when i was a little girl
i drove a pink convertible
i didn't mind that it was
slow going
all i needed was the breeze in my hair

i would dream that i was driving
across the country
to california

i always knew that the east
would never complete me,
even at the tender age of four

now i've grown up,
physically speaking,
and i've had enough of this coast

one little taste was all i needed

sick of the east,
i'm gonna
run away, run away, run away
to the place that might sink,
but the sun shines all day

it's funny how technology
has made it impossible for us
to bury things completely
our past is never hidden
when all you have to do
is google a name
and a lifetime pops up on the screen

tonight i spent hours
reading the messages
you sent me
that said that you'd love me
forever and that you would
always be a part of my
happiness, no matter what

if this were 1953 i'd be
reading letters
and my tears would smear
the heart felt hand writing
that bared your soul

instead the salty liquid
sits stagnant on the
spacebar and i'm
holding on tight
to my screen
trying to force myself
to simply shut the laptop
hoping that closing it
will wake me up from this
dream, oh nothing is
going to wake me up
from this
says the inner realist
and i'm still typing away
about you
adding to the never-ending
archives of our love
or what it once was

is it wrong
that those
in love
make me
want to *****
lying on my back?
so that the
900 calorie
barbecue cheeseburger
that i ate for dinner
kills me in a manner
other than
clogging my
already corroded arteries

once you're alone
it seems as if
everyone is together
and it makes you
wonder, who
was writing
sick, twisted
poetry
about you and
your lover,
holding hands
and staring into
each others eyes,
as if irises
hold all of the
answers and
promises
to a beautiful
life

i picture my life
as a large coloring sheet
of peonies who've just
begun to bloom,
opened to their full potential,
and withered away as
they've seen enough
sunshine to last a lifetime

a rich tapestry of color
covers just a corner, but
so much is still left blank,
just waiting for the right
colors to fill the white spaces

music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories

how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see

i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone

my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit

i hear you through the stained glass
screaming at children, scaring the **** out of them
*******, you're ******* tough, aren't you?
telling a nine year old to jump in the garbage where she belongs

with your cigarette stained screams
and hair that would gladly twist it's tendrils
around any unsuspecting victim
quick enough to squeeze the life out of them
before they had the sense to run

and this little girl has strength enough to keep her chin up,
keep moving her little legs to grab her icee
from the corner market in this early summer heat

and you're still on your ******* porch
yelling about little ******* pinching your baby

if you want to be the guard dog of this neighborhood
let's get you a chain and leash
because there's no question in my mind
that you are a *****

being gorgeous
is all a game of
projections and
precision, with a
drop or two of
luck in the gene pool

do you know
how many times
i have stood, ****,
in front of a man
and heard
those words
drip, slippery with
*** and saliva,
through foaming lips?

big headed beasts
who still haven't
figured out where
to find my ****

oh, but desire me, they do
and i'm always the best
****
they've ever known

'oh baby, how DO you DO
that thing with your hips?'

i lay around wondering
why these men
subject themselves
to *******
dead fish

when it's over they
can't keep fingers
from lingering on my
skin, tattooed ribs
draw out long sighs
and desperate whispers,
followed by lingering
on my
'perfect ****'

then it comes, oh,
how *******
gorgeous i am,
with my eyes that
just can't decide
if they want to be
the bark or the leaves

intrigued by my
beguiling mystique
and desire to be free,
but the sad truth is,
fools or not,
each and every one
does the same thing,
they leave

should've listened
when dad said,
'get compliments
for being smart,
not pretty'

sprinkles splatter on
tight clad legs in december,
and it should be snow, but
the clouds are thinking
of committing suicide
and haven't got anything
to spill but tears

i'm smoking bowl after
bowl, trying to ease a mind
full of manic mutations
and masterfully marred
optimism

geminis have a strange
way of guessing the words
that will slip out of lips
of ones like themselves,
and tonight i've found a
human who entered this
world just a week
before me

it's almost like a secret club,
but the secrecy is terrifying
in an electric way, and i'm
plugged into an outlet
ready to be fried as i
spill broken heart after
broken heart to a man
that understands me
all too well

