my lips are coated in dust from centuries of silence
cobwebs lace between my eyelashes from decades of darkness
the spiders who made them have moved on or died long ago
the dead ones curled up
rigor mortis in my ears
my flesh decays
i no longer remember when the crows last came to feast
before the rotting began
i do, however, remember that i was once alive
and had been when i was buried here

i was taken from my home, wrenched from my bed in the middle of the night
by six hulking figures that wore my face
icy cold hands with vice like grips around my wrists, throat, and ankles dragged me through the dark and empty streets, silent but for my screams
they did not answer when i asked them what they wanted
they did not listen when i pleaded for my life

the sun was beginning to rise as we arrived at my tomb
they released me and i stood to face them
my back to the black entrance
i knew in my heart that i was meant never to feel the warmth of another day
they would not let me, and i was not strong enough to take them all on
knowing this, tears fell from my captors’ eyes and mine
i turned and walked inside, my final act of free will
the figures watched

time passed
hours turned to days, which began to fade, like my memory of colors
i have since lost track of time, having no light or method with which to keep it
i can only assume it has been a while, whatever that means

i have stopped wondering why i am here
the wondering without answers would have driven me mad

would have driven me mad

would have driven me mad

would have driven me mad

Second chances exist in the smell of pine needles on a winter day
A walk as the day wakes, bleary eyed and yawning
As dawn breaks to show sunlight over the steepest cliff
The wind in my hair even after I swore I’d shave it off

It exists in the Avett brother songs
Words I learned from someone I used to hate
Melodies that help me heal even now
While the record spins by my bed and I feel like like I’m just now breathing for the first time
The birds chirp to their tune and I can’t help but sigh deep,
in and out

Second chances exist in these moments I’ve crafted
The smell of a candle from a friend long ago
A necklace someone once thought I’d hate
On the dresser my mother built for me
Books I shared with the girl I grew up with
Pages I prayed she’d hold dear even when we parted
A well loved shirt and a hope for my future

Of coffee and cold mornings with you by my side
As we dance to no song, in time
Step, and swing.
You in my arms and your love in my heart.
Onward, towards nothing in particular.

Let me take you
Put your hand in mine: in all softness and frankness:
And let us dance
Spin and flurry through a world of white, lavender, gorgeous scarlet, and vigorous cerulean-
The wind our friend, our toes like feathers

Prancing across earth
Held to each other only
by our very fingertips
Never afraid of letting
go

We’re in a forest of orange and bright gold in the sky
Floating toes brushing only air
Soft leaves shroud our heads
we’re blind to everything else
Your lips curl in pure joy, they spill staccato laughter
music to my ears
In this moment, in this breath, we are
Nothing else.
Saw the sun and the moon one and the same
Eclipses of light spanning the entire ocean
It was a world above heaven
and

I saw
you
Hair flying- your locks heavy with shadow and glimmering with light
Face carved from the most
precious
Of nature’s birth and bloom
My eyes tracing your steady legs and gentle hands- to rest on
yours-
your time-stopping; shattering; heartbreakingly beautiful
eyes.


We took off
To a world we had never seen; of new colors and jumping sounds and daunting heights and terrifying speeds-
Look at all this sky! Look at all our freedom! Why search for ground if we weren’t ever to land?
We could go anywhere in the universe- you and I! All of this boundless, endless space!
Let us wrack and demolished to shards, those chains that bound us to the ground-
and let us fly free, free, free-
Just you and I-
flying-


we are free




The sky is iridescent above the clouds
before our clear gazes
I see your face
as beautiful
as pure
as I remember it;
as our hair
tangles in the wind;
and our essence becomes
one-


and…


    follow me, my dear.

Follow me as we


                                     f
                                      a
                       ­                 l  
                                         l


softly tattering into pieces and slivers and smudges
devastating
unravel into a thousand petals
a flurry of pieces that used to be ourselves,
resting on the ground like fallen feathers----
-

never
to
come back
again





our wings have died

our legs have crumbled

and my fingers have gone,

i can no longer see or feel your

beautiful, beautiful face or hair or hands





Ah, can you feel it?          
Can you feel the darkness?
It’s closing in, it’s swallowing us whole,
The point of no return with no choice but to end
Darkness has chased us in
Only black oblivion waits






but i won’t forget

not in my last moments of existence

and  not to the death of my sentient memory

i will

never

forget you

your laugh

your flying hair

your sparkling eyes



even if all ends

even if


i die.




























(do you regret it, my dear?

