eliza, she twirls like a ballerina as the piano moves along
she’s cute and she’s cheerful, she leaps around to a familiar song
oh, but eliza has changed
she’s pale in the face
she’s got goosebumps from the cold rain
eyes welling with tears from the salt she poured in them

eliza, she used to be such a joy to be around
oh, but now she can’t keep a conversation without her hands sweating
her nihilistic views cloud her intuition

she’s like charcoal on a whiteboard
she won’t go away, she haunts my every hesitation
she’s blocking my inhalation
she was like a butterfly in my hand
and now she’s ash from blazing land

       such a letdown, such a change in plans

eliza, she glimmers like sequins in the fog
sapphire eyes in hot tubs
but her sadness is her overwhelming weakness
it envelops her in its hurricane
she creaks like old wooden stairs under the weight of her own
she temporarily lives in midnight moonlight sorrow
with weak bones and a crestfallen shadow
burying herself in the emptiness of solitude
the january blues stalking her every move  

oh, eliza,
i miss you
who you were, all that you did
i miss your surefire smile
your continuous laugh
your sweet disposition
your hilarious jokes and the positive halos radiating about your head

now she’s volatile
as wild and insecure as an adolescent child

she falls from the stage onto a bed filled with tears
(she calls it a water bed, she tries to remain optimistic)  
(all she knows is that the rivers that flood from her eyes show that she is not completely numb)

the spring sentiments used to be her constant
she used to have scraped kneecaps and a clueless exuberance
solely a bandage could heal her

oh eliza,
have i taken you for granted?
have i stripped you of your merit,
leaving you gagging and slumping in the rainfall?
your irises were streaked with summer’s blues
now they’re just stained from the blue ocean tears you cried

oh eliza,
what happened to your sheer happiness,
leaving a movie theater with the main character’s personality?
did the pounding in your chest come from the insecurities i ****** upon you with a thousand pounds of force?
i miss your cathartic release, the eclipse of your moon striped body on my bedroom wall directly in front of the place i lay

she’s casted shadows over the bridge she walks across to sabotage her footing
she sits with her mouth open in frozen silence
trying to capture the warmth that waltzes around her

oh eliza,
am i to blame for this destruction?
your lugubriousness now looming over the flowers on meadows you once danced on
i miss who you were, but mostly who you won’t show
the harsh judgement gathered like dust along your body
you haven’t been you, eliza, for years



eliza, she twirls like a ballerina as the piano moves along
listen to her song
for her worst secrets are held in breakable silence

Who could ever love an Eliza?
Awkwardly a little too tall,
Possessing a dorky laugh,
Silly mannerisms,
And,
Above all,
A dream of love.
An Eliza writes poetry,
Crying to God for answers to life's questions,
Asking for God to provide some form of companionship.
An Eliza,
Is impatient,
Her largest downfalls,
Impatience,
Caring too much.
An Eliza is an Eliza,
But,
Is that a good thing?

The wharf was busy; it was a Saturday and the sun was high in the sky. Strangely enough, it was hot. She wanted to get to the deYoung in time.
Eliza pulled impatiently on the hand and pulled her toward the circle of people, who were no doubt watching a street urchin or a performer.
“No, honey,” her mother said, “not today.” Eliza didn’t listen and ran up, wedging herself between the bodies of bystanders.
“Look, mommy! It’s a game.”
The man was a con, Marie knew this. She let Eliza gander.  
“One dollar a play, ladies and gents,” the man said, “sorry sweetheart, kids aren’t allowed.” Eliza looked up at her mommy and pushed a dollar in to her hand. Not wanting a scene, Marie smiled and put it down.
“Just once, darling,” she said through whitened teeth and a botoxed smile. She didn’t know why she was doing this. It came to her in the moment and so she acted.
The man put a ball in the cup and told her to watch so she did. His hands were swift and mesmerizing. She knew that the ball was under the right one. She pointed. He lifted. It wasn’t there. Eliza wanted to know if she could play and if not why. Her mother told her that it was a big girl game and little girls couldn’t play. Eliza started crying so Marie put down another dollar and let her watch, just to get her to shut up. The man twisted to cups again and she failed. It happened again. And again, and again. The deYoung would close, she knew, but nothing could compare to the feeling of winning. In the end, the man got twenty of her dollars. The museum wasn’t so important.
When they were in the Saint Francis’s elevators, Marie bent down and smiled at Eliza.
“When poppa asks, dear, remember: we went to the museum and had a splendid time.”

It was the December of '91,
and Larry asked me to come with
him and some ladies he knew
from Cameron Christian to
some **** yogurt shop on
Dead Dog Ave.

Three brunettes and a blonde;
at the time
I didn't care much for brunettes,
but god, god, god,
the blonde
with the crystal grey eyes,
the wrinkled floral print dress,
an optimistic ***,
and shaky feet
every single time
I made the eyes.

Sarah and Jennifer (two of the brunettes)
smelled of Glade-Feces-Blanket-Spray,
the third was far too young
to undress,
and I nearly strangled my beautiful blonde
when she mouthed, "Eliza."

I kept talking up the
fact my dad had just kicked me out.
I told Eliza I had the most magnificent
apartment
a bachelor could buy,
she kept averting her eyes,
shifting subjects like
playing cards,
my hands kept clinching,
clasping,
aching,
"Be right back, purty ladies."
I headed for the bathroom
leaving Larry to ******
Jennifer Glade.

I looked in the mirror,
I remember giving myself
a pep talk,
but I can't for the life of me
remember anything I said.