he tells me that he
knows not why i ask
for advice, because
the truth is i'm stubborn
and stuck and i know
what i want, i'm just
wasting away with pride,
posture, and predictability
every moment that i don't
go and get it

drove down to the tetons
just to see what orange leaves
looked like,
it's hard to remember when
you're surrounded by
lodge pole pines
all the time

we drove slow on the
way back, feeling
the summer slip
between fingertips
as we cruised
along the curving
hips of lake yellowstone

when i discovered the
shot i felt as if i had
borrowed your vision
for just a moment

steady now, don't miss,
the colors layered in
a way i know i won't
ever see again

a single elk stood near
a spruce, separating
serenity from sea swell

the perfection of
a mirrored image,
nature overwhelming me,
not once, but twice

absarokas are beginning
to stand tall stage right
and i'm watching a horizon
that never seems to fade

click, i snap a shot, but
really i've found myself
in a world that can't ever
truly be captured

broken baby girl
screams of want
for the new world
just beyond the horizon

but she's been
sailing a sinking ship
with holes in the
sails and
an anchor that
drags through the depths

crew jumped
overboard
a thousand
leagues ago
and she stands
at the helm
compass in hand
perfectly unwilling
to live this one down

100 yards from land
she holds the hand of the
figurehead tight enough
that slivers work their way
throughout her palm

and as she breathes in
the salty liquid and watches
the sun streaked sky
littered with screaming gulls
fade away

she knows that she's finally
found a way
into the great unknown

twist around my pinky
round and round you go
like a little slug
you take your sweet time
you slurp and ****
holding so tight
i've been sprinkling salt
for years now
but not enough to make you die
i think i secretly like
always having you stuck
i torment you and myself

i marinade my fingers,
banana pepper juice, hot wing sauce, sriracha,
i beg you to come close enough so that
i can burn every inch of your lukewarm skin

i'm not looking for revenge
i just want you to know what it feels like
to be set on fire and live to talk about it
when the sun blazes tomorrow

i drank enough whiskey for ten men last friday
and followed familiar footfalls,
i held myself up on barstools and good friends
and watched the door, waiting,
confusing look alikes through blurred vision

when you finally sauntered in
i saw it in slow motion,
i felt absolutely nothing
except hammered and free

i hate that my brain consumes me
completely entirely in every way
i feel as if it's a bunch of caves
that i've gotten lost in
i haven't seen the light in awhile
and god, do i miss it
this cave system is intricate
and i swear that someone is moving the walls
every time i see sunlight
and head in that direction
the next thing i know
it's gone
these caves are dark and dank
and ****, do they smell like rotting
the corpses of half lived dreams
litter the ground
i climb over them
stumbling often
landing disgusted on forms
that instantly turn to dust
i wonder if i'll always be trapped
but deep within myself
i know i've got a map
tucked away in my back pocket

it's funny that they call it plan b
because usually it's more like plan d
and even then, you're not really sure
that it's such a good plan at all

and even though the pharmacist
in wegmans doesn't flinch,
you still wonder what she's thinking
and the wondering goes on a long while

i watched **** tattooed men
make me drinks with 80 proof whiskey,
and tried to forget that i ******
someone i didn't give a **** about

that maybe, just maybe,
cells had begun to multiply,
but maybe they hadn't, and i
was feeling like ****
drinking my 10 dollar drink
for nothing

the next morning i woke up,
red lipped, wild curls framing
a face that spoke of last night's failures

i stood in front of the mirror
and i captured the face of a girl
the morning after

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

ashy shins sit above worn nikes
pedaling slowly, back and forth,
back and forth, as she calls out,
"hola," again and again to the
little boy who lives next door

she's waiting, and sitting still
isn't what she's about, so she
pedals, back and forth, back
and forth, back and forth

wide grins reveal missing teeth,
worn out tanktop bares prison
tattoos scratched into sagging
skin, i bet she was beautiful once,
but all that's left is a carcass now

she stops to light a menthol,
and adjust her head scarf, then
she's at it again, back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth

hummer pulls up with the rims
spinning, blasting biggie like
they just got free, front door opens
an inch, rolex hand reaches out
to give our girl the goods

nothing to go back and forth
for now, crack in hand, lips
wet from licking, she rides away
almost as high as she'll be
once she hits that rock

