about everyone that loves me secretly not giving a **** anymore. I feel like I've locked my spirit in a cage that sits on my shoulder. I witness the strange and bizarre life of living outside of true self, but despite my awareness and understanding, I am still not whole. The truth is that living a life brimming with light, love and beauty takes daily dedication to the dream, despite what ego whispers to me as I drift off to sleep. I know how to float above it all, I just have to allow myself to become weightless.

when i hit the send button it means nothing,
not to you anyways, i keep sending the insides
of my soul, once a week, but i know
that the only response i'll get is silence

i could cry about it, but i'd rather laugh when i see you

i know, i will always see you, whether we
meet in my hometown at a gas station after
you've walked new york state, or if you
land on my couch for half a year because you
just can't get the gumption to get to chicago,
or maybe you'll be laying on my floor singing
dream girls and petting my buttery walls,
either way, i know you'll appear and it will
seem like magic, but really, that's just the
cloud of smoke you've decided to live in

i know you because i know me, the geminis,
the four weeks, we bared too much for our
hands to hold, and instead we scooped up
bits of each other as night claimed us

i will always love you despite everything that
could possibly follow despite, i just will,
because you're the imaginary friend
that somehow became a part of my reality

there is something inside of me that breaks
in front of every broken person out there -
and if you can find me one person that's made it
through life without being broken, well then,
my earth might just crumble where i stand -
but like i said, it's as if i mirror them,
like their emotions crawl inside of my heart,
and start to occupy my mind, and leak their
way to my tear ducts and my mouth and my limbs,
and i lose control of it, i lose it

for that brief moment, a piece of them lives within me

my sister and i are the empaths,
that's what they like to call us anyways, but
i'd like to believe we're human,
that we should all share and feel each
other's pain so that we can sleep
at night knowing we're never truly alone

i wish i had realized sooner that feeling
isn't weakness, that i didn't need to
hide something we all share, instead,
someone whispered that message to me
in slumber and i woke up with the idea
in my head thinking it was mine

as i begin to unravel ego i realize that
my ideas have been circulating for
longer than i can conceive,
and the more i meditate on the notion
the more i realize that i've just got to
keep the current going, keep stirring
that *** and send the ideas on to
someone else who might be able to
find sustenance within them

i've always known i'd be a nurturer,
but i never thought i possessed the
nourishment people needed within
the fibers of my very being, that we
all possess just what we need, what the
world needs, it's already inside of us,
waiting for someone, or something,
to draw it out

15 years old:
invite a group of friends over
to sit in my empty living room
with brand new wood floors -
we’re renovating

proof: I’m not poor

16 years old:
hang out of my sister’s
bedroom window,
swing into wet mulch,
steal away to twone’s
to get hammered and
touch my first ****

proof: I’m not afraid

18 years old:
lament over the fact
that I’m the last senior
alive without a cell phone

you got the flip, *****,
happy birthday

proof: I’m one of you

21 years old:
rip six foot bongs,
squirt jaeger bombs
into mouths from a gallon jug,
***** black sushi sacrifice

proof: I can hang

22 years old:
get caught with drugs
in 90 degree Arizona desert,
make friends with drug dog,
tell the truth while you take a ****,
sit in a cell and make plans
to call brother for bail

proof: the truth won’t always set me free

11 years old:
go into a department store
with my auntie,
heavy footsteps follow,
head to the juniors department,
heavy footsteps follow,
turn round, see an old man,
think, ‘he must be shopping for
his granddaughter’

proof: innocence is blind

have to ***, head to the bathroom,
heavy footsteps follow
with ragged breathing,
watch as Velcro sneakers stand
just beyond the door my stall,
curl into a ball and
wait, wait, wait,
as my brain takes on silent screaming

proof: I am nothing but prey

hear the next stall door
creak open,
watch feet walk in and legs
begin to bend,
explode out of stall
into store,
find auntie and begin
hyperventilation and
true demonstration of fear

proof: I am a woman now

i am a hoarder of memories and monuments,
and lately i'm beginning to discover
i do the same with dreams

when i lay my head on the pillow at night
and enter the fitful in between
i often have 7 or 8 drifting through,
and the same affliction seems
to follow throughout my walking daze

i've always operated under the notion
that you're supposed to follow your dreams,
but the problem is this seems to ignite
a series of battles within that i like to
call the "this or thats"

to dive head first into this or that,
to give myself fully to this or that,
to let my passions lay with this or that,
this or that, this or that, THIS OR THAT

i wish that i had a telescope in my hands,
i would take it and shove it right into
the very center of my soul,
and i would lean forward and peek through
that eyehole and see the universe within,
after all,

we are all the moon and the stars

you see, i've lived a life so long in fear,
hands clasped over eyelids regardless
of whether the lights are turned on or off,
and now i must learn to pry each fingertip
loose, and with each digit dislodged
comes a lesson learned

i am proud to announce that with the
first came,

i am the moon and the stars

we switched the couch and the dining room table
and suddenly everything was different

spines became straighter, eyes locked with ease,
hands found old hobbies, and lost words lingered
until they were found

silence became a staple, but not in the way
that had made my palms itch before, no, this
way was like an overdue hug from an aunt who
painted your toes as a little girl, but stopped coming
to thanksgiving because she couldn't bear
the sight of everyone growing up

we sat on the couch only when eyelids couldn't
bear to blink and bodies bent in half, only then
did we sink into the oblivion that had claimed
the last three months of our lives

and when morning came, you lingered, but
i was back at the table, ready to dust off
another artifact lying somewhere within my soul