I thought I knew myself better than anyone,
The hours I spent
Stood in front of the mirror
Picking new masks to hate every
Day, Hour, Minute

I thought there was nothing more to me,
The pale skin, chewed fingernails,
The tired eyes
Reflecting the sleepless nights- the morning coffee
I thought I was worth nothing.

One night the stars sent me you,
I still see you as a gift
So delicate and fragile;
One mistake and you'd slip through my fingers
Gone. To someone who deserves you.

You unfurled galaxies in my eyes
Flowers in my mind
And feeling in my veins,
You breathed life into my lungs
Sang promises into my ear -

Filling my head with the thought of you.
You have hold of my heart
As though it was precious to you,
But I know better than anyone, if you let it go
then Darling, so will I.

When I was six years old
My father let me watch the Omen.
For the three months that followed
I was convinced I was the antichrist.
Every morning I would stand on the step stool
In front of the bathroom mirror
And scour my scalp
For the imprint of 666.
Not even the devil wanted me as his.

For years I thought I was adopted
Because my hair isn’t straight like theirs,
My skin isn’t clear like theirs.
My legs stretch like sunflower stalks
While theirs wilt
Like tulips after spring.
It turns out
Genetics is a lottery
And I did not win.

My body is 90% wishbone
And 5% muscle.
I can’t do a pushup
But god am I good at daydreaming.
I run out of breath after walking up a flight of stairs
But my spine is made out of wind chimes.

My mother once told me
I was the easiest child to take care of.
I didn’t cry, I didn’t scream.
It wasn’t until I was 15
And leaking novocain onto the kitchen floor
That my pent up music
Shattered the wine glasses.
I cleaned every bit of crystal up
And no one knew about my symphony.

I wear my secrets like shawls.
Everyone compliments the pattern,
Ask if I made them myself.
I say “a girl I know helped me.
She is the reason I am where I am today”.
They ask if they know this girl
And if she can make them one.
I say, “caged birds don’t give free birds directions”.

I lay in the bathtub
And push my head underneath.
I listen to the steady ticking
Of the bomb wired in my chest.
Its only a matter of time.
Run. Take cover.
Leave me to the ashes.
Maybe we’ll find out I am a phoenix.
Maybe we’ll find out I am just another girl.
Another swan feather kissing the river.

Maybe this will be a wakeup call.
Maybe metaphors aren’t band aids
And maybe stanzas aren’t gauze.
Or maybe god really does exist,
His home just isn’t in the clouds.
Maybe I am god.
Maybe god is home and I am finally home.

They look at me
And they see a blank face.
They see a mind like a blank slate
Ready to be written on
In permanent marker.
They don’t see someone else’s writing
Already there
In perfect cursive script.

You see, people don’t talk to me.
Whether its because my lips
Are normally sewn shut with my own heartstrings
Or because when I talk its a jumbled mess
Of nonsense about aliens and feminist politics
I don’t know.

You see, I think a lot.
I am chock full of socialist propaganda
And love songs about front teeth.
Arrow heads of conversation starters that
Never make it past my lips.
Memory disks with scratches that distort the image.
Sock drawers overflowing with symbolic syllables and similes.

I think about the fist sized holes in living room walls
And the love notes hidden inside.
The songs sung in lieu of apology.

I think about my teeth cracking on
The dentist’s wedding ring.
The opening and closing of the storm door and my mother
Saying “good god we need to get that thing fixed”.
Fainting in the shower.
The angry purple bruise that blossomed
Like jasmine on my arm the next day.

I think about my bones
Cracking like wooden wind chimes slamming together.
Wishbone hearts being snapped in two.
Eating nothing but salt and razor blades.
Stomach acid tearing through everything and anything.
The alleys between my teeth.
The hornets locked inside my mouth
Stinging my gums.

I think about Allen Ginsberg tasting his first sin,
Sylvia Plath kissing her children’s foreheads,
And Maya Angelou speaking again.
I think about Anne Sexton
Tipping the bottle back
And Frida Kahlo falling in love with herself.
I think about the poems being
Forced fed to me and
I don’t mind at all.

You see I think a lot.
Questions like wasps swarming, swarming, swarming
Around my skull like a hive.
You see this is unexpected.
A mute girl isn’t supposed to think so much.
A mute girl is supposed to listen
What will happen to me if I don’t listen?
Another question to add to the list.
You see I am not a blank slate.
I am a tattoo parlor wall
And a message board.
An online forum.
A dream journal washing up on a Jersey shore beach.
You see I am not clay.
I’m not even marble.
I am art in its purest form.
Untampered and untouched.

what is it, exactly,
that you're doing?

I'm talking to you,
universe

how am I to take
what's happening?

I bare crooked teeth
still through all

I feel so warm &
wanted

yet so wholly
rejected

I need whispers
in my ear

sweet messages
to hold me

when there's no
refuge near

what at last is
the scheme here?

there's a rug
somewhere,

set to be ripped
from under me

but that's how
these things go

like spring snow

the way that the
wind blows

all of those
spectacles

into observable
formation

I want to understand

I'm not ready yet

I am not an all knowing
being, but a being with that of a mind
so open as the universe around us.
I claim I think like no other,
I may be wrong.
I find that everything is beautiful with a reason,
I may say I don't care but "that",
may be a lie.
I can say I dislike "Bad" comments,
but that is "they".
I may be selfish , but that is "me"
I may seem dramatic, but that is me as "myself"
I am an observational individual.
I may be selective of what I question, But
that is "I".
I may not be a Lover, but that doesn't mean
I would not like to be "happy".
I may not be a Fighter, but that doesn't mean
I will not "pursue happiness"

you're in my system
leaving your mark
on all my innards
and body parts

I'm hoping that with
this drink to my lips
I can drown & purge
the throne on which you sit

i am in love with the sky and his crown of ichor and heart of plenty.
i am taken by love with the every day shock.
it is to be in love, that you relish in his every heartbeat - many.
i am in that love that makes me perpetually walk.

he slings a spear of singularity,
i am to be noticed.
but he is in the sky of celerity,
and i am grounded.
i take the golden light all at once.
the sun will never set in my soul.

the heavens part and leave an abyss,
the longing for his static lashes makes my sun itch
for his crackling discharge of power. oh how i miss !
the arc and flow of his lightning whip.

i hold my sun to the sky.
its celestial light shall carry me high.
king of killers, teller of lies!
heed the angels' song of wry.
i am the storm, and this time i am also the eye.

what a time to be alive

you see me licking my wounds
& I see you creating new ones

what incredible timing

drunk on company, on beer
and the "holiday cheer"

but that's not what it sounds like

we all got pretty ******,
it's a surprise I didn't *****

the room kept spinning

it was the holidays, though
and there was certainly cheer

my ears were ringing

oddly enough though, I
accepted it as a blessing

I can't fight against time

time is beautiful in the way it indiscriminately destroys

I'm not one to resist beauty

it's so chaotic and it makes
absolutely no sense at all

but it takes you places

I couldn't find the sea and
beauty led me there

even though life is loss

you get used to it and those
terrible beautiful things

can fill the cracks in your being
if you let them seep through you