freezing garage grav **** hits
hands shaking, lungs quaking

drunken moms vomiting dead center
in king sized beds on graduation night

fast girls climbing wildly out of little sister's window
once the street lights lay low

dark basements full of *****, boys, and bongs
building our bad habits

homesick, always homesick,
for a place that doesn't exist

i am holding my towel, mid-air,
arm outstretched,
fingers clenched,
with a millisecond to decide
if i throw it in

i hate that i've gotten this far,
but lately it's all fast forward
with little retraction, relfection, or restriction

i spend hours in the mirror
trying to see myself,
but there's this big headed *****
with green eyes full of envy
and a gaping hole of a mouth
full of excuses,
that refuses to get out of the way

we built our friendship
out of whiskey bottles,
bowl packs and friendly *****

porch sitting in the sunshine
and soaking in the laughter and stories
that raced from our lips
one after another
like derby horses darting from the gate

I admit that I still ache
for you,
but I've come to accept
this truth for what it is

so please forgive me if my
words perceive a penned phantom pain
for this life comes in waves
and I can't catch them all,
sometimes I get ****** into the depths,
lured by the undertow

fingertips reach into burrows tonight,
brooklyn and bronx,
where i most wish i could lay
these bones that wish to be buried

count seconds,
hold breaths,
make wishes,
then promises,
to gods i don't
believe exist,
so that i may
look into eyes
that truly know
what goes on
behind mine

fire off framed fragrances and
feinding freight trains headed
for longing, lust, and love in all
of the ways that i could've sworn
i left when the bed was still wet
and my memories weren't those
of a woman without remorse

days spent
looking 'round
corners with
mirrors,
tales told  
of creatures
that turn liars
into stone,
step slowly,
hold steady,
fire quickly,
and give
always to
the great
unknown

my lips, like molten lava,
slipped words out with a fluidity
that appeared smooth and even

beneath the surface lay the heat of the sun

they yearned for one graze,
but those who looked closely
knew they would only be burned
upon first embrace

past lovers wore mouths
more akin to pulled pork,
two slabs of meat so disfigured
from my desire that the words
that now left them
could only be a jumbled mess

i felt guilt, but more importantly,
i had felt pleasure

and in my mind,
a few scorned lovers
didn't mean **** in the realm
where everything spins round
my lava lips

glued to crushed velvet
i think in hues of blue
tonight and wonder
what you see when
you stare at your
ceiling in the bronx

is it waterlogged and
cracking? or smooth
and perfectly painted
in eggshell white? or
maybe it's stuccoed,
or patterned, or hand
painted with naked
angels floating about?

turn on your transformers
and fire up the transporter

i'm coming to lay
side by side to see
what it is you see
when you tell me
you're thinking of me

ant infested arm chairs
folding accordian hardwoods
seas of soiled laundry littered about

tomorrow i'll hand off my birthday
in a bag to the neighbors, someone
may as well make a cent or two
off my quarter of a century on this earth

the whole block talks **** about us in spanish,
quiero decirles que entiendo,
but instead, i smoke bowls on the porch
and laugh at their corruption and convinction
over a couple of twenty somethings
who like to have a good time a little too much

i imagine them lining the streets with
pitch forks and torches, yelling to us,
escuche perras, su tiempo ha venido,
instead the neighborhood committee
knocks on the door at four pm interrupting
my six hours of vommiting, i stumble
down the stairway bra-less, brazen, and
baited, waiting for the moment to say,
we'll be gone july first

funny how families are cool with drug
front pyramid marts, but birthday parties
seem to have no place here

i am ******* dying
to be something other
than a ***** hiding from
her own shadow,
twisting herself up in
senseless wants

maybe if i tattoo my skin
or gauge my earlobes
or pierce my nose
or wear band t-shirts no one's heard of
or go to shows and head bang alone,
then, yes,
then, i will be unique,
oh ****,
there's a tumblr for that,
actually, there are a thousand tumblrs for that,
moving on...

