Slight words and mumbles
Mount, quiet walks together,
Arriving places unwelcomed,
Cooking for one in a kitchen
Together, over filling glasses
Of wine and wordless smiles,
Leftover stories, stale company
Endless invites for new friends,
Road trips without bend, song,
The black comedy of dull, plain,
Platitudinous days.

When I was 13,
I went up to my mother and told her that I wasn't beautiful because
my eyes were too close together
and that my gut hung lower
and my teeth went out farther.
my hair was too coarse
and my appetite was too large,
my skin was too dark
and my nose was too wide.

When I was 13,
I told my mother that beautiful came in only one size
and one size only
and I happened to be 3 sizes too large.
See I thought that all because I saw it to be true.
Oh how I wished to be that girl in the magazines because even the girl in the magazine wanted to be her.
Oh how I wished on every birthday and new years eve to lose weight and to be pretty.
I struggled so long with this issue of mine.
So long that it became a constant companion by my side.
See I longed for that day when everything would be alright.
For that day when I could look in the mirror and think I looked fine.
For the heavens to open up and the stars align,
crying out the one phrase that would change my mind;
you are beautiful, no matter what size.
See the heavens never opened up and the stars stayed the same
but all I can say is that my mindset changed.
Beautiful comes in many sizes, from extra small to triple extra large.

*-c.a.

Shadows on the walls
even in the prettiest shades
in the arch that stretches
from dawn to dusk;
I see the dark of day.

                             It is in moments such as these
                             where I need you the most
                             to read every single thing
                             I've ever wrote about you;
                             my words act as the horrors host.

This sense of
unrelenting security
is it truth or foley?
for it is hard
to teach me to run
if you dear
are only crawling

Aerial creatures—
Making love in a shower,
Palms and lips soaring.

advice
wise words
feel much more like
talking down
than heping

The tears rolled down your china doll face
as the dust drifted through a sliver of light
that came flickering from that old neon sign across the street.
The pastel wallpaper, peeling away from the walls
showing nothing but the rotting wood of a dilapidated building.
The smell of mildew wafting from the bathroom leaving you nothing to
look forward to except the next drip from the leaky faucet.
How had your life come to this?
All of those teenage dreams.
All those fantasies of love and adventurous living.
Those notions of being an artist and revolutionary.
Nothing but the taste of bitter coffee and broken cigarettes lingers
at every meal.
A love gone sour.
Your beauty far exceeding conventional standards.
That perfect 10.
Wasted here in a dingy motel.
Longing for that one last kiss.
Waiting for him to make you feel young again.
As you yourself become part of this place,
realizing that you are decaying just the same.