I do not want to burn that candle you gave me.

I'm afraid of forgetting
how Tuesdays smell,
or how it feels to fail at
all the things that don't matter,
and to let them go.

I'm afraid I might forget your smile,
your eyes in the sun,
the scent! the scent of lemon and leaves.

And memories linger like smoke
in my eyes but there is no one
else, no one else but you.

And I love you.

I am bad at keeping promises,
but I think I'll say this:
I'm afraid of burning that candle
because I'm afraid of burning you.

I'm always
                   tired and
                                  sick;
find the security in that.

My mind wanders
                               way
                                      too
                                           close
to the edge;
                   it's wiating to be pushed.
there is no comfort in that.

Sparkling red droplets
                                     tangle
                                                their
                                                         way
around wrists, a beautiful dance of mixing sins.

There is no security, no safety, no comfort
within me anymore.

I felt like writing a poem
But the lines sound fake
And the words don’t flow.
They might shine like a diamond
But they are not real
All an illusion my mind has created

The lines in my head
Full of anxiety.
Slowly getting in to my veins,
Making my thoughts worst.
Thousands of sentences in my head
Shouting to be heard

If I listen to them
Will they destroy me?
Or make me stronger?
I want to take the risk
But I am on my last string

A thousand words in my head
They make phrases
Some break my heart
Other bring tears of joy
But I need the ones
That will bring all of it at once

If I write them all
It will lose its meaning,
But they are eating me alive
Begging to be heard.
It feels as if another person was talking to me.

If I listen to them
Will they destroy me?
Or make me stronger?
I want to take the risk
But I am on my last string

I can not tell the difference
Between the poem and my life.
Like looking in the mirror
And feeling your reflection is someone else
“Just do it already. Join us”
Why is my mind playing tricks on me?

The words keep getting stronger
Controlling me
Taking over my body and soul
My actions no longer come out of my heart.
I am just a lifeless body
Or even a ghost

It’s not an option any more
I am listening to them no matter what.
My thoughts are not safe
Not even in my sleep can I get away
They keep mocking me  

The longer these words are in my mind
The more they poison my heart
Making it vulnerable
To the words I’ve tried to keep out
…but it feels good
I have this power I never had before

I try to fight the feeling of
But the words are getting to me
“Just do it already. Join us”
It keeps getting stronger
My heart says no
But my delirious mind gets trapped
The last string breaks
And with a wicked smile
I know that I have joined them.

When was the last time we
took pictures with every
intention of holding onto them?

it might seem small in comparison to a
global movement for peace or campaign to
end world hunger, but an afternoon and a
handful of memories can go a long way

and sincerity ices the cake

when i was 4,
i ate a black watermelon seed.

i remembered hearing that you were not supposed to do this.

so i told my teacher and she said,
"uh oh dear, dont drink too much water and stay out of the sunlight."

and for weeks, i drank only milk, and didn't tell a soul.

because if i opened my mouth,
the seed might become whole.

Walking through the market,
fishtails hanging sluttishly over the edge,
scales glinting
the smell is vaguely familiar,
          I try to place it.

You wink across the crowd of people
as you weigh a bag of squid, your hands dripping dank water
and my cheeks redden--
I’m shy as the memories of my striped underwear on your stained carpet
and your mouth on my ******* rise unbidden.

You are nameless, but now at least,
I recognize the smell.

The Serpent’s Meat
“…and dust shall be the serpent’s meat…”
Isaiah 65:25

An expanse broken only
by the small wooden house
with a chimney

and surrounded by
a reddish thick soupy dust
clogging the air and dampening
the senses:

seeping in the cracks in the wood on the walls,
flavoring our cereal in the morning and
musty kisses exchanged under a creaking ceiling fan at night.

Waking, we find a dusty film and salt flats
weighting our faces and bodies-
wherever the sticky-sweet was leftover

from the night before
when our bodies had arched; hip-bone mountain ranges
rising and falling while
the sun rose and set, scorching every minute
into nothing, and yet

there is something.

There is something
about the dust sparkling on the ends
of your eyelashes, the way it
mixes on my tongue
I spread your thighs,
and I come
away mud-faced,
and you come
away panting.

The dust, mixed with your wetness,
red like war paint-
evidence of my conquering
the landscape,

        which is your body.

The valley which rests between the hills
nestled against the expanse of the desert, all
leading to the muddy forest
which is buried between the crevices.

The salt of your earth,
I cannot escape it.

this time has finished me.
I feel like the German troops
whipped by snow and the communists
walking bent
with newspapers stuffed into
worn boots.
my plight is just as terrible.
maybe more so.
victory was so close
victory was there.
as she stood before my mirror
younger and more beautiful than
any woman I had ever known
combing yards and yards of red hair
as I watched her.
and when she came to bed
she was more beautiful than ever
and the love was very very good.
eleven months.
now she's gone
gone as they go.

this time has finished me.
it's a long road back
and back to where?
the guy ahead of me
falls.
I step over him.
did she get him too?