how about i try
wearing black and
hiding from the light,
pulling away until
i only come out at night,
speaking to no one
but the notebook i carry
everywhere with me,
ah, ****, that's been done too

here, here, how about this,
i'll enter the mainstream,
get my degree,
even work a job from seven to three,
marry a **** bag
with no sense of life,
have some kids,
and pretend i take joy in being a wife,
and then, when i'm having
his colleagues over for dinner,
i'll lose it and **** them all
with a butcher knife

as i backflip over
our ten thousand dollar
dining room set
they'll oooh and aaah,
and somehow forget,
that i'm ending their mediocrity,
instead they'll think,
what yoga studio did she join?
her legs are so much more
defined than mine

and as they all lay bleeding out
over their
steak tartar,
i will smile and smooth my
perfect blonde hair,
and wait
to join the leagues
of the unforgettable

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

Can the unattainable be lost?
She pondered while surrounded
by the clutter of excess caused
by the burdens of consumerism.
To be on an endless journey, an
odyssey of sorts, with plenty of
valuable moral messages, but an
obvious lack of conclusion. Is
there worth? She had found
herself on such a path and
recently resolved that it was
one from which she would
never disembark. Searching
for a way to dive deep into
the sea of words swimming
within her cerebrum, in order
to pluck away the excess gunk
and strike gold. Years slipped by,
at first unnoticed, except for
the measure of improvement
upon lined pages. Still, she was
unsatisfied, and would most likely
always remain in such a state.
Somehow she had been born a
prisoner of her own mind.

you walk in
i'm standing there
spritzing lingerie
to make it reek
like high class prostitutes
do after a night
when the cash flow
is non-stop

"Hi how are you today?"
"Grumble, grrrrr, grumble."
"Can I help you find anything?"
"Well, grrrr, I want the bra, arrrggghhh, I've got on. LOOK AT IT!"

i slowly approach,
postponing the inevitable
for as long as possible
as you lift your ancient
once black, now grey, turtleneck
and release an avalanche
of layer after layer of blubber
that jiggles ever so slightly
as it is disturbed by the movement

it is covered in a thick forest
of black hairs and
i swear i see a herd of lice
scurry off as i cautiously
lift my hands to inspect
the tag laying in the depths
of the jungle that lays thick on your back

the moment i make contact
with your skin
it takes all of my willpower
not to pull away in disgust
as my fingers go
for a ride on the slip n' slide that
is your back
it feels as if you have been
bathing in Crisco since
you were just a child

as i finally grasp the
worn and stretched material
and turn it over
i'm not surprised
to find that your bra
feels as if it just went for a swim
in Onondaga Lake
mmm, sweet, sweet radioactive sweat

i fumble around looking for
any indication of a tag
as you begin to tap your
foot with no rhythm at all
and suddenly you exclaim,
"OH, I cut the tag out of this ages ago!"
and storm away back into the mall
throwing bows and ***** looks
as you go

i'm left staring
as my sweat saturated hands
thinking,
"**** Victoria and her secrets."

looped layers linger on
terraces as terror takes
form in bandaged brains
chock full of deranged
discernment

****,
climb into the cabinet

find fear washed away
in dead eyes that
shrivel and shrink with
each passing moment

squirm, squirm, squirm

stomach walls suction cup
one another as sludgy
slime slurps between
cracked crevices

bile belches amidst
odd laughter, an onslaught
of imagery, insecurity,
and imagination

not a sound in the world,
but every sound in the world

slip slowly through
diversions from truth
mad man or master?
monster or magician?

a circus of dark circles
comes rolling into town-
come one, come all!

certain death lurks
around every corner,
shrouded in shadows  
between daylight
and dreaming,
daring you to look
away as it steals
whatever it is that's left

and there is some beauty
in listening to mouths
speak a language
that you may not understand
but at the bottom of the screen
stream the words
that leave the lips

you begin to realize
all you've got to do is read
and that you haven't
forgotten how to
take it all in

and as boys fall in love
with girls in cafes
and ride around on mopeds
and ******* their bodies
to men who needn't the money,
but the ***
because they haven't touched
their wives since
they gave birth
to their second child

you begin to realize
how beautiful
french truly is
and that you haven't forgotten
what montmartre's graves
look like in the evening's fleeting light

