Your words---love , deserve, forever---
Cling to my skin
Like clothes sopping wet,
******* futilely at my neck,
Impossible to shelter from
The torrential nature
Of your need

Your need,
Like the clamoring cries of an infant,
Screechy, demanding,
Hanging helplessly on my arms,
You pine for affection
From this absentee mother figure;
Futility resurfaces.

I feel the weight of you,
Pressing on my chest:
The crushing force of responsibility,
Of dedication, of obligation eternal.
I have written nothing
Since your frigid winter crept into my home
And ravaged my bed, my body, my dreams.
You created my hollow life.

You carved your name
Into my tender wrists
With teeth honed to knives
And fingernails like acid;
You seared it with a kiss,
Poured your toxin in my veins,
Planted rue in my garden.
Ruined.
Never before have I wished more
For death's swift embrace
Than when I hear
My name in your mouth.

Rain is
Falling
Outside, a
Downpour for
Three days
And three
Nights.
In the
Dark,
It whispers
To me, secrets
Like an old
Friend.
Cool silver
Over my wrists,
My neck;
Falling.
Shiver of
Antici-
Pation tremble
In my fingers.
Electricity
Hums,
Thunder
Rumbles and
Crashes overhead.
This is where
I am
Home.

Don't ever tell me that
I need a man to ground me,
To stable me, to protect me,
To reign me in;
A man to be the bit in my mouth,
The collar at my throat,
The bars of a cage
Like I'm some wild animal.
If I did need a man,
I don't need to feel
The weight of his control
Crushing down on my ribs,
The incessant ticking of his
Calculator mind
Playing overhead like muzak.

For the love of all good,
Do not suffer me
The cautionary tales told from a lover's lips.
They slither down my throat
With their false slimy sweetness,
"I tell you this for your own good,
Baby, I promise, I love you."
But their faces twist with the words
And their hands clench,
And you know they're really just
Waiting for you to shut the hell up,
You're making a scene.

You can't pair a poet
With a grounded man,
The same way you can't pair
A lily with a flytrap,
A rhinoceros with a lapdog.
I was not meant for the life
Of a housekeeper,
Bound hands and feet
To the homestead,
My sole purpose in life
To cook and clean,
To serve and produce
Squealing piglets succeeding
In his pigheaded line.
I need more than that, so
Don't try to force feed me my "man,"
Mr. Sensibility, Mr. Every Woman's Dream,
Mr. Right,
I don't want him.

Give me a man who writes,
Ballads and sonnets and epics
With words handcrafted
By decadent Grecian gods,
Who spends his nights bent
Over an antiquated typewriter,
Rushing to get the mid-dream thought
Down on paper.
A man who paints his soul,
Turns a blank canvas
Into an emotion,
Raw and real and ravaging,
Who will wait patiently
While his model fidgets
Just so he can get
The ***** of her neck just right.
A man who plays music
Sweet and soft and slow
Serenading me to sleep
When the night is cold,
Who hears songs in
The rustle of rabbit's feet
And the whisper of slumbering breath.

I don't want a man to hold me down,
To show me how to act.
I want a man to create with,
To fight with and play with,
A man who loves with encouragement,
And not reprimand.
I am not a mistake to be corrected,
And I don't need a man
That will convince me otherwise.

Windshield wipers racing fervently
Like erasing a ghost from memory

Tail lights reflect dully in the downpour
Snakes of steam flutter in their wake

Getting lost is easier done than said
An icy doubt seeps through skin

Did I make a wrong turn
Was that the road I was supposed to take

The world is sleeping, but I awake
Aware of high speed details

The exit sign I passed two miles ago
The blood and glass scattered wildly

Signals all to get out now
But still I drive blindly on

Pushing pedals cranking gears
Like nothing in the world is wrong

I smell a rat faintly on the wind
Stench of deceit and betrayal

A warning of what was before
And what is yet to come

But still I drive blindly on
Like nothing in the world can happen

Until the crash and the tears
And the blood and the voices

All asking me asking me
How could I let this happen?

I've hurt before; been stung by love
But still I drive blindly on.

Broken pieces
Stitched together
Make up the man
I call my home.

