it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. it was a pyrrhic love, it was a herculean love. how the new life will begin i do not know,
but i know it will come from the lovers,
the loverly trees sprung forth at my
birth.
i can't comb out my eyelashes,
i cannot comb these lice out of my eyelashes
i wish i did not have lice
please give me an excuse not to change my sheets
i miss the girl in my bed
i wish i did not have lice
just say something back to me

Have I become her?
that untouchable sultry lady
whose dress flows in the wind
wisps of blue that match the
color of the sun in her hair.

Flyaways are held in place
a sprayed on gentle hold,
if you stand closer maybe you'll
breathe in the scent of Dior,
or a knockoff, it's your call.
Not to mention, the taste of
ash on my lips and kiss.

But she and I, we're, oh, so different.
She is always
unsure
insecure
lost.
And I've found myself
and I'd never try to be cute
and with you.
I respect myself too much.

so i sit on my deck
typing on my computer
in the shade
but the sun is infront of me
and i feel the wind brushing by my ears through my flyaways

i wish i could figure my life out
and seek help

i want to go back and dig deep
i want to go back into my past
to bring up all of the dirt
and secrets
so that i can move on

I'm stuck
and i don't know how to deal with my past

i have so much baggage
i am my own airport
except i don't know where to move on from
or where to go back to

but my mom dying
my dad abusing me
my depression
my anorexia
my anxiety
my assault
my ****

is all haunting me to this day
even though its been

9 years
8 years
7 years
7 years
7 years
3 years
1 year

i feel like i am so ****** up
i can never be fixed

i feel so trapped
with all of the freedoms that i have

i moved away
found new friends
found a soulmate

but I'm stuck
and yet still positive that i will eventually get through this

i just don't know when
when ill finally be able to be at peace
with all thats happened

i don't know who to tell my troubles to
and this poem is me venting
because this site are my ears
no one will listen
so i write to you
the readers
the site
my computer
my online brain and thoughts

so ****
i need someone to help me
i need someone to tell me what to do

because i am lost
in my backyard
where i look out
behind gates
and a pool deck

white privilege
but real issues lay behind me
in my middle class home
where i should be happy
in my backyard

He had stared into my eyes longer than any other
He is piercing through me
And i am speaking to him
We are looking to each other and seeing ourselves
His journey awaits and i arrive to send my regards
The sky is dim and greying
There is a buzzing behind him
I hear him still when the noise greatens
And i myself am still
Though the chair that i sit upon rocks slightly
And gives rhythm to a talk
The room is chilled and our sleeves are long
He had cut his hair since i last saw him
I think about brushing through it
The gel in his hair looks stiff
And the flyaways frame his defined features
He is a beautiful man
And he will remain beautiful in my memory
I will not see him again
I had stared into his eyes longer than any other

She was last seen in the soccer field. She went there when she was a child. She is still a child. It is all weeds now.  Everyone else is gone or leaving. The old factory is still standing by, as empty as a house.

She was last seen lying on her back, cheek pressed against the black top of the highway, all yellow streetlight and blinding headlights. Small town, summer night, a crown of weeds and flyaways.

Trying to stifle a giggle, she forgot to scream.

the mess of her hair
was never meant to be contained
it was meant to go free
without limits
don’t tell her to fix her hair
when it was never meant to be tamed

I do remember the you of long nights
fuller hair breathy words,
motherly incantations.
At the ****, obeyed its rhythm until
like my first kick, stretching the stomach lining
I spoke. Long dry at their cusp,
my lips breathed their own life.

Still weighed with wet earth,
drifted from winter to spring days
hair flyaways white laces Streaming —-
an untameable-robed-in-rough-overalls
creature (shirtless, sun on its back).
Inkling of rebirth called like the late-night
“Dinner! Wash the mud out your nails”.

Watered with pithy drops of soul,
I spit. Turn to a dried maroon prune.
****** the blossom from your cheeks.
Bury my toes deep deep deep
in the garden bed:
(Seedy little things, remind you of my infant hand).
Lament the days lost
in misunderstanding.

Each garden whim rode
between my summer scales, yet
I shed them for flight.
If only I knew my wings are in the time capsule
that you long to give me,
grounded in your earth with
hand-me-down tales,
colossus shoes to grow into,
and motherly love like a well.

We cry dry tears,
leave our throats like
filaments of ancient fireflies in a jar.
I do love you
and always will, so
let the seasons cycle back again.