and as a girl falls in love
with two men at once
and they discover
how sordid lovers can be
while painting their
stories for all artistic
eyes to drink in slowly
and they lay on their
brand new queen,
because there just isn't
room for three
on a twin

you begin to
remember that spanish
is full of passion
and that you haven't forgotten
everything you learned in tenth grade

words may be formed
with different movement
of our tongues
and you may not have the
slightest idea what i'm saying
as i scrawl down these lines,
but i'm certain
that we've all found beauty
in listening to someone
pour their heart out
on the page

sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors

sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes

paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night

flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed

wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls

fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power

so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us

still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind

i'm the kind of drunk that
floats home gracefully
in boots with soles that
slip and slide through sobriety

i wake up with bruised knuckles
and stiff fists and wonder what
witless wonder stood in my way,
only to find out that a few garbage
cans looked at me wrong

keg stands, house shows, hipster
filled houses with filtered lighting,
the stench of hand rolled cigarettes,
familiar faces blurring into
bearded babes once i've got my
goggles on just right

i sit around and wonder,
when the **** am i going to grow up?

i sat on my roof and screamed,
i'm gonna revolutionize this
******* world if it kills me

and my neighbors all turned
and stared, interrupted from
mowing their lawns, washing
their cars, teaching their sons
to play catch, and daughters
to go fetch their morning papers

they quickly turned away at
the realization that it was just that
crazy neighbor girl who hasn't
done **** with her four year
degree, but create a fortress
in which she hides day after day

they smell that stanky marijuana
pluming out of her window
and watch her stumble home, drunk,
listening to her sing along to the music
that the devil has surely put on this
earth to corrupt good catholics,
like the one she once was

and they shake their heads and
hold tight to their son's shoulders
and even tighter to their daughter's
hands, because maybe, just maybe
if they hold on tight enough they'll
always be dumb enough to withstand

because the masses are the winners
and this is the spoiler,
we're being taken over by cookie cutting
stepford wannabe *******,
and they're gonna ruin the world

i wonder what flies across
your mind as you lay and stare
at blank ceilings before the night
sweeps you under blankets and
pillows, and tugs your eyelids
closed with gravity's grace

i wonder if you see strange faces,
or maybe places that you've been,
but probably will never revisit,
i once read you can only dream
things you've seen before, but i
get the feeling your brain has a
way of inventing far away lands
that no one else will ever see

i wonder if you dream long drawn
out adventures or if you skip from
place to place, like an old film reel
with holes missing between frames

i wonder if you wake up scared and
sweating, or if you keep your eyes
closed as long as you can to savor
what's being swept away, or if you
sleep with a pen in your hand so
that you can scribble sacred records
of the remnants from the inbetween

i wish that i could shrink myself
and spend a night behind your eyelids,
witnessing whatever it is that unfolds

last night i laid in bed next to my sister
and recounted the ways we had both
tried to squeeze ourselves
into the sausage casing
society said we should fit into

how she spent 2 years waiting
until 2 pm to allow her body nourishment

how i had made it to 27 and suddenly
had the epiphany that i could
starve myself to the size i wanted be

how our father and grandfather
spent endless moments passing
judgments on our bodies and
smashing us into the ground
with each pound that graced our wide hips

how she told everyone she
was a runner, but couldn't
hide from her roommates worried
glances at her bones poking through
workout clothes that never got a
drip of sweat on them

how i taught young girls to love
themselves day after day,
while i shook and trembled from
the lack of love i had for myself

last night we laughed about how
skewed our views had become
from our grandma and mother
telling us their weight, analyzing
their curves in the mirror as we
laid in their beds watching and learning

i vowed to harbor a warrior in my
womb one day who i could speak
freely with about the horrors of
self hatred and hopefully instill
a strong foundation of faith in self

i hope one day i raise someone
who never looks in the mirror and
wishes pieces of herself away

i hope one day i raise someone
who sees herself fully, not just as a shell
of a human worth nothing more than
the label on her clothes and
the number on the scale

i hope one day i raise someone
who sees herself most worthy of love

boredom grasps my windpipe
until my breaths are low and my vision is blurred

you blame it on the wings that i was born with
on the heels of my feet
constantly flitting, ready to take me off to my next destination

how do i explain to them that i must sit still
in a faux leather chair
and write e-mails, plan meetings, coordinate volunteers?

