"Scabulous. Adjective.
Proud of a scar on your body,
which is an autograph
signed to you by a world
grateful for your continued willingness to play with her,
even when you don’t feel like it."
-The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

I am not afraid of scars;
They mean that I have chanced to live.

They mean that I have seen the world,
And the world has seen me.
That we have locked our gaze
Our eyes
Our wills in battle
Mortal combat
And it has blinked first.

They mean that I am a warrior.
They mean that I am a survivor.

They mean that I have healed,
Because scars come after wounds.
After we stitch closed
Our rips, and tears, and holes,
Patching ourselves up
Holding close our precious blood.

(Because a scar that still hurts
Means a fight unfinished.)

They are a warning.
They are a story.
They are a reminder.
Of love, and loss,
And life,
Beautiful life.

The moment when you catch a glimpse of death
Out of the corner of your eye.
And it sees you
And it nods
And you know it will come back
Someday
To collect.
But not today.
Because today
Today, you are the one who lives;

hello roaring monster
screaming beast
i've missed you
the way you put me in perspective
you are my war
and i am my champion
you are my dragon
and i am the princess
who slays you herself

but not yet

because if I slay you
I must return
go back to my kingdom
(or not,
and break my family's hearts)
and i am not ready for that

I have been gone for so long
what if the kingdom has moved on
without me?

and
besides
I understand this dragon
but what if once i am free
another comes?
to learn to be held prisoner
again
by another
would destroy me

so what is free?
I have tamed my dragon
learned to live

it is not enough?
i want it dead
dead and gone and buried

the war cries in my ears
and crescents bleed from my palms
a scream builds in my throat

i cannot **** it

because with familiar comes safe

Don’t write me poetry

It’s never worked before
Vanity, all of it, vanity
And I don’t want any
More-words, just-words, nothing-but words

I don’t care for
The structure
The way
It is so easy to steal
Phrases
lines
Automatic sigh-bringers
Used a thousand times
By history’s pen and
Those more worthy to hold it
than you

All you did
Was take the bag
Of scrabble tiles
Rattling and clacking together
And shake
Once
Twice
Thrice
Forced
Farce
Until you were satisfied with what it gave

And you threw away the rest

That’s not art
That’s strategy

It’s too neat
Neat like summer
Neat like children’s books
(not the good ones)
Formula following
Empty and hollow-ringing

Give me something real
Instead
Give me the ramblings, twisting
wanderings of your mind
give me the dark places
the secrets
the mysteries that lurk in the depths
like sea dragons
like the ocean itself
there is so much more
so much wilder and deeper

so
grab my hand and pull me in with you
don’t flatter me while dipping our toes
because why
why would we choose the ship
the safe little dingy
bleached wood, branded logo on the side
when underneath
lies atlantis
and
the depths

I am fascinated by the fire
I could sit and watch its dance
Sit and listen
To the snap-crackle song of it
For hours

Something in it calls to me
In the dark places of my heart
Maybe that is why I stay
So far away

Because if I let it
It will take hold of my hand
Crawl its fingers up my arm
And lodge its heat in my soul

Like the sliver of ice
And the poisoned kiss
That made Kai forget
His love
His home
His name
I may forget
That I am not fire too

If I let it
It will set me ablaze
And I will not stop
Until coals and ashes
Stain my feet
And the whole world burns
Around me

Dear Younger Me.

The days ahead are dark.

There will be points
Where you will close your eyes
Burning, stinging, tear-torn eyes
And it will look no brighter
When you open them again.
You will reach for the light switch
Only to discover
The dual bulbs
Clustered under the shade
Are doing all they can already.
You will walk upstairs
In the witching hour
The dark scary still hour
And even though there is nothing
Nothing logical to fear
The still scary, dark hour
And the night will surround you
Press in on you
And you’ll swear each step is a mouth
Waiting to swallow you alive.
You will leap from light switch to light switch
Because the dark
The cursed, smothering dark
Is a fate worse
Than sinking into a molten floor.


