there is something beautiful about a sad girl who stands staring into her own soul,
leaning hard against a mahogany mantle wondering how quickly gravity would take her if she let go

clutching onto something solid reminds her that she isn't lost inside some ****** up dream,
that the twitchy movement on the edge of her peripheral vision isn't your ghost ready to bridge the then, there, and in between

yesterday's masccara leaves the perfect hangover smudge, and wild curls turned stale frame a face ridden with gloom,
sadness and beauty compliment each other so well, she looks herself in the eye and decides to say forever locked in this room

i sat and you laid and i wondered,
wondered where my life had gone
where it was going
how it had gone so quickly

i thought of things i couldn't hold onto
the things i would never let go of
the things i should release from my tightening grasp,
but for some reason i only held on tighter to them

i cried for the things i had lost
the things i had found
the things i couldn't have
the things i never would have

i let myself float away then
and i rose up and up and up -
up to the rafters and through the roof,
into the muted sky that seemed to expand for lifetimes

i looked at the clouds that seemed too big and noticed they stood still,
much like i did
i tried to push them, but i fell through them
and gravity pulled me down down down

i stood on the ground in the forest and felt alone and crowded all at once
the trees looming over me,
knowing all, seeing all, being all
i was frightened and comforted

they saw me for who i was and who i didn't want to be
they laughed at me and told me the truth,
"we're all bits and pieces of who we hate."
and i knew i couldn't argue, i knew

i wanted to push off the dark earth that stank of moss and damp wood,
but my feet sprouted roots and i felt less grounded than ever
i pulled at my legs, but they had turned into trunks
and my arms, branches, reaching for the sky that turned dark overhead

the stars flew out in masses, like fireflies, and i stretched higher
a leaf brushed one that flew through the universe
my heart skipped a beat
and i began to let go

i floated upwards again and this time the clouds swirled around me
i danced with them and all of the stars put their tiny spotlights on me
i felt a sense of wonder and joy and i knew
i was alive. alive, alive, alive.

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

suicide has a way of leaving a wake of potential saviors behind it

the kind of folks who've got all the right words and silent holding of space
who've been through it too and are happy to sit in solidarity for as long as it takes
the humans who know how to create connections to the right resources and have unlimited time to sit in the muck

i wish i didn't cut you out, like a child with wild rounded edged scissors chopping her best friend out of the portrait she drew of the last time they climbed up that big hill together

i can feel your spirit bouncing around the universe still, unsure and free, just as you should have been here

the echoes of loss are always painful, but this one is strange and different, this one will whisper me to sleep until i don't wake up

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

horrible little monsters come out to play
sink the sun for the rest of our days
scare one and all, make them scream
close their eyes tight as you whisper, "it's not a dream."
poke them and **** them hour after hour
lock them away in the world's highest tower
make them beg for water and food
shun them and say, "don't interrupt, that's rude!"
send them on marches down the coasts
walking over coals as they roast
and when they start to beg their God to die
smile and say, "there's no man in the sky!"
laugh as they double over in pain
smirk as they slowly become insane
and soon the world will all be one
full of horrible little monsters, your work is done

when i'm reminded that i'm human
things swim out of focus
and my eyes work hard to catch up,
but they can't

and my heart races like a
man keeping beat for the band
and i can't help but realize
something the size of my fist
keeps the blood in my body
from sitting stagnant

and my brain wanders
to the darkest corners
covered in dust and cobwebs
behind the bookcases
that chronicle my 23 years
finding the most vile and disgusting
pages that make me up,
the ones i thought i had
torn out and thrown away

and you sit there with that
knowing smile, shaking your head,
because this isn't the first time
that i set myself apart from the rest

and i stare back straight into your
eyes and calmly whisper
that i'm not one of them

but my heart keeps on beating
and pushing the blood through
one piece of living
flesh to the next
and into the brain
that looks like any other,
and just like you,
without it, i'd be dead

i was recently told that i'm no poet,
that my words don't evoke art or understanding,
that i haven't grown much, so i took that and chewed it
until it fed my insides and turned my eyes outward on
a world that i haven't dug into at all with words left
jumbling around in a brain used for other means,
i've been forcing my hands and heart to mold this world into a better place,
but without my words what capture will i leave behind, what legacy?