my heart it cries for want of something bigger,
or perhaps something so small that i will be lost there alone
with nothing but the wings on my feet to keep me company

a tiny isle just for us, where we can flit above the tree tops
down into deep river canyons
floating inches above our mirrored reflections

but then i'll catch my eyes and see the sorrow that still lingers
and the sad excuse i have for a mouth will droop
low and heavy, like i'm carrying pebbles behind my lips

so the conundrum begins all over again
must i never stay in one place?
must i always want for something more?

my wings are mum and my lips motionless

freaky friday flybys
waiting without patience
for gravity to let go

you charge me one last time
because despite all of your theft
you still find your pockets full
of lint, flies, and crumbs

loosening limp hands with
sinister strength and subtle
hints of death and desire

marks on my neck are
all that's left and i will
treasure them until i'm
nothing but a blank canvas

i've made a lot of promises,
promises to dark beautiful faces
that float above me as i say my goodbyes
to the fleeting hours of light that never
seem to linger long enough for me to
reach you, despite how much i grow

promises that fly away on the wings
of beetles, wrapped in summer winds
and promises that dig deep into the dirt,
so deep that they become fossils,
undiscovered for centuries, or perhaps, forever

promises that become ugly beasts
that prowl the streets and set this world
on fire in the worst ways, promises that loom
in cracks under porches and as soon
as you're about to reach your doorstep
they grab you and drag you away

today i made a promise, a promise i've
been working up the courage to make for
a long, long while, a promise i didn't want
to make, but i really needed to make it, the
kind of promise that makes you stare at your
toes and shuffle your feet and wring your
hands out like they're full of ***** dish water

today i made a promise that will eat me
alive from the inside out like a million tiny
termites deep within a house, it will start
at my core, layer by layer, until i'm left with
an empty shell, and from the outside in, i'll collapse
upon myself, until i'm nothing but a foundation,
ready to be built back up again, all it takes
is just one, just one small, simple promise

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

sweat poured down my back,
pooled in my crack
in the seven am Arizona swelter

I waited for the gods to
break open the sky, or the earth
heaven or hell,
it didn't matter

one friend, four legs
though he sealed our fate
we dared not deny him

I wondered if I'd survive ten hits
while you went to take a ****
and the hills, with their eyes,
came alive
to surround me

I lost myself that day,
in the same instant that I threw you away
because betrayal
doesn't taste any better
locked in a six by six cell

Hawaiian prints lifted
numb lips into the closest thing
to a smile
as I recounted a gift from
my island girl,
with eyes gone blue on trial

I thought it poetic that we stood
in this sinking ship
hand in hand,
but now I know
we had been chained to the mast
by fate itself
long ago

our love was flushed down
with your chewed up and **** out
enchiladas

I hope to every god
in this universe
that you still taste
the acid
crawling up your esophagus

call me blind, call me bitter, call me *****,
call me insane

I am all of these things

but I will die knowing
that I have never been disloyal

excuse me while i sit here
and dog ear Ginsberg
while hurricane and humanity
battle outside of my window,
and i'm wondering why i'm not
at work as sunrays speak
of sin in soggy song

this world is full of death,
disguised as martyrs making
their mark on an otherwise
unscathed blank canvass
and i'm trying to see the
art behind all of it

where blood smears meet
spoken psalms and bruised
blood vessels speak of silent
sighs, the last breath to escape
you as you charge toward
the pearly gates

i'm wondering who taught you
that life is invaluable, that the
only thing that matters is
how you leave it, and then
i open up your shirt,
button by button and see
the answers tattooed brutally
on your collar bones,
angels look up to the precipice
and there sits the ruler of them all,
God.

i wish then that i could unbutton
your skull and peek in to see
memories of mother scarring
you into submission, priest
preaching prayer with prolific
posture, grandma growling
through grins of god fearing
centuries, instead,
i'll hold you as your skin
turns blue and i won't cry
for you even if the angel
that comes to retrieve you
asks me to, i won't, because
i know this is just what
you asked for

