Inside all of us there lies something to be discovered
and I think the spark you put at the bottom of my lungs might be enough
to remember mine
you are a fire and I am ash
brand new, I feel sorry for eventually suffocating you
I hate cities
I hate people
but I love persons
I would get on a train right now just to watch
people spill like water into the underground
seemingly searching for something within the tunnels
some simply a way out
others a way in
some just to sleep
I saw a man with an airport under his skin once
and a woman next to him with clouds brushing lips with her fingers
they were holding hands
and I swear I heard the boarding call faintly as they exited
I hope he remembers to breathe
sometimes it rains on the subway
and sometimes you can't keep the sun out
people are always rushing to some
unknown endpoint
I'll sit in the corner and ride the blue line until they kick me off
far enough away so they can't touch me
but I can touch them
sometimes I'll close my eyes
imagine that this train is taking me home
imagine going down a snowy hill at 80
looking next to me, there you are
so I put on the brakes
"I only want to **** myself, I don't want to **** you"
I'll open my eyes
and see the life around me

maybe
I can
stay just a little longer

Not all monsters have bodies
no,
some monsters are whispers in the middle of the night
the whispers which never stop
they come rising up from the pit of your stomach
the back of your neck
and the lungs in your chest
these monstrous whispers
creeping in from open window
on full moon nights
they say the things
which we know aren’t right
but we believe anyway
these voices
they say things
like you are not good enough
just give up
know when enough is enough
they laugh in moments of silence
come creeping in with self-doubt
not a whimper
not a shout
just a sense of stillness when the lights go out
keeping you up at night on the edge of a knife
too exhausted
to keep up the fight
you worry
how long will these monsters have their foothold
in the panicked pounding of my eardrums?
these monsters which spit on self-love
and lick their gums at the sight
of a broken down frown
of a person wound too tight
but these monsters don’t have bodies
arms legs claws and fangs
these monsters are just voices
all you have to do is drown them out

I'm drunk.
I'm drunk
And I wish I hadn't eaten in months.
Everything
Tastes like you.
Everything tastes like your **** in me.
Again.
And my screaming.
Again.
And you not caring
Again.

But you're just my ******.
And my friends are blackmailing you for it.
And now you're blackmailing my friends
For breaking all your bones
After they tore you off of me.
And now it's between you and them.
And I don't want any part of it.
And if I did
No one would give me any part of it.
Okay I do.
But still no one will give me any part of it.

So I'l trudge through
******* mountains
And ***** rivers
And razor blade forests.

But you can't forcefully *******
With my body.
Just to keep yourself warm.

the roads were slick with ice
at 2pm on a saturday it was 13 degrees
the wind wasn’t a breeze but a bite
the light reflecting from the snow
was blinding
I was going on a walk
because I don’t exercise nearly as much as I should
and today
I felt good
step after step after step
picking up pace
a smile spreading across my face
the strangers I passed
weren’t strangers at all
but long lost brothers and sisters
I never got the chance
to stop and sit with
but when eye contact connects us together
something in their face let me know
that they felt it as well
we are all navigating the ups and downs of this city
the ugly the witty the pretty the ******
just bricks -
on our own, we aren’t much
but at times when we come together
we form odes to the fact that the human spirit can weather any storm
when deflating lungs feel worn
and some bonds become torn
there will always be someone rooting for you
standing on the sideline
saying good luck
I know that I follow in your footsteps
and that means that we have to tread carefully
avoid the thin ice
and pitfalls
no more runner’s walls
cars stalled in the winter morning
but whether you tread towards nicer weather
or walk tight circles around the city blocks with a song stuck in your head
just know that the important thing
is you have to take that first step

-Year fifteen.

Normal girl, tall and slender. Bright eyes and developing body.
But her hands, oh... Her hands were sculpted by something else. Beautiful bones,
Long, pink nails and the skin on her palm smoother than silk.
The veins show a dull peppermint on her snowy skin.
Her thin wrist and delicate movements.

She cracks her knuckles so her sharp joints will show more.

-Year twenty three.

The life she lived previous was pressured by the pollution in the air. ****,
Drugs, and alcohol. She slouches and shivers on a warm summer day,
Huddled in a corner of her house.

Her hands show no more snow. The veins seem shriveled.
Her joints were swollen and unmovable.
Her palms are coarse from rubbing them together and her nails...
Oh, her nails were ****** and torn off. She clawed too much at her neck
As she was held down and suffocated.

-Year twenty four.

*"I am sorry." The note read.

It was a deformed hand. Bite marks on her fingertips, shriveled skin with blotches and sores.
The veins drawn over in pink scars from jagged blades and old attempts.
It was a miracle she could write at all.

She now lays in an open casket. Eyes stare at her contrasted beauty.
Her childhood friend had always loved her hands. He reconstructed them.
A shriveled old body, only twenty four years old, but seemingly ancient.

But her hands, oh... Her hands were sculpted by someone who truly loved her.
Beautiful bones,
Long and pink plastic nails. The skin on her palm made of silk.
The veins are drawn with a dull peppermint pastel on her falsely snowy skin.

He cracked her fingers so her prosthetic joints will move less.

There was a little girl whom found love to young. On the playground she’d sing a child’s innocent song in a beautiful hum. Boys would hear her song and watch her, entranced. A rebel of a boy came up and asked her to dance. “I heard you singing from the swings. Your eyes are beautiful. Will you take my hand?” Curious and delighted, the girl couldn’t have known what he had planned. He twirled her and kissed her five year old lips. He put his hands around her young and innocent hips. “I have something to show you.” The twelve year old rebel whispered in her ear. “What is it?” out of curiosity not fear.  He took her hand and led her in to the room in the rear of the building. He took off his pants while she looked at the ceiling. So much more happening in between. Those days have passed and that young girl is now a woman. Her heart is confused and her mind in ruins. The love she knew when she was young, the love where he would kiss her underwater and buy her cheese fries, the love that she saw glimmering in his eyes, she never saw in everyone else’s. It confused her. It hurt her. But no one knew of her love. Her pain she suffered alone. Still a child at heart the woman loves to indulge in encounters that temporarily fill the hole of her one and still, only, love. She also gets drunk or high, anything to make her feel numb. She smokes a cigarette and has and epiphany. “I’m going to get my life together, stop sleeping around, and find a love that’s true.” She got up every day. Went to work and school. She leaves her heart open to opportunity and the almighty, God.  She’ll one day become a mother. She’ll have a love that will accept all her sins and kiss all of her scars. He'll hold her close. Ask her to dance. It will be a love she understands. A love she won’t think she deserves. She’ll feel too tainted, but he’ll soothe her with words. Mend the hole. End the hurt.