i marched with womxn last month, alone and surrounded by 140,000
others who gabbed and growled about a man with tiny
hands who employs those who want to take control of our reproductive rights,
and wants to throw some of us out of the country, and **** us in the streets,
but the white ladies behind me were more concerned with their clever signs
than the native's plight for their land and the black lady's murdered babies and the burkas being ripped off of women trying to buy skirts in a walmart

i guess i have a hard time finding my america in all of this mess -
i'm a white woman, but i didn't vote for trump
does that make me different? does that make me woke?
i want to join arms and resist with everyone who's ever felt
like they're less than because of something they were born being,
but i'm still not quite sure how to shine solidarity without seeking recognition

i think we all desire ego to be stroked, but how can i want for that
when some people just wish to live? i look long and hard at myself everyday
after too many hours reading about the chaos and sadness so readily
accessed at keyboards stroked by too quick fingertips, the tears they
come and the heart lays heavy, but what do i do? i rally other white folks
to march, i try to change their hearts, i explain what being an ally looks like,
i work in the communities that need it most, i love the children who feel alone,
but i wonder how much of this is for me and how much of it is true love

i'm learning, growing, changing always, but fear holds me in a place between
truly giving and giving just to fill my own cup, the world has changed and the
little girl who stood up to bullies still sits inside of my heart, but the bullies are
corporations, and the president, and coworkers, and family members, and
friends at a super bowl party, so i've got to find a way to be strong with my
solidarity no matter who, what, where, why, when, because this matters and i don't
want to be that person standing up only to put it on instagram, no i want to
affect real change, to be a part of history, to truly love all of my fellow human kind

i want to give from a place of caring without condition, a place that sees color, sees faith, sees gender identity, sees ****** orientation, sees *** work, sees disabled folk,
and doesn't pretend that their story is one that i understand and echo because
i have ovaries and know what it feels like to be frightened, no, i can't put my ******
on a pedestal and use it as a badge of courage anymore, it's time to open my heart
and ears and truly be humbled in the honorary process of letting myself learn

just because i've felt real fear, doesn't mean i know anyone else's fear, and the only
way that i will come to be a true empath, a true ally, a true warrior is if i learn to quiet
the voice within my head and listen when others speak from their darkest depths,
i must build my strength, my bonds, my heart, my mind so i can lift those up, serve as a megaphone for the voices quieted by men in uniform and suits, pound the pavement as a truly intersectional, solidarity-filled sister of every man, woman, child, they/them, that has ever felt alone, that has ever wanted for more, that has ever been denied
the privilege that i benefit from just by living, as a white woman in this world

i have always been slightly overweight,
watching the numbers fall and rise,
5 to 50, i've seen it all-
but as long as i'm healthy and happy
with my whole heart i can say,
i don't mind

i don't mind having thighs
that go bump in the night,
i don't mind giving my lover
something to bite,
i don't mind having a body
with valleys and hills,
i don't mind having an ***
that gives men chills,
i don't mind that i'm curvy
and fill out my clothes,
i am woman, i am wonderful,
and i don't care who knows

with stigmas and diets
attacking our sight,
i'll give you a body that's
not under society's plight,
maya taught me well
when she told us all
that women are their own
and women are phenomenal

i'm in love with myself
and i don't care who knows,
i am woman, i am wonderful,
and i don't mind