Dear Younger Me.

The darkness does not win. Not against the light.
Remember that.

Even if you, yourself, don’t feel light.
Even when you feel bogged down
Like the weight of a thousand worlds
Rests on your shoulders
And you’re slogging through swamp mud, besides.
There is light, and hope, and peace
Peace like none you have ever known
Waiting on the other side.
And if I could spare you the tears
The ache that tears your chest inside out
The lump that threatens to stay
Choking you
Breath by breath
Forever
If I could spare you that
You would never grow.
You would never become me.
Broken. Imperfect. Beautiful.
Stronger, holding tight to the Savior’s hand.
I wouldn’t trade all the stars to be you again, me.
But someday you’ll get here. April 2018.
You’ll write a poem. Me to you. Heart to heart.
You’ll look around. You’ll look back.
And there will be light again.

You said I was okay
I said I was, okay?
They heard I was okay

A funny order, it is

I believed
You when you
Told me that
I was okay when
You were not in my shoes
and neither were They

But when
I said I was not okay
You asked if I was sure,
Sure it would not pass
(because okay, is default?)
and they heard you, not me

So
Am I sure it won't pass?
No
I'm sure it will
Because everything does
What doesn't **** me
Makes me stronger

I did
I think
But it's been years
Years
Years
When I was not

And I don't remember
quite
What being well
is like

I mean
I mean
I am always well
I am
Always moving
Because an object at rest-

I've said this already

So I'll rest when I'm dead
Or I'll die when I rest
And I'm not ready
yet
I haven't made my mark
yet
I haven't swelled my voice
With the chorus of those
who came before me
yet
I haven't heard that note
One note
In a symphony
The glorious harmony
I
Haven't drawn a breath
and
Heard the empty space
and
Felt the sharp ***** of awe
That the gap
Is for me to fill
Little me
Little
Gap

And that
I think
Holds me here
Roots my feet to the ground
To Earth
Because humans
Are delicate
It would not take so much
To flee this mortal form
But
I am not ready
It is not my time
I am secure
Knowing my days are numbered
Measured out
By One
Who does not lose count
Lose thought
Think
All in the wrong order
At all the times
Which are
Most inopportune

It is my greatest honor
It is my greatest humbling

And anyways
I am well
Well enough to sing
To dance
Well enough for joy
To light its fire
Bursting pyrotechnics
In my chest

Except
Of course
When I am not
Not when my thoughts
Take the wheel
And I am caught in loops
Loops
Loops

"Shape without form
Shade without color"
I drift
In monochromatic waves
Clinging to the memory
And hope of hues
Beyond my mind's walls
I drift
In soft piano melodies
And synesthesia winds my senses
In a great tangle
Melancholy tastes like apple
But un-achored
Only smells like dust
Looping and twirling in the breeze
Over the ocean
Invisible
Under the too-wide sky
Over the too-bright sea

Until it hits city
And the city
Brings it back down
Tears it into a million
Tiny
Fragments

They used to be it
They used to be whole
They were once
But now
Not

And just like that
The conclusion
Brings me down
With a jolt and a bump and a thud
Like a plane
Or the clanking chains
Of a rollarcoaster

My stomach is doing rollarcoaster loops
Loops
Loops
I used to be well-
(i've said that too)
-But sometimes
I am well
Now
And I forget
That with a breath
I can be
Not

It is terrifying
But I am not scared
You know
Part of life
Is living it

April showers bring May flowers
They say, they've said for ages gone
But what when April's dry as bones
Parched and bleached by desert suns
And May, her lover, weeps and groans
And the flowers blossom anyway?

An object in motion
Will remain in motion
And today I am glad
Because even hurtling
Through space and time
At dizzying speeds
Through blinding oceans
Of stars and rings of planets
And meteors and comets
(I always seem to dodge
Last second)
Even then
I know that
If I keep
Moving
Forward
I will not
buckle,
        crumble,
                 collapse.