I remember pulling a dwindling
bottle of Black Label from my jacket.
I had taken it from my ******* dad,
the night he yelled, yelled, yelled,
until I was in some low-income complex
with a bunch of lowlife, ******
fuckups.

I ****** off the remnants.
Combed, recombed my greasy hair,
went back in,
just in time to hear
Jennifer Glade spout her stupid mouth,
"Larry, I told you I have a boyfriend."
"He's a ******* idiot."
She started to whimper,
said something like he was a regular sweetheart.
The regulars are so boring.

Larry stood up,
accused her of leading him on,
the acne cashier asked us to "pipe down",
I directed my stare into his acne-framed
irises.

I walked quietly toward him,
I could feel Larry and the girls
tracing my every feature.
"Just leave him alone,"
said my blonde little sweetie,
I turned back to her briefly.
Her skin looked like milk,
I wondered if it tasted like milk,
I kept my feet on track,
redirected the gaze,
back to my heavy-breathing cashier.

I got eight inches away from his face,
he fumbled some words,
that left a bad taste.
I could see my reflection in his retinas.
I looked clumsy and circular.
My milky, blonde Eliza would
never go for a circular **** like me.
This conclusion
coursed through my veins with
irrational speed.

I shot the acne cashier.
Right in his stupid, acne-framed iris.
The gun had been my grandfather's.
He had killed a black boy in the '30s with it.
Got to love legacies.

The brunettes were screaming.
I think Larry was trying to reason with me,
or maybe he was throwing up-
somebody threw up,
anyways,
I shot the young one first.
She had annoyed me most.

Then Sarah Glade.
Then Jennifer Glade.
Eliza began to run.

I jogged after her,
she frantically searched for a phone,
and my milky blonde
found one.

I stopped at the doorway,
rested my head on the frame,
listened to her cry into the handset,
begging for the police.
I opened my lids,
silently strolled up behind her,
with my left hand
I grabbed her optimistic ***,
with my right hand
I pulled the trigger.
She splattered onto me.
I felt successful.

I walked outside.
A silent,
still Austin night,
not even a dog on the street.
Larry was crying.
I told him to shut up.
They were *******.
Asked him for his lighter.
He opened his car door,
dug in his center console,
buried under 6-feet of cigarettes
was a lighter,
he popped the trunk,
I grabbed the gas can.

I erased Friday's mistakes,
and found Larry had driven off without me.
I walked to my low-income home.
I had a lazy Saturday.
Read an interesting story in the Guardian on Sunday.
By noon on Monday,
they were pointing cameras at me.

Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
  Who, to woman, deny the soul’s future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza! they’d own their defect,
  And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

Had their Prophet possess’d half an atom of sense,
  He ne’er would have woman from Paradise driven;
Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence,
  With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.

Yet, still, to increase your calamities more,
  Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!—
  With souls you’d dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?

His religion to please neither party is made;
  On husbands ’tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I can’t contradict, what so oft has been said,
  “Though women are angels, yet wedlock’s the devil.”

This terrible truth, even Scripture has told,
  Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture;
If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold,
  Of ST. MATT.—read the second and twentieth chapter.

’Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex’d,
  With wives who eternal confusion are spreading;
“But in Heaven” (so runs the Evangelists’ Text)
  “We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding.”

From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,)
  That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more,
And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway,
  All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar.

Distraction and Discord would follow in course,
  Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor ST. PAUL, can deny it,
The only expedient is general divorce,
  To prevent universal disturbance and riot.

But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin’d,
  Yet woman and man ne’er were meant to dissever,
Our chains once dissolv’d, and our hearts unconfin’d,
  We’ll love without bonds, but we’ll love you for ever.

Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes,
  Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you,
Your nature so much of celestial partakes,
  The Garden of Eden would wither without you.

There's a hole in my stomach(heart)
Dear Eliza
Dear Eliza
There's a hole in my stomach(heart)
Where I never got enough love.

There's a storm in my city(psyche)
Dear Eliza
Dear Eliza
There's a storm in my city(psyche)
and the streets(thoughts) tend to flood.

Can you weather this weather?
Dear Eliza
Dear Eliza
Can you weather this weather
If your head stays above?


How long can you tread water?
I know you swim better than I.
Point of pride.
Pride of endurance.
Enduring exhaustion.
Exhausted and lost and
honestly just
broke
at the wishing well
dreaming of the deluge
the healing water that will wash away the wounds
and make us whole again.
if only I had a penny...

You said to me
I can weather your storm
but not if it drowns me

or maybe
I can weather your storm
but not if it drowns out mine.

I don't remember exactly the phrasing.
Maybe because the water was already drowning you out.

You don't have to shout.

No matter how loud my insides are screaming
I will always open ears like basins
larger than mouths like calderas
to find a way back to listening.
I will open heart like valleys
bigger than hurt like dams
To hold for you a space that's safe for swimming.

heart(stomach)
stays open
because
the hole  
is too big
to close

when you pass through the other side
every time
a new piece of you stays
for a while
my new favorite chapter
in endless
series

You don't have to shout
but
you may scream as loud as you need,
and
I will hear every furious decibel
and
understand it as music.

Eliza.
Her skin is like little flowers
Her hair as smooth as silken grass
A silent beauty
What is this feeling?
Eliza.
My mind paints her yellow and green and lilac
Against a blue sky dense with my tears
Her hands raised, fingers spread, in benediction
Eliza.
Her eyes dance like the sun
Moving excitedly as she talks about something. Anything.
And her smile… so ******* beautiful.
I know how wrong this is, but it feels so good.
E.li.za.
I think I love her.