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

chaos is overwhelming, innate, a perfect picture of what i've become
i live within it, no, i thrive within it,
pushing myself to levels i probably didn't need to reach,
but here i find myself, and often,
i'm alone

i wonder about what it all means, the pushing and the pulling,
the wanting and the nothingness, how i can wake up in love
and by nightfall all i want is to curl up inside of myself

there are moments when you're inescapable, but i'm
beginning to wonder if you've know about my evasion
from the start and have gotten too good at pretending

i wish i could be the woman i am sometimes, the one
that sees you for who you are and understands that
we all progress at a pace the stars decided lifetimes ago

instead i mirror my own destruction upon you, perhaps
because i see the chaos looking out at me from your
eyes that still seem young, and are nothing at all like my own

things that i like: you
things that i don't like: you
strange, isn't it?

i've been a war of head vs. heart
since i was just a baby
i'd squeeze the kitten too tight
knowing that claws were coming,
but that moment of tenderness
was worth the wounds

now i'm no longer toddling,
but not much else has changed
i'm still holding onto things too tightly
knowing that at any moment
i'm due for injury

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?

i look outside
at the green murky water
that fills
my in-ground pool
and i remember the day
i tried to clean it
but i was too small
and weak
and the heat was too much
so i quit halfway through

and now leaves drift
slowly to their watery graves
among moles, spiders, and frogs
who foolishly yearned
to take a refreshing dip
from which they never returned

the reflection of the blue
october sky and
sparse leaves
is beautiful and heart breaking
and i half expect
corpses to
float to the surface
and beckon me below
with their waterlogged
finger tips
and broken tooth smiles

i picture myself,
toes on the edge of the diving board,
ready to take the leap

i'll swan dive in
and sink to the bottom
and broken bodies
will hold me
as i learn to say goodbye

i wish i didn't give a ****, that you
want me just for my ***,
pretending to want to know me
just so you can **** me fast

i wish i didn't give a ****, that it's
easy to fall for fraud,
that trusting and allowing love in
makes me the classic, idiot broad

i wish i didn't give a ****, that
you touched me when i was asleep,
that i woke up with your hands
on me and i felt like the creep

i wish i didn't give a ****, that people
will feel real ******* bad,
but the truth is no matter how many
times, it's never the right amount of sad

i wish i didn't give a ****, but the
fact remains, i do
and i won't stop giving a ****
until you finally give a ****, too

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

the difficulty with remaining shrouded
comes in direct opposition to the desire to be seen

I won’t be defined by subjection to outsider’s projection of self,
but still, I am human, and the pull to be understood lingers in a way they don’t tell you about in self-help books or charts that mark the planets and stars

I wonder how loved ones will ever catch up, as I’ll forever live my life three hours behind

this city took me in
when all other plots of land
scorned me, with their
glacial shoulders and fire eyes

the boarded up houses
turned their sagging porches
into wide mouthed grins
and the sidewalks swarmed with
rats, roaches, and strays
singing their welcome

strangers held my hand
as I wandered the West Side
passing along dimebags full
of knowledge and love, as if
I were one of their own

and slowly, but surely,
I became a piece of the patchwork,
my limbs and core feeling each
forceful pierce of the needle

I was made one with this city
that needed me
just as much as I needed it

i find myself backwards sliding
reeling through film blurred by dust
from the bunnies that hide under my skull
in the corners that i've tucked you away in

mountains, valleys, rivers, oceans, cities, creatures of the unknown,
they all spin by, a blurred bundle
of the adventures we shared

my heart used to hang low and heavy
but now it's full of nothing but air
stale and dank, but i can still smell
the coconut that you'd pour onto your scalp

i remember you as you were
the thought of seeing you as you are
is sickening

i'd rather keep a sarcophagus of you
than look into the eyes of your zombie being
and realize that i never actually knew
who you were

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.