Give me a screen
A blank document
A field of snow

I will not be afraid

I would trample my footprints
Leave my mark

I would not be afraid.
Not today.

Because today, I am as empty
As the text box
As the screen

And it would be a relief
To see a mark
Visible
And left by my hand

“Paris
Is always a good idea”
                                                                  But not always a practical one
Listening to the rain
Is always a good idea
                                               But what about when the sun is shining?
Walking
And watching the world turn
Is always a good idea
                                                                                            But what about
                                                                      When your bones are heavy
                                                                                           And your limbs
                                                                         Too weak to hold you up?
To sleep
To rest
Perchance to dream
Is always a good idea
                                                                                                    But what if
                                                                    There is just too much to do?
                                                                          Or you close your eyelids
                                                                   And find yourself confronted
                                                                                                      With only
                                                                        The interior of your mind?

Light
Is always a good thing.

Color
Rainbow, grayscale, monochrome
Is always a good thing.

Life
Life lived
(If not always loved)
Is always a good thing.

Joy
                                                                                                and if not joy
Hope
                                                                                            and if not hope
Calm
                                                                                             and if not calm
Peace
                                                                                           and if not peace
Breath.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

The grass is dead
Frozen solid
It is hard and brittle like shale
Cracking beneath my feet
Lumps and dips and valleys
petrified under me
I am alive
But even my breath turns granite grey
Heavy in the marble air
And I think
Maybe
The whole world
By unanimous decision
Is stone today
And I overslept
Rushing
Missed the memo
Cosmic sticky note
etched in the corner of my eye
A Reminder
That Today
We are Collectively Asleep
But the Words bubble up inside of me
big words
With the space of galaxies between them
Like continents
Each word
is
An island
I'm tapped into the spring of the universe
Drawing from the wealth
of our million words unsaid
Stone?
Stone is dead
I hear
I see
I breathe
I feel
I am
too much to be stone
So on I walk
The only living thing in a mausoleum
With a burning heart
To stave off the welcoming void

Little fish in a big water
Little girl in a big world
And though I exist beneath the surface
I only hope my tail leaves ripples on the topside too

I love you more
(You'd always reply)

Eventually
You began to say it first.
To start
With a declaration
That you loved me most
Already.
There was never any room
For me to love you
More
Or less
Than you wanted.
Usually
I didn't mind it.
Because I did love you.

Eventually
We fought
For a day
Two days
And then
Seven days
Of silence.

And I realized
I could go on living
Without you
And I heard
In the beautiful silence
Just how much
I had been listening
To you before.

(too much.)

I should have longed for you
And I did
But only
When I was lonely
Low
When I questioned myself

When we spoke again
You told me
With tears in your eyes
And a shake in your voice
That you wanted to part ways.

You cried
On the screen

I cried
Off the screen

Afterwards
When you could not
Change your mind
Out of guilt
And blame me for it
Later.

The miles stretched between us
Like a rubber band
In the hands of someone
I didn't trust anymore

I will never forget it.

There is something so final

About wishing all the best
To a best friend
You will likely never see again.

In the end
It wasn't a question of loving most.
I would have taken a bullet
If it meant you didn't have to.
In the end
I did.

Red
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well

Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe

Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting

If you see them
Something’s wrong

Cloudy today
The weatherman would say
Of me
Of my mind
Clouded haze
Foggy thoughts
Like wading through the humid day
When
It’s supposed to rain
From all accounts
But the clouds
Are huffy
And say
They’ll take the 12%
Chance of a light breeze from the nothwest
Chance of seeing someone you like
Chance of meatballs
For dinner
(for eight hundred, Alex)

It might clear up tomorrow
He’d continue,
Scratching an itch on his neck
Smiling for the cameras
Because there are people watching
Always watching
And they rely
On the weatherman
To predict
To announce
To call

