i've heard of my harshness
my entire life, the way
that my words dig tiny
holes in hurt feelings and
infest psyches with
second guesses until
madness consumes the
unfortunate recipient of
my terrible truths

they are only truths after all,
honesty is the best policy
plays on repeat behind
closed eyelids as i think
before i speak

none of this is senseless,
maybe it's that i suffer
from a seemingly sweet face
as an accompaniment to
my realism, or
perhaps you're just too
******* sensitive

i picture myself taking
sandpaper to my tongue,
spritzing my brain with
lavender extract, and
instead of word *****
i regurgitate daisies

today i woke and found what was lost
a day of hurt, a day of cost
a look in the mirror reveals what's known
i am the only place where i find home

i control this lonesome land
with naught but a pence thrown in my hand
but still control belongs to me
which should convince me that i am free

a drive of doubt fuels me forward
though my heels dig in, i move onward
a flash of what i know to be the past
despite my desire does not last

i take my hands and hold my head
without self control i'm better off dead
muscle memory moves me on
finding solace in the promise of a new dawn

i know that when my eyelids part tomorrow
there will be less of this god awful sorrow
but for now i'll allow myself to sink a bit
mondays really are nothing but ****

it seems the closer i get to my dreams
the less gravity pulls me towards reality

i wake each morning nose to nose with myself
floating above my still sleeping body

as my eyelids flutter i fall back within my bones
and breathe deeply as i recount the strangeness -

lost in the docks of antwerp desperate for evening attire,
watching robed friends don masks and sing of sadness -

my past follows me into the great beyond
and stares me in the eyes again and again

for some reason i can see and feel you,
but the familiarity is gone and your voice is no longer yours

i wonder if that's the first thing to disappear
from the recesses of our minds - the sound of love

my brain tricks me into thinking
that i'm the only woman
who's turned out jaded
after watching a man eat
chunks of my still beating heart

it's easy to place myself upon
this island, silent and sorry
while i sob under pine trees
and curse the planets for
making me endlessly desire love

i see you approach the shore,
the boat wasn't built with
your own hands, but you're
still a better man than all
of the ones that proceeded you

i speculate that you're here
to hunt weak and easy prey,
truth is that doubt and not loving
myself will be the only misfortunes
that bleed me dry

******* you pisces,
with your gaping emotional wounds
that rot slowly from the inside out
and your innate genuine self that makes
it impossible for you to pretend the
darkness of the world won't eat you alive
like the rest of us

**** your artistry and self expression,
the only thing you leave behind for
the rest of us to stare longingly at
and wish wistfully that there would be
one more poem, song, story, dance

most of all i **** on your sweetness,
the way you flowed through this world
filling one soul after the next and
never remembering that you can't
fill a cup once yours is empty

i wish i had known,
i would've filled you up

I wish that I had the kind of mind that would allow full release, but the truth of the matter is that steal traps have always been my ideal. I've worked hard to build myself an island, surrounded it with mines, and loaded myself with ammunition for anyone that manages to make it onto dry land. I lay at night and watch as the screen on the ceiling replays my greatest failures and losses. I feel your warmth next to me and can't help wondering what will bring our demise. I float above us and watch myself pull away, inch by inch. I place jealousy, hysteria, impatience, doubt, and desire between us in a neat line on the mattress that the last man I loved bought. Is this it? An endless loop of love lost? Am I so jaded that I'll never heal enough to allow truth and love to permeate every fiber of my being? I want to give myself to you, but I have this odd feeling that the cup is close to empty. I worry that I'm nothing if not greedy, pulling you towards me, all the while knowing that I'm incapable of allowing you all the way in. Maybe you're different, maybe I can be. I want to be, that's got to count for something. Right?

i wish i could tell you why i am this way,
why i see you and love you and still want to rip you to shreds

i look inward and backwards and beyond
and i see a young woman, a little girl, a grandma -
all of them intertwining fear and love,
sewing the edges together with stitches as they
sit by a fire and watch the quilts of their lives converge

each one beautiful, each one tragic, each one alone -
always wondering whether any outside eyes will ever
look past all of the complexities to see the simple truth -
we're all just looking for love without toxicity,
for love without contingency, for love without jealousy

i want you to look me in the eyes and see my faults
and love me regardless of the blood that drips from
my fingertips from pricking myself time and time again
with the quilting needle that's pieced together my sad story

i want you to know that my insides have been stolen
from me since before i can remember, and i may be
nothing if not afraid but i've learned that bravery is the
best mask out there, and that sometimes people are
worth trusting, and that maybe if i don't rip you to shreds
i might look into your eyes for awhile and find home