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

i hate the smell
of freezing knuckles
wrapped in tobacco
and garlic

the weight of snow
filled porches and
conversations about
when i will get out
of this spiral

i will get out of this

you're nothing,
i'm everything,
you're nothing,
i'm everything

i will repeat this
as stars sing me to
sleep and sun wakes
me up, i will repeat
this, until i finally
believe

aldous huxley told me twice,
'that men do not learn very much
from the lessons of history is the
most important of all the lessons of history,'
both times i put my pen to the page
and re-read what he had said
until i thought i understood

today i watched big fish and
thought of spectre longer than
i probably should have,
where is it that i arrived before
the road was paved to bring me there?
when will i return?

i know i don't need to figure out
timing because that's what fate's for,
but with a wild wandering mind
it's difficult to detract senseless what-if's
from buzzing about in my brain

tonight i delete excess and make plans
to live a life that doesn't declare ignorance
of what preludes each step taken,
tonight i find sollace in full moons and
figure if there's anything i've learned
thus far, it's just as aldous said,
live life as if you've learned something

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.

tonight i count the ties
that keep me coming back
to this point, this place

i realize rope is just that, rope,
and it's my choice whether
i cut it or hold on

the slack loosens it's grip
and freedom unfurls that's
been between my fingertips all along

destiny discusses destination
with me as i sleep and keep
a mind that's as open as blue skies

i wake and sit heavy
in happiness, in understanding,
in self-propelled evolution

i hold myself and finally feel
pride for the strength i've used
to lift myself up time and time again

god help us if this is
what you meant
when you sent
little jesus'
in your wake,
after the prodigal son

full of die hard direction
on a path from which
they'll never stray,
these foot falls are misguided,
although their reasoning innate

hearts are full as they begin
on a journey
to save the needy souls,
but who are they
to judge sinners,
when they too
wear sinner's clothes

introspect, it escapes them,
while they smile
and explain to those around,
that, of course, they know better,
even if they haven't raised
this community from the ground

now myself,
I watch with wide eyes
through clenched teeth
and bitten tongues

my faith,
I find in humans,
that care deeply enough to understand
that a tree does not balance upon soil,
its roots are what makes it grand

do you ever wish that you could turn your skin inside out? just pull down a zipper that starts on your skull and ends on your heel. then once you've got things open and airy, flip it about. now you're shiny and new and the grime that just won't scrub off in the shower will be hidden from prying eyes.
i find myself naked after showering, sitting in a computer chair, wishing i could float in thin air. i don't want any kind of microfiber touching my body. i don't want clothes, i don't want floors, i don't want cars, i don't want a **** thing. i want to exist in nothing and i want to be happy that way. i want to be free of things that trap and hide what i am; human.
i'd like to live a life free of vices. dependent on nothing and no one. ***, drugs, alcohol, food, love, throw it all out the window. watch it float into oblivion and tell it to ******* for eternity. i'd like to open up the door to my chest and see what's in my heart and live for that. now that would be living.

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.

collision -
head on into
something i thought
i'd lost
before i found

finding doesn't
rid you of
loss,
but the weight
of it all
can either suffocate
or liberate you

the thing
we must always
remember-
we never
walk
without a
choice

here is the truth:

i am an insecure,
traumatized,
hopeless
child at times

a pure product
of my upbringing
and of years
living out a strong
hatred of self

i am evolving,
as we all are,
and i hope that
despite my
constant attempts
to push you
as far away
as humanly
possible,
that you stick
to me like
cement on
a sidewalk

because

you make me
want to be
the best
possible
version of
myself

sloppy seconds turn into somber slumber
and i'm still spinning in a universe that's unsure
unrest becomes irreversible, irreplacable, irrevokable
slipping through cynical sunrises and statistically normal sunsets

grab hold to the ground, hug gravity tight as everything
tries to fling me from functionality and into so called "freedom"
find focus, find focus, find focus

hocus pocus hums under hymns spoken hesitantly
and i hesistate again and again, i hesitate
finding the magic within the madness is my specialty
sometimes so much so that i subject self to sinking slowly
into the muck that ***** my skin off of my bones

flapping floppy lips leak loosly limp ideals and i look
to my black widow for conviction, confirmation, and consistency
meditative mornings and deep dark evenings become the norm
housing imaginary friends and hoping to inspire intellectual integrity

family finds new meaning in full ****** up webs that spin
us all up and spit us out on the same ground, but we are safe
here in our humble, happy home, we are safe and we are
happy in the simplest sense of the word