With accuracy

It might
He says again, looking less certain
With every word
It might

It might be sunny, with bright
Wisps of white
Glossing across the cerulean sky
Wouldn’t that be nice?
And a warm
Breeze
And
Who knows?
Really
After all
There must be showers
Before the roses bloom
After all
He repeats
Looking to the left
Stage right
Where the rain
Is not planning to fall
Not yet
Not today
Not yet

And the whole
The whole of it
Whole comedic
Scene is trapped
In limbo
(like the space
Before a bathroom
Where there is no bathroom
Sink
Mirror
Too sheltered to loiter
Too exposed to cry
Which serves no purpose
In the grand scheme)
In my mind

But that’s all there is sometimes
Cloud
Haze
Fog
With the promise
Of sunshine
Tomorrow

(Or just
tomorrow)

This today is grey and rainy
and feels painfully like a word
meaning neither yesterday nor tomorrow

And though reason dictates
it will be one soon enough
I think it will be one of the forgettables
remembered only by this paper and these words

(and today, please, today
i need the reassurance that
i will not be the same)

“Who are you?” she asks me
With her elbows on the counter
Bridging her kingdom to mine
Her eyes see past me, through me
And I stop and I stammer
Because-- don’t ask me that, I don’t know.
How should I know?
I am a fellow traveler with myself
On this long and lonely road
Growing as I go
A sparrow searching for a nest
Because the places that used to fit me
Can’t hold the ways I’ve grown

And when I find it, I’ll step through that door
Holding hands with my darkest parts
And if I’m lucky I’ll get out before
We burn this whole house down
And as it goes, the bridge of our nose
Will tan, but I’ll get sunburnt still;
From wandering through the deserts of my mind
I know that she, that me, is out there too
And just because we haven’t found us yet
Doesn’t mean we aren’t out there to find.

Our paths just haven’t crossed since they divulged
In a yellow wood I near forget
Ever since the wood was cut
Tree by tree, to make the walls
That make the bedroom in the hall
Above the stairs where I’m still hiding
All my problems, hoping I’ll be gone before they find them.
That wood which held me as I was torn asunder
The paint which soaked up silent tears for years
Can never feel like home, and is it any wonder
That I’ve tied the pink and yellow to my fears?

And have I taken the road less traveled
In hopes of finding something new?
Or am I only pressing on in spite
Inspite of how I slowly come unraveled and unglued?
Alone and lonely—yes, I am
But why change course? For all I know
I’m almost to some place where I can rest
Halfway to some sort of home

And she doesn’t blink or stammer
Her gaze was glazed, and now confused
Because all along she asked me how
I was; she wasn’t asking who.
(And in lieu of that I meant to say
“good thanks, and how are you today?”)

Why do people hate the rain?

Why do people
               h   a   t   e
                         anything?

Why expel that effort
When instead
You could just let it roll
off your back
over your head
into your lungs?

but wait--
          that is called
                    d   r   o   w   n   i   n   g

Reflections are tricky things
Man didn't create them
Only trapped them
Hung them on a wall for his own vain glory
The glassy stillness of a lake
Was first
To echo reality above it
Distorted
It ripples like a gateway
At the kiss of a stone

It calls, it beckons
l have mystery lurking
What will happen if you
Little you
Dared to pass through
With no intention of return?
One might find oneself upside down
Standing in the sky
And brushing their feet against the stars
Or there might be monsters
Real ones
Which we can touch and feel and fight
And see while fighting
The seeds of monstrous things
Separate themselves from us
In the last few seconds of life
And we see them laid out

Even knowing this
The water calls
To the nine tenths of us it possesses
Enticing us
With the idea of a world
Identical to ours
I think
Have you ever stopped
Looked
Counted the branches?
It would be impossible
So we assume

And as the water accepts you
Feet
Waist
Hands
Shoulders
Hair, drifting like seaweed in the tide
It whispers to you
Just a little deeper now
So you go on
On
Until you discover, or drown

Or
Until you are pulled upwards
Arms grasping you around the chest
As your lungs burn with the ache of tipped scales, the balance within you lost
And you hear the voice whisper
Breath warming your ear

Not like this
My friend
Not like this

Every underwhelmment
Undid my hopes a little more
Piece by warping puzzle piece
Hacking away at innocence and
Orphaned delusionment.