Phone is ringing
Sisters screaming
Dark theaters
Always remind

The chance of fate
And fated chance
Fortune cookies
Say everything

Completely in-
Consistent, my
Tough guy lover

You never call
And yet I will
Come all the same
Because I am

Deeply in love
Or innately
Mistaken, I
Really don't care.

I feel it
Now
A thousand
Pairs
Of eyes
Staring
I do not
See
Them,
I do not
Touch
Them, but
I put
My head
Down
The floor
Falls away
I hear
Them
Whisper
My name
Calling
Bells
Ringing
Buildings
Crashing
A thousand
Pairs
Of eyes
Watching
As
I
Fall.

I am not in love with you.

But I am gravely
(And rather ungainly)
In like with you.

You told me you were
Smitten with me.
Of all things, smitten.
I had never been so flattered.

You played me a song:
"Baby, baby, baby,
Won't you be my girl?"
The day I became yours,
And you, mine.

You played me a song:
"Dream a little
Dream of me,"
And I knew my sleep
Would be haunted.

You played me a song:
"There is nothing for me
But to love you
And the way you look tonight,"
And I knew
I needed help.

promises are never meant for keeping.
empty words flung around,
luring innocents into a sense
of familiar false security.
i promised i wouldn't,
but i did.
i promised i would,
but i didn't.
all still empty words
swirling down a dingy bathtub drain,
dirt collecting 'round the rim.

promises are never meant for keeping.
i feel the needleprick if my own shortcomings,
sharper than a surgeon's scalpel
carved my breast in two;
the autopsy recites the cause---
"overdose, heart failure, aneurism."
"cancer, blood loss, asphyxiation."
but i died log ago,
in the velvet arms of mother dear
as she murdered her
whispered bedtime melodies
that alighted my fondest memories;
when she told me life is hard
and magic can be sold.

promises are never meant for keeping;
they wither over time
like wilted flowers in the windowsill,
years if drought apparent
in their sad, shriveled cores.
i was promised much
and promised more in return,
but we're left all with only
aching temples
and half-empty beers.

Everything
You ever gave me
Is hidden in a box
On my nightstand,
Or hung up in my closet.
A dozen letters
Stuffed away with
Pressed flower bouquets.
A jacket or two,
Mixed in with my clothes.
A pair of boxer briefs,
A mix CD,
A journal,
A photo.

A photo.

The smallness of it all,
The way our life fit
So neatly
Into that tiny little box,
And disappeared.
Apparitions, at most.

Apparitions whose weight is apparent;
A honey-sweet kiss on my cheek
The remnants of touch
Ghosts are real
And they all look like

A dozen letters
Stuffed into a box,
Pressed flower bouquets,
A pair of boxer briefs,
A mix CD,
And a photo.

A photo.

There is no such thing as
"Strong women."
There are only women who hide
And women who hide better.
Women who shelter their fears
In the attics of their minds,
And women who carry them
In their back pockets;
Women who hum little songs to themselves
While wolves wait at their feet,
And women who dance with the beasts.
Women who cry quietly
In bed next to your
Snoring mass,
And women who turn their heartbreak
Into art and music and poems
That rip at the hearts
Of those who hurt her.

The woman you knew---
The woman you loved
Once upon a time---
Hides better.
Her screaming nightmares
About the man that ruined her---
His hands revisiting her innocence;
Night after night,
Waking to underwear
Stained from the dirt on his hands---
Are transformed into drive.
Drive to create, to love,
To touch, to live.
This woman you knew
Hides better.

But strength ebbs,
Like the tide,
The sadness sweeps into the mind
With the rising moon.
But the strong woman,
She doesn't break;
Not until she is tucked away
Into her empty hope chest
Next to the dusty photos
Of lost friends and lovers
And the strings of pearls
Formed from silver tears
Of mothers and grandmothers.
Only then is she weak.
Only then does she allow
The darkness to enclose her,
Like a blanket of familiar discomfort.

What one must realize is that
Passion is not a constant.
Every woman you have ever admired,
Every woman you looked up to,
Every woman you worked beside,
Every woman you passed by,
Falls apart in private.
The body must have a rest from strength,
Let vulnerability prevail.

Nights like this
Are the nights that will **** me.