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

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

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

***** sock
balled up
dipped in
dog ****
old sweat
horse ****
shoved in
my chest
as deep
as deep
goes

all to
find one
way to
stay away
and rue
the day
that i
found love

***** mess
sick skin
dead girl
walks on
alone

how to
clean
and find
a way
to take
back
death
i do
not
know

sitting on top of a giant steel slide
reminiscent of burning kindergarten flesh
as summer rays heated sources of joy
much too warm for screeches of fun

a man in a mask stands on the top step
as i prepare for lift off and wait patiently
trigger cocked, barrel loaded,
he places the shaft against my head

flash, bang, done in an instant
and my eyes bulge big, as comic book x's
take the former place of irises

a smile plasters wide on my jaw
and i wail, a shriek of exuberance
escaping from within my core
as i shoot down, like a slab of meat on a greased pan

i land with the grace of a contortionist
body parts twisted, but otherwise unscathed
as i suddenly defy gravity,  
boldly stand up, and escape my grave

i imagine my soul
deep, dark and damp,
laying in the most serene
part of the wilderness within me

i walk here -
through the mazes of towering pines
and beds of succulent moss -
each time someone
too bright,
brilliant and bursting
for this earth
is taken away

for each of them
i carry a tiny stone
tossed into the pit,
which never elicits
the sound of pebble
meeting solid ground, instead,
they just float on
forever within me

now i take the walk
again and my brain
isn’t quiet and accepting,
and the stone that i
carry is so large
that my arms almost
can’t reach all the
way round

i stumble
and disturb any innerpeace
i once claimed –
snapping branches,
slipping down slopes,
losing my breath

the most difficult thing
i’ll ever carry is
your tiny, sweet smile,
your soft voice,
your big spirit,
the way you were so
determined to keep
up with your
sisters, and how
they were determined
to never let you down

your stone will remind me
that life is meant
to be conquered,
which you demonstrated
every day of your short
six years on earth

i’ll find stillness
in my inner wilderness,
and i will cry until
the ground around
me bursts with life,
and i will smile
because you are
still finding ways
to teach me –
life is meant for living

this moment before the real one,
you know,
when you're preparing for an ending,
or maybe a beginning,
same difference anyways, right?

i have waited so many moments to
get to this one,
only to realize it's the first moment
of many while waiting for the next one

i find myself jumping into each
without much hesitation,
but the trick isn't showing up,
it's being present

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

we watched an airplane
eat a man alive
and as his body caused
the cylinder to explode
i couldn't help but laugh
because that's what i do at times
when i'm not sure how else to react

and as you laid your head on my lap
i knew that you wanted to kiss me
but i couldn't look away
from the ****** scene in front of me

you took my face in your hands
and when your lips met mine
it felt as if old friends were
embracing after years on the road

and when we ****** in your bed
i couldn't help but laugh
and i was surprised by the fact
that you liked being bit
but i didn't mind delving into
your skin with my teeth

three hours later and i'm still
messed up and you're still
making me wet
and the sun's coming up
and i'm not ready to let go
but it's time we go to bed

mother, mother, mother,
you give and you give
and still there is not enough,
never enough for the fools who walk
in eternal damnation with only
fire extinguishing the desire
that drips, long and thick from their lips

your pulse it slows, and still you
feed us and hold us and lift us up
to safety while the wolves steal
your ribs one at a time, your lungs
collapsing in on themselves as
your last gasping breath provides
the push we needed to escape

oh mother, you're trembling now,
but your warmth matters not to
the vultures who peel your skin
off slowly to make coats from
the softness that surrounds you -
what do they need coats for?
they know not the difference
between desire and need, and
their beaks are sharp, so, why not?