Recalling this now,
Is it really any wonder that I
Can't tell euphoria from satisfaction?

Please.
Even here; even now
                             as I paint a board that may yet end up scrapped
Remind me softly,
Surely,
I am here for more than passing through.
Someday does not exist in some
Tantalizing intangible form.
Even here; even now, it is in the making.
Now, with every beating heart
Conquering every shaking hand
Even here; even now
                                           as I rest while my paint is drying.

I am weak
And wobble as I stand
Like a baby bird
A phoenix, perhaps
Rising from the ashes
With a bit too much smoke
Left in its lungs.

The old husk
That shell built over many days
Of spring and rocks,
Gentle grass and balmy river
When it forgot it’s name was phoenix
Has been torn off
Too soon, like a scab
And the new skin underneath
Is tender in its infant stage
Under thin and ashy feathers.

Yes, it lives
Yes, it is rising

But one cannot go
From flames to flight
In an instant.

Let it instead be overnight
And let you, sweet bird
Rest
In the meanwhile.

Where am I?

For those who ask:
I am in the home I grew up in
Between the intersection and the train tracks
(Did you know, when I was little and up too late
I heard the whistle of the train
And I thought it was the trumpeting of angels
Come to take me in the night.)

And where am I, Lord?
Where will this be
In history’s books?
Just down the street from a post office
Built during the civil war for shipping shoes
Still open—an essential service
In a time of worry, as it was in the time of war
(There have been sixteen cases in my town
And it has not yet touched me.)

And oh, where am I, my love?
I am with my family
Keeping my hands busy
So my mind stays still
I am in bed, or on the floor,
Or in the living room, or on the porch,
Or putting grooves in the driveway
As I stop to smell the flowers
that have bloomed the same this year
as they have on every other
except this year I have someone to compare them to and
not a blossom measures up to you, my love.

Where am I?
Home
Safe—as safe as one can be
In a familiar place
All of these are true
(But the first answer that comes to my mind
Is always “still miles away from you”)

If we say goodbye
I will write you a poem
I am a poet,
that is the way of things.

but
you are lucky
if I write you a poem that says
hello

because to admit
that something happened
is nothing

but

to admit there might be something
that isn't yet, but could be
hanging in the air

is everything

someday
there will be those who come after us
soft boys and tough boys
rough girls and fluff girls
and every shade of other in between
someday
they will sit where we have sat
and talk of what we said
and we will hand our world over to them
and they will take it
this fragile trembling beast
(we called it earth)
and it will be their world
and it will not be the same world
this earth-thing, this legacy
relies on every story
every creature that has ever walked across its skin
and I
for one
will tread lightly
softly
and paint flowers instead of trampling them

Loving her, they say,
Is sin.
A sin that'll pull you straight to hell from the weight of it.
'look to God'
They say
And point to words of man.
'are fleeting lusts worth damning gambled souls?'

So I looked at God, my God.

My God, who tends a garden.
My God whose light is all the sun
My little leaves could ever need.
My God who steered the wind
To wrap a younger lonely girl in hugs.
My God who fills the sails of ships
My God who cares, and always has
My God who calls us children
My God who tends
With water instead of brimstone
And with rescuing palms
Not uncaring heels of boots.

I look at my God
And I look at my love.
And I say,
I'll take those odds.

