We're just ******* in the
mountains, like a couple of
mountains wolves biting into each others
flesh and having the greatest
meal           of all time.            4,000 feet above the
sea-level is where we like to       ****     the     most,
because the breeze cools our sweat
and only the birds can hear our
                                             howls.

Excuse me sir, but
"Heartbreak" isn't metaphor
It's physical pain.

I could have,
Should have,
But if I would have
Listened to the thunderous voices in my
Gut—
I wouldn’t have to regret these words
That left my mouth
Prematurely, unfiltered
Rolling off my childish tongue.

Eating bagel bites,
I heard the words
“I think I am
Falling in love
With you.”
The deepest sinking feeling in my chest,
Without a breath of clarity,
Or a drip of saliva
To swallow my lies,
I spit out the words
“I love you too…”
My instant regret.

He took a breath of relief
As if he was holding this in
For a lifetime.


What the actual ****?
What am I saying?
What am I doing?
How do my words affect others?
I ****** his whole world up.

Three simple words,
Power in simplicity—
Use them wisely,
Invest with care.
You never know how much you can
**** someone’s world up–
Make them go crazy,
Make yourself go crazy with regret.

Three simple words:
I love you.
I loved you.
BUT—
I was not in love with you.

****.

.
.
.
.
.
The above 20 lines are in invisible ink
It took me all day, tell me, what do you think?

Mom loves the huckleberries
Picks ‘em up in the mountains,
Says it’s her therapy.
Swear she can sniff ‘em out like a bear,
Got a snouzer on her or something—
Always knows where they are hidden
But she says,
“Dad guides me.”
Always thought that was funny,
But he loved those hucks
Almost as much as his kids.

Maybe that’s why she goes up there…
To say hi,
Hang out with Dad,
Pick some berries,
******* about life,
Tell him his girls are doing just fine.

Huck heaven is what we say
When we find a good patch.
Can sit in there for hours…
Mom loves it.
Love this about mom.
Mom my rock.

They always placed me here:
In the outfield,
With the dandelions
And the cartwheels.

Spinning round and round,
Until Rachel shouted,
"Hannah, kick it! Kick it!"

The ball was huge,
Ginormous—
A little Pluto.
I kicked it with all my might
Straight towards the grey city
With the tall skyscrapers
And pins and needles
Shooting towards the sky.

I promise you,
I didn't mean to.
But little Pluto came crashing down
On your city
And with the weight,
I killed you.

A little dandelion kick
And you were gone.

In your will,
You bought me a ticket to Paris
And $1,000 to spend on cheese.

But I couldn't leave.

I tried to confess
How much I forgive you
For using your words
When you were alive,
To exploit me.
But the sounds are caught in my throat
Clenched by my unruly fists,
Unable to unravel themselves
Into spoken word.
My lips mutter,
“I’M SO SORRY”
In big letters—
But the sound does not escape.


I crushed you with a dandelion kick,
And after all of this—
You still remembered my dream
And held onto me,
Placed me in your will.

Then I awoke—
Not in Paris,
Not shoving Brie in my face
Not wearing the heels I packed.

Trendy, it is
to be unattached.
Just *******,
nothing else to it.
It simply is-
just *******.

I can ****
whoever I want
whenever I want
because that's what ******* feminism is, right?
To use my ******
and my body
in any way I
******* please.

My *****, my choice, right?

I can flash my ****,
show everyone my piercings-
and then demand respect.
Because that's what feminism is, right?

My body, my choice.

No.
My body, my ******* church.

When the **** did love go out of style?

All these trendies
just *******-
making just ******* a style,
persuading everyone to think it's ******* great
to expose your deepest self
to someone who doesn't even know
how you take your coffee.

All these ******* can't
**** me
the way a ******* lover
can love me-
blow my *******
brains out
shoot me to the *******
stars
tie me up
suffocate me
in the most intoxicating feeling
that'll make your *****
tingle
in jubilant joy-
make you never wanna ****
with any other
******
because they can't shoot you to the ******* stars
in ******
the way that love can.

****** is more than just
*******.

When the **** did it become cool to give little pieces of yourself to all the little ******* who never could make you come?

When the **** did it become cool to stop loving?
To stop caring?
To stop respecting?

Your body, your choice
Your *****, your choice
Your ****, your choice.
Your life, your choice.
But nothing is as good as love is-
nothing can make you feel better
like a good lover can.
Nothing can bring you up,
make you shine,
build your respect,

and *******-
as good
as good love can.