Nights when translucent ghosts
Drape their long arms

Around my waist and take me
Waltzing across you bedroom ceiling;

Nights when sad songs pour
Out of the cracked walls

And fill my heart
With their bittersweet nostalgia;

Nights when my body freezes
In its despairing loneliness,

Cold stone wrapped in stiff sheets
And sopping pillows.

Nights like this,
I lie awake, aware of

The tangible emptiness,
The stale smell of grief.

Nights like this,
I **** myself the way I killed you,

I break the way you did:
Delicately, like the slivered backs

Of infant birds
Left the nest too soon;

Like thunder collapsing,
Shaking cupboards and windows

In time with our trembling shoulders.
You told me, you told me

"I can't just forget this like you can."
But I don't forget.

Like a soldier cut open
By the knife she obliged herself,

I bleed.
I hold my insides

Inside, cram you back
Deep into my chest,

Wrap memories around my spine
A spiral  staircase of sorrow and

Sweet intentions, where no one will see
The trail of blood

Save for me.

I,
I do not escape this.

I cannot cast aside
Ashen remains, box up burning coals.

I can only carry them with me,
A red thread around my finger

Burning your name in my skin.
I carry my sorrow like a crow on my shoulder;

It pecks on my neck sharp reminders
And gorges on my acute isolation.

You say I forget,
But nights like this,

I remember everything
And regret nothing,

Even on nights like this
When all of me screams

But nothing hurts.

pale light through ***** blinds
ash dancing on smoky shadow
the familiar confirmation
of body into body
the memory of our sinews
clammy hands entwine
as speed climbs and stability fails

caution is gone in the wind
but an overhanging doubt
lingers in the doorway
the wilted smiles
stiff embrace
chapped kiss so cold

remember not to dwell.
lose yourself in sense
soft skin and cologne
toothpaste and cigarettes
remember not to dwell.
warmth of laughter
rush of dark hair
green eyes like sea storms
remember not to dwell.
remember not to dwell.

I count down
Days on the calendar,
Each it's own reminder;
Rows of red X's march
Across April like
You must march each morning.

The possibility hangs
Like a cartoon piano overhead,
Waiting to plummet down
With its true crushing force.
Hear the clang of
Misfired keys,

And there will be no more
Wildflowers pressed,
Sent away in sealed packages
Alongside smiling photos
And handwritten postcards
Entailing sentiments that only offer

Temporary comfort.
There is no security
In the promise of return
When it's told from lips
That have lied this before;
No solace in hands

That deliver folded flags
To crying former wives
Who prayed like I do;
No hope in eyes
That have seen unspeakable,
In headlines shouting nightmares.

I feel broken
Shattered
My existence split in two
One lives with him
And the other quickly fades
A whisper in the dark
Of my hollowed breast
These things should never happen
Words erased from language
Pain drawn out in syringes
And burned in brilliant holocausts
We did not ask for this
For the eyes of God
To shadow our lives,
Apparent pity abound
But no mercy from His hands
Where are you now, O God?
How doth thy affection lie?
Prostrate on the ground,
Bury my face in unholy text
Chanting diagnoses
And the time he has left

I wake in the middle of the night
In another body.
A mirror image---
Dulled eyes,
Lopsided mouth,
Red-blotched skin;
All the same,
But not of me.
I am awake
In a dream.
Nothing moves.
Nothing makes a sound
(Except for the persistent drip
Of the broken faucet,
Skipping broken records,
And all the broken hearts
The king's men couldn't
Put back together).

I wake in the middle of the night
In a different room.
You're still snoring loudly
Beside me like a
Bear in winter, but
I don't feel your scratchy fur
Or the scrape of your claws.
Beige walls around the room:
Beige beige beige beige beige
"I hate beige,"
And suddenly they drop away.
I'm freezing in August,
Sweating in January.
The clocks on the wall
All watch me.

I wake in the middle of the night
In another lifetime.
Everything the same,
But my skin is tarnished silver,
My hands feel only cold.
Eleanor Scissorhands,
I ruin what I touch,
So you learn to stay away.
There's no comfort in
Tensile steel
And my life is made of it
When I wake in the middle of the night.