I did not let go in a shower
butterfly wings and
golden sundrops
Not in a cloud
where the rattling of the descent
sent soft rustles and
shivers rippled through the
child watching
Wide eyed
bright mind
purest confetti
for the party of one
                                                                                         (a coming of age)

no,
i let go
little
and late
                                                                                                   (and alone)

The hardest thing
In life
Is not to.

(specifically)

Not to find someone else
To occupy the space in my life
That you left

(when you left)

How long
will I keep finding myself
In only the pieces I've left behind?

Eleuthoromania
Likes to hold my hand
Even when I tell it I am taken,
Unavailable, betrothed and affianced
Tethered to a man who bets with solid things.
He says precious stones and he means gems. But I,
(Oh silly child that I am,) I
Remember when precious stones were only
Ordinary rocks with mica threads that glinted in the light.
Money moves the world, though,
And I must move with it. I am in it, after all
Not above, dwelling in some cloud, no.
I am in it.
And this marriage of necessity will happen,
                                                               (whether I dream of it or not.)

Don’t give me your heart
What if I break it?
Don’t give me your love
What if I can’t return it?
Don’t give me your trust
What if I drop it?

What if it slips?
The fragile thing
You’ve placed in my hands
Slips through my
Fumbling
Shaking
Fingers
The clumsy ones
That are more used to shambling across a keyboard
In a complicated dance of the mind
Than brushing aside
Loose locks of hair
Your hair

Matters of the heart
Those are
Breakable

And
I don’t know what to say
To these things
These heart stopping
Breath dropping
Beautiful things
I blush and I hide and I steady my breathing because
What can I say
But
No
I’m not
Not special
I’m not
Amazing
Or anything
Of the kind
Kind
I try to be kind
Shouldn’t everybody?
And what if
What if
What if you saw
What lies in my mind
Not that I am a lie
I promised once
I will not lie
Not to you
Not about you
Not for you
But that there is more
More darkness
I am not a companion
Nursing wounds
Bringing cheer
Brightening the days
I am the doctor
Busy
So busy
Fixing the world
Holding shattered fragments
All the lives of ever and to be
In my hands
And I forget
How easy it is to forget
That I
Am not
Self sufficient
And
That the lemon
chocolate
black tea words
You give so freely
Might be
True
Of me

Don't.

Cling to the stars
Gaze up, crane your neck, feel the weight
Your hair in its lopsided ponytail
(No matter what they tell you
nothing decrees that
you must have it perfectly centered, or straight)
Paint your nails-- some, or half, or one, or all--
Whatever your heart desires
Put art on your fingers and the toes of your
Bare feet, pressed against slanted ceilings
As the smell of wood fires drifts through the screen
In, like the breath the world takes
As it wakes, rising in the morning
With gentle blue-toned shadows
And whispers of tires on pavement
Even before the sun

Get up
Early enough to breathe
And don't make your bed
(Unless it will make you happy when you return)
Get dressed
Wear clothes that make you admire yourself
In mirrors, windows, reflections on the train
(It is not vain to love the way you look
nor in vain if it makes
the weight of your heart a little bit lighter to bear)

Press your hand to the glass when it rains
And your nose to the pane when it snows
Or better yet
Go out through the door
Hold hands with the universe
Dance to the time of the storm, or
Reach high, clasp palms, and twirl with the sun
Spun in the wind
Whichever the day warrants
(There will be days that warrant one
or the other, or both,
or something else entirely.)

You'll know, so don't worry.
Don't worry about up, that unattainable goal.
Don't grow up.
Just grow.

The Earth is molting
And though today is a day
Marked by putting layers on
Rather than taking them off
Hidden does not mean gone.
She will shed her skins again
She will bloom and rise and blush
Rolling over in crunching leaves,
Turning her face,
And baring her arms to the sun
Giving it permission
To shine on her again.
Her seasons are only moltings
She does not lose herself in them
And watching gives me hope.
She'll reemerge
And I, like her
Will too.

It is always easier to say:
                                  "I felt"
than to say
                                  "i feel"