strand by strand they steal your
beautiful hair and weave crowns
for the men who wish they knew
for a moment how to create, but
alas, they'll never know the beauty
of birthing something like you do,
the way it feels to grow life
day by day deep within your womb

mother, i can see it now, in your
hollowed cheeks and raspy voice,
the way your bones are barely
bound in flesh, your movements
are shaky and your eyesight it fades,
and the one who once loved you
no longer cares to show you the way

with each night that passes his light
shifts to shine upon the sharks that
have come because of the blood,
your blood -  he thinks that the fish
that follow will feed him too, but
they are only symbiotic pieces of the
same murderous school that will
tear him limb from limb when
they are finished with you

mother, he'll never understand,
the hunger that he feels is not
to be fed, for the minute it tastes
the flesh it will hunger until it
eats him too and there is no relief,
no reprieve, no release, no,
there is only certain loss and death

but you, mother, you will return
and wrap your arms around your
fallen children and weep until the
ground is saturated with your love,
until the shuddering of breath begins,
until your heart beat stirs us back
into living, only to ****** again

how do you draw a line
in metamorphic rock?
between self growth
and selfishness
all of the lines
become so blurry,
it's like sobriety
means absolutely
nothing.

I wish that I could
put my brain in your
skull so that you
could understand
just what kind of
mountains I have climbed
and how close I feel
to the summit.

these blurred lines and
rock giants are better
left unsaid, but that
does not mean I don't
wish that you'd ask
what I'm thinking.

speak silently now
because whispers
are all that we can
afford on a simple
budget of fool's
dreams and past
pretenses

i want to love you
in the worst way
that makes my skin
crawl and teeth
chatter as i lay
in bed thinking
of your too smooth
skin and sad, strange
eyes

the past punctures
dreams and shows
me what my heart
has not forgotten,
one broken piece
at a time

i think i'll take
a ride now, and fly
over this city on
my bike until
hands freeze to
handlebars and
i forget what
standing still is

you are my people!
i shout it from the tops of these absaroka mountains
to the bottom of the canyons and beyond
i know you can't hear my bellowing
but it comforts me to let it out
and i know in the depths of your souls you feel it

because you are my people
we are tied eternally
in a web that will never be broken
from our days of yellow jerseys
and sunday school with bowl hair cuts
to smoking cloves and cutting class

you were always my people
when we lost control
we would come together again
and there the balance would be
the world would keep spinning
but our world would slow down

you will always be my people
when we're old and grey
wherever we may be
i will reach across continents
and hold you close to me
our love will span the land
and i will say, these are my people

i avoid pen and paper
i can't stand the sight of it
when i'm not able to get
the words out right

lately i'm an oldsmobile,
sputtering smoke and
coughing cogs as i
attempt to make my
way up a hill that seems
to have no end

i'm desperate for horizon,
but all i can focus on
are the next four inches

i want to read you
the words that spill out,
ink on whatever is closest,
but for years now
i've been writing about
***, sadness, and sensations-
all wrapped round whoever
it is that's claimed a
piece of me

what will you think
of my weaknesses
spoken aloud?
swirling around the
room, bumping into
you, waiting to
be judged

i want to show you
what begins as a breath
and ends as a tale of
twisted love, but
i'm afraid all you'll
think of is me reading
the poems i write
about you to the
next one

I'm sorry that I can't
find the words to give you
everything that you want,
but that was never the point

with you everything is a point,
drawing blood with each
interaction and there is no
smile nor sadness in your eyes,
just glass

I wonder what you would do
with the words anyways, how
they might possibly undig the
graves that you sleep in when
you've forgotten what night is

I never imagined words meant
much in hell, but we'll say this
together now,

You've always known better than I

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