'switch off your humanity,'
said the vampire to the newborn,
'can't **** humans dry when
your compassion is your compass'

trying to take on terror and
tremendousness all in one is a task,
satiating the desire to succumb and
strike those who desire you into submission

if life isn't a tight rope then i'm not a
bloodthirsty woman ready to pounce,
practicing patience and practicality,
wishing i could just rip out jugulars

this morning, entrenched in slumber,
i dreamt of clammy hands on mics

as spoken word slipped like water
droplets from faucet formed lips.

i woke up,
and finished the poem aloud.

success.

i look up to you tonight,
feel my breath rise and fall
with each inch that suspends
me from this earth and leads me
to a greater understanding
that we are all comprised of rising tides
controlled by the beams that
move the deepest reaches
within the very essence of
our truest selves

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

electric impulses knaw
at nubs formerly known
as finger tips,
worn down to bits by
the desire to drench
this world with one
simple thing that may
or may not be
everlasting

i'm in search of
a replacement for
flimsy false hopes
and finicky heart pokes,
for flat lined finite
chopped up bits
flying up nostrils
in hysterical hits

even escapists smack
walls from which
they can't slither
through silently,
walls covered in
mirrors full of
faces fueled with
hostility

all the faces are
my own and it's
time i find some grace
before i finally
pull my last astonishing
escape from this place

the day i let go of everything
i began to rise slowly,
a million red balloons
tied with thick satin ribbons
to the back of my favorite orange flannel

and the tinge of sadness i felt
as i floated over a city
where the glasses can't decide
if they're half full or empty
began to drop from the tip of my nose
down into my toes
and finally into the pipes of crack heads
and mouths of puerto rican mothers
yelling at their children
to come home for pastalillos

i watched as nothing changed

the falls still fell
hipsters still biked (pretentiously)
bums still begged for change (in more ways than one)
hood rats still skipped school
20 somethings still boozed

and i realized that as much as this city felt like my salvation,
it wasn't

gulls came along
and popped each balloon,
as i dropped closer and closer to the earth
i panicked

i clung to the remaining balloon
and begged the birds to carry me elsewhere
but i already knew that the only way out of this place
was the way that i came in,
alone

blew baby,
browned out banishment
into misogynist
misunderstandings

eye to thigh,
**** it

uptight, torn out
ligaments left
behind in ******
smears on busy
sidewalks

i linger above
park benches,
eyes between
branches, ready
to pounce on
whatever prey
comes my way

hungry for flesh,
wanting for warmth,
despite my best efforts,
still human

i stand in front of you
smaller than how
you remembered me
yes, i've been shrinking away
and my parents
throw worried glances
at the collarbone
that now juts out on my chest
like a sneering grin,
lifting on the edges
my father asks,
"will you waste away to nothing?"
and all i can do is shrug

i stand in front of you
and i wish that you would
open up your chest -
grab the sharpest thing
you can find and cut yourself
wide open-
just so that i can crawl
back inside
where i once lived
within your core

i want to feel the
damp warmth
that puts a strange
feeling in my nose,
for i can't decide
if i'd like to throw up
or **** the air in
deep into my lungs
again and again,
surround me, once again

i don't care that it
may **** you to open
yourself up to me
or that once i'm inside
i may find myself clawing
at the walls until
i've rubbed off
the skin on the end of
my fingertips so
that no one will
ever know what
has become of me

my selfishness
blinds all sense of reason
and innate want takes
over now, for
the one thing
i would like the most
is to be as close
to you as i can get,
without ever having
to look into your eyes

oh you are all so *******
good and ******* righteous
with your Facebook statuses
and tweets and blogs
that you pour your hearts into
reposting better men's works and words
cowering behind a screen
that hides the fact that you've
resigned your life to nothing
but giving others the publicity
that should have been yours

perhaps the more pathetic
thing is that we live in a world
where this is acceptable
and the norm
where people are given the ability
to like, and reblog, and comment
instead of actually making contact
and establishing relationships
"**** it, if i want to talk to you,
i don't actually have to talk to you!"

and here i am, the eternal hypocrite
writing a ******* poem on my macbook pro
that i'll post to a poetry forum
so i can get off on all of the likes, reads, and comments
it collects

i mean,
who the **** am i if nobody else tells me who i am?