Girl
I was brought into this world
Covered in my own mother’s blood.
Soaked and glistening
Under the florescent lights.
Red dripping onto the linoleum floor.
Metallic scent intermingling with antiseptic.
My vocal cords were the first things to come in.
My screams battled my mother’s.
My screams shattered the doctor’s ear drums.
Years passed and I learned how to be quiet.
Years passed and I stretched.
I was a bulb planted in a field.
I was tended to the same way the girl next to me was,
But I didn’t grow quite right.

Fire
I swallow hot coals
Like some swallow gum.
They stick to my insides for 7 years.
For years I was convinced I was water.
Fluid and easy.
Fluctuating between a trickle and a storm.
But now I realize
I am fire.
Flames like tongues enter my slacked jaw.
There is no easy way to handle me.

Myth
When I was a child
My father would read the Book of Revelation to me.
While most little girls got
Goodnight moon, goodnight stars.
I got the ***** of Babylon.
I was built by stories.
Armored with words dripping from
Ancient people’s lips.
By the time I was nine I could
Recount the abduction of Persephone
In less than twelve seconds.
Because of Persephone
I will not eat pomegranate seeds.

Skin*
Do not be fooled by the softness of my skin
Or the white of my pigment.
I am not a diamond, I am not a ruby.
I am flesh, I am human.
I am wrapped in a body that loves me
And I will love it back.

He told me he likes Bukowski.
That was the first sign.
You see, boys who like Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
You see, Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
I’m a Sylvia.
I’m an Anne.
A Maya and a Virginia.
You see, I am well versed
In death and silence.
You see, I have no interest in
Alcohol and misogyny.

He told me he likes The Smiths.
Now The Smiths
In and of themselves are great.
I’ve always been a fan of melancholy,
Of heartbreak.
Now The Smiths
Who have been morphed into this
Pseudo intellectual mirror are not my thing.
You see, boys pin me to a pedestal
For merely knowing who Morrissey is.
You see, I don’t care if
Dying by my side is such a heavenly way to die.
You see, I don’t plan on dying with him.

He told me he drinks his coffee black.
That would explain
Why when he kissed me
I tasted nothing but bitterness.
That should have been a warning.
You see, I need a little sweetness.

He told me he smokes cigarettes.
You see, cigarettes remind me of my father.

He told me I’m not like other girls.
As if other girls are a disease.
As if I am this magical creature.
This manic pixie dream girl with wings.
You see, there is nothing special about me.
I am me. Simple.

I told him he was a sad boy.
A boy who pretends like he’s wrapped in barbed wire
But is really a caged petting zoo animal.
A boy who will smile like he has a secret
But really has nothing to share.
You see, sad boys drink whiskey.
To me, whiskey tastes like listerine without the mint.
You see, he tasted like whiskey.
You see, he reads Bukowski.
You see, he listens to The Smiths.
You see, he drinks his coffee black every morning
And smokes a cigarette on his balcony
While reading the newspaper
And listening to a vinyl record.
You see he doesn’t love me.
He loves the idea of me.
He loves the idea of sad girl.
You see, there’s nothing romantic
About a boy who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
You see, I hate Hemingway.
You see, sad boys and me don’t get along.

And if i still hate myself
I will stop talking.
I don’t mean my usual silence.
My tight lipped, teeth glued silence.
I mean no hummingbird song
Or political speech.
No proclamation of apathy.
No growls of hunger.
I will clip my vocal cords
And learn the words to a mute poem.

And if you still hate yourself
We’ll forget how to sleep.
We’ll let it collect in the corners of our eyes
And lie awake
And lie through our teeth.

And if I still hate myself
I’ll swallow broken glass.
You’ll think its candy
And I won’t correct you.
You won’t know until you are
Called into the hospital at 3 am
And I’m called into the red sea.

And if you still hate yourself
We’ll sit in your backyard in July.
We’ll catch frogs and butterflies.
We’ll drown in our sweat.
I know how much you hate salt.
You know how much I hate heat.
We’ll call it masochism.

And if I still hate myself
I’ll tell myself I love myself
And the little lie
Will wrap around me like
A security blanket.

And if you still hate yourself
We’ll go to a lot of parties.
We’ll drink our own weight.
I like soda,
You like *****.
Either way we’ll both need
Our stomachs pumped eventually.

And if I still hate myself
And if you still hate yourself
We’ll join hands in church,
We’ll pray to Baal.
We’ll open ourselves completely.

i want your sunday mornings.
your “comeback to beds”.
your burnt tongue tip.
coffee breath warming cheeks.
i want your arms around my waist,
a special kind of straight jacket.

i want your sunday afternoons.
a midday trip to the record store.
a woman passes through the aisles
and tells me how she loves our love.
how young people love
with a special kind of fire.

i want your sunday evenings.
i want to soak up your anxiety in my bones,
hold both our traumas.
go to bed before the sun goes down
and make love.
a special kind of *****.

i want foggy mornings on delilah road.
i want your volvo swerving into the marshland.
i want your special kind of goodbye kiss.
i want your goodbye kiss.

And the spiders will never stop dancing
And I am twelve years old again
In the summertime
Dragging sharp objects across my hips
And pen is just not the same

And I feel the stares
Of all the people
And I feel my blood rouge my cheeks

And I am fifteen years old again
In the wintertime
And the bedroom floor feels too familiar
And I’ve been sleeping for fourteen hours

And my lips are always chapped
And he looks at me like I’m a diamond
And he’s a pretty good actor
And I crumble under the weight of his eyes
Which are not unlike diamonds

And my hand begins to cramp
And the spiders are taking a break
And their little legs still move
And I don’t know where this fear of centipedes came from
And I am a gutted pumpkin,
A Jack-O-Lantern in June

And my hair is turning white
And I can see my breath
And he stares at me like I’m an anomaly
And I am anomaly
And my ribcage is broken
And there has been a burglary
And my stomach is being pumped
And I am lying on the shower floor
And my head just missed the edge

Hold me to the river’s floor.
Let the mud tangle into my hair.
The brown hues match.

Strike a match and set me aflame.
My bones are firewood.
My blood gasoline.

You hold the keys to Heaven’s gates
And I am dying to get in.
Please let me in.

Open my ribs like French doors.
Play my heartstrings like a cello.
Let the music travel up my throat.
My body is a symphony
And you are the conductor.

My back is a blank canvas.
The lashes from your whip paints
A sickly picture.
Liquid fragments of myself
Melt down to my thighs.

I am a lavender scented candle.
You are the ever burning flame.
You ignite my bones.
Send heat down my spine.
Reduce me to a burnt nothing,
A clump of purple wax.

Blue veins criss cross in pale wrists.
Translucent skin shining
Like diamonds in August skies.
You are a child born from summer.
A peach plucked before harvest.

We don’t know how to love
Without brandishing our swords.
Scarlet drips from the sharpened point.
You are the ruby encrusted in the hilt.
I am the silver blade.

We run through no man’s land
Into each other’s arms.
Leaping over minefields and barbed wires.
If we should have a daughter
We’ll teach her to love like war.

All I know is
Teeth pressed anxiously into bottom lip.
All you know is
Goodbye kisses
Presented as reminders and post it notes.

We are an eclipse.
We are the solar system.