Fingers scratch against steel strings
A melody floats
Fleeting, yet constant
A truth lying underneath the floorboards
Replace the slat
And roll on
Wheels spinning on a smog laced highway
The dust shining
In glaring headlights
Standing still,
Beautiful, just for a moment,
Then disturbed,
Trampled beneath thundering hooves
Of cattle terrified by
Flashing lies and half-truths
Running blindly, noisily
Toward the melody.

Tick tick tick
Pour the pills from the bottle.
Hold twenty
And a tangible pause.
Take two.
Past the teeth,
Over the gums,
Look out bloodstream,
Here it comes:
The numbness,
The pain.
The lights go off upstairs
And it's back to business.

Tires screech
Children screech
My thoughts screech,
So I reach inside
Turn off the volume.
Laugh a little
At the zoo monkeys
Mouths agape
Making no sound.
Then head down,
Shuffle on.

One at dawn
Another at dusk.
Tick tick tick
Pour the pills
Empty bottle
Hold twenty
Take two
While God laughs
And I drag myself back
To sleep.

Every day, people fall in love;
Compose beautiful symphonies exalting the descent.
All I can hear is the somber echo of my own voice, reverberating in the air.
A piano key struck, the note sustained.

I can still see his hands on the keys, practiced and deliberate.
Mary Had A Little Lamb dropped my jaw.

I still don't understand why bad things happen to good people.
In time, he will be gone,
And even now, he is gone still.
Protecting me by hurting me.

Every day I live his death.
Every day I break my heart and tell him to stop scraping his knees.
Go slower.

He wrote me a letter: "Dear __, I know".
He stopped there, but I never could.
Nightmares of words that filled those pages.
He closed his chapter while I tried to write in the margins.

Please do not stop writing; finish that letter.
Tell me there, or in the space between our fingers. Tell me what need be told.
End the story, or start a new one, but please do not stop writing.

I took a picture of you once,
In the waning hours
Of a family road trip.
You were asleep in the backseat,
Mess of red hair strewn across the pillow,
Tucked inside your favorite sweater
Like an infant,
Your hands, your beautiful hands
That taught me
To write and tie my shoes,
To put on makeup and make art,
Just touching the lips
That kissed my forehead
Every night before bed.

You were caught in a moment
Of childlike innocence,
Your beauty free from the marks
That years of discord and tumult
Had etched into your skin.
For that moment,
You were you again,
Outside of the confines
Of married mother life.
You were a child,
Just taking a nap in the backseat.

You are my mother
And you always will be,
But don't forget that
You're a child, too,
And that it's okay
To let go sometimes.

I softly read aloud to you, but
My mind wasn't thinking in words:
They passed from my lips and
Dissolved just above your ear.

My mind wasn't thinking in words---
I was thinking in terms of you,
The silk of your hair, your knee grazing mine,
The fleeting kiss of our fingertips.

I was thinking in terms of you.
You were a poem all in yourself;
Soft euphony and delicate intricacies,
A playful melody in your verse.

You were a poem all in yourself,
So I was thinking in terms of you,
Instead of in the whispered words
That I read aloud to you.

The moon hangs low tonight,
Heavy with melancholy romance
And hazy lusting.
My blood lists to and fro,
Dancing a tidal waltz with
That distant face.
I think of all the times
I've made love
While this same moon
Peeked in through the window,
Illuminating bright eyes
And milky skin;
How many times
I've wept in the witching hour
With the ghosts of grandmothers
While this moon watches,
Waiting for me to come out to play.
I grow sick of the moon.
It's evident moodiness,
Bright and full one night,
Dissolved to black the next.
Consistency is key here.
I desire no more.

Want for affection.
First, inspected;
Discovering flaws leaves lips barren.

We've been driving for what feels like
An eternity, rolling over and over for years.

It's only actually been ten minutes but
I can feel my spine beginning to

Ache, and my legs are pasted
To the polyester seat and there are

Nails in my feet and shoulders.
The car is spinning now, out of

Control, I'm losing grip no seatbelt
Cold sweat on my cheeks.

A weight is slung on my chest
Breath is impossible

The edges blur
Until darkness.

Quiet.

Dull noise flickers
On and off
On and off
In rhythm with
My dilapidated heartbeat.
I feel everything;
Blood in my veins,
Snapping synapses,
Gurgling acids,
Slow expanding chest
Rushing air
In and out
In and out.
I feel everything;
The scratchy wool,
Manufactured breeze on my neck,
Aching eyes rolling
Left and right
Left and right.
I feel everything

And then nothing.

A hole opened in me
And it swallowed my heart.

It continued to grow,
Quickly and quietly,

Until it devoured
My cigarette burnt lungs.

Next was my liver,
Stained with alcohol.

My empty belly followed,
And then all at once,

My nerves, gone. My tongue, gone.
My throat and eyes, ears, gone.

But my mind remained.
It stayed behind to survey

The empty cavern of
What was once my body.

No screams were heard then,
No cries of grief or sadness.

Only the sound of your name
Rattling my brittle bones.

Your name, and his,
Mixing together in

A poison, a potion
With no known antidote.

Sometimes
My life is quiet.

Most days,
It's pills and traffic,

School and parents,
Work and sleep.

But sometimes
I press pause,

Wander around
The streets of my city,

Marveling
At the motionless passerby,

And drink in
The silence.

I stop
And be still. Just

Still, at least
For a few moments.

I always find you
There, in paused times.

I think that
Is what makes

The live-action
So tolerable.

He said she'd bleed on him;
Said that everyone
Was bleeding out,
****** gestures all around.

But despite his
Drug-addled mind,
This moment of false
Clarity rung in the
Bleached hospital room.

I don't think he meant
That she was bleeding on him
The way a cut bleeds
When you take a razor to
Your arms;
He meant the bleeding hearts
The eyes of the people
The eyes of god
Welling with ****** tears
Whenever they look
Down
On him in the bed
With a pity that
Makes even my stomach turn.

Today, I see the world in you
Soft lilies bloom in hazel eyes
Mountains rise in your heart
Giving way to green valleys
And life made anew.

Today, you are a new thing
Made of softened mirrors,
Delicate lace linings,
And spring's cherry blossoms.
You are a lamp lit

In a dark room,
Illuminating forgotten windows
And doors left ajar.
There is a chest hidden
Inside of you, waiting

To be opened and rediscovered
By only those who earn its gratitude
Starting with you.
Today, you have begun again
In the same place you were before

Now brightened with candles
Burning jasmine and vanilla---
A new home for an old soul;
Comforts from the heart
Without the bitter barbed wire.

It's been said before, yet I'll say again
That I love you and your beautiful mess;
You deserve all that life can give.

The books upon the shelf do gather dust.
Their wilted pages mem'ries plenty hold,
But sit we two on piléd broken trusts
And move we not until the house grows cold.
Our things lie 'bout the room in disarray:
Your broken tools, my shattered figurines.
The garden, too, has started to decay,
Along with ***** dishes in the sink.
The wicked vines have wound around our walls,
An ivy cage we fed with foolish pride.
Now in this house of ruin do we stall
Avoiding what we still have cast aside.
     And so within these broken houses stay
     All lovers who throw not their pride away.

consciousness
     breaking to
          light through blinds

stained carpet
     starched sheets
          euphony in

a name
     first and last
          all the same

freckled shoulders
     dimpled cheek
          mirrored

***** laundry
     ***** dishes
          in the middle

making love
     little pieces
          not broken

scotch tape
     Christmas fights
          and snow flurries

cigarettes smoke
     skin on my back
          sweet scalding

stolen kiss
     only borrowed
          no need to

return
     the beginning
          chance and fate

balanced.

She's not pretty like an aurora;
She's pretty like a hurricane.

Yeah, but I still love her.

I feel like you
Don't take serious conversations
Seriously,
Unless it's serious
For you.

*laughter

I dreamt last night
While you slept beside me

That you told me
You loved me.

You stood above me
In my narrow bed,

Kissed my cheek
As I quietly drifted away

Into a contented sleep, and you
Mumbled just so slightly

Under your breath,
The way you always do,

Three words.

I knew what you said, but
I reached for your hand, asking,

"What did you say?"
An anxious smile in my voice.

I just wanted to hear you say it
Out loud, again and again

A chorus of us
Reciting bedtime vows

Until morning light brought silence
But it was only in

A dream.