I once was fine
Floating on the water
No weight to drag me down

Then a rock was tied to my foot
Dragging me down to the depths
Struggling to stay afloat
With the weight tied to my foot

As soon as I could swim with the weight to my foot
Another was added to my other foot
It felt heavier and heavier
As another and another and another
Was added to my feet

Suddenly I was drowning with the weight
The weight pulling me down
I couldn’t swim
I could barely breath
All I tasted was the water in my lungs

But I kept going
Kept swimming up
To take a breath without water

I made it I could breath again
I was strong enough
The weight to my feet made me fight
Harder and harder
The long battle hasn’t finished yet

I may go underwater sometimes but I refuse to drown
I will always swim to the top again

that big ugly thing stomps its feet
rears its head and shows bared teeth
that big ugly thing roars an echo
flares it nose and gores me beneath
the cracking sky of a barebone youth
the laughing demons of jeers uncouth
that big ugly thing won’t leave me alone
that big ugly thing is at hand, and here, i stand
i’ve got a stick, and they’ve got ivory tusks
and fangs and venom and a rage inside that poisons my kindness, my patience, my virtue
and still i hold my stick high, open my eyes, and keep getting up
no matter the horn that pierces nor the bones that shatter
no matter the claws that catch nor the ribs that scatter
no matter the teeth that tear nor the blood that spatters

i mean, it’s not like i’m going to let them win
i’m a pretty sore loser

i am planting seeds between tiles on the bathroom floor.
fingers bloodied,
ceramic grouted dust caked under nails
as I dig inch-deep holes
into the cracks and place,
oh so gently,
small dark seeds into the soil of
this apartment's skin.
i am on my knees
praying,
i am on my knees
planting,
i am just
on my knees.
I use toothpaste to bury them,
i caulk them into place with
my own ingredients.
i take a shower
water puddles under my feet
and i imagine the seeds drinking it up,
gorging themselves on my
***** water.
***** because i haven't showered in days,
***** because i sweat,
***** because i am me, and it has touched my skin.
and i imagine that one day
i will walk into the bathroom
to find a field of blue mums,
marigolds, lavender, daisies, and
clover
bursting up through the seams in the ceramic,
staining the walls, reflecting light back onto
my skin and i'd feel-
god, i don't know-
i think i'd feel alive.

has never seen a wisteria tree.
has seen a willow tree, from a distance, and 
grew up near four cherry trees that would
flower early every spring,  light pink and white petals
only there for a moment-
only to be knocked off
to rot in piles on the driveway, petals
falling onto the asphalt, onto shoulders,
falling all around  and feeling like a dream.
imagines a wisteria tree a little like that-
feeling like a dream.
hearing, somewhere that they're beautiful
when in bloom-
purple? maybe?
light blue? Also a possibility-
wonders what they're like when not,
spindly branches or thick twisting ones,
unsure of the specificities but knows that
it is beautiful because it is real,
somewhere else,
some other frame of reference.
has seen an aspen tree, the Rockies alive with them
standing on a mountain and looking out at the
waves of them and thinking that maybe that the Earth
breathes too, that
it was her chest rising and falling too
slow to perceive with
human eyes.
knows nothing of the aspen's fate from a plague of beetles,
remembers someone describing the trees as
being "eaten alive" but doesn't remember quite
who said it.
has seen a pine tree, climbed its branches as a child,
places warm palms against its trunk now,
every once and awhile looks up and
remembers how it felt-
how what felt?
the beginning of everything-
of looking out into the
sprawling earth as she breathes,
and the vast emptiness of the sky
and feeling alive.
has seen an oak tree, planted one in fact,
has Not seen a redwood.
does not know what a cherry or maple looks like
despite best efforts,
cannot remember the beetles,
despite best efforts,
cannot reach the top of the pine,
despite best efforts,
still cannot picture the wisteria tree.

1
there is something mindlessly vicious about mornings alone.
the birds call for each other as the sun rises and it’s all very
lonely, isn’t it?
the pomegranate is beautiful but no less sour for it,
the clouds are a light orange.
it still stings.
you sleep in the bed next to me and i have loved nothing like i love you,
except maybe my cat, but that’s different
i think,
or maybe my dog, or our three rats-
is it possible to be in love with different things at once?
i’m still deciding- give me another 20 years to figure it out.
my mother always told me i had so much love 
bouncing around in my chest that it was hard to keep still,
everything was-slash-is so beautiful that i couldn’t sit in one place,
affection bursting out of me from the seams.
maybe that’s true, maybe that’s just ADHD,
but does it matter? i’m not sure
what does matter:
the way my cat slept with me last night,
curled up between my chest and the edge of the bed,
rumbling softly in the moonlight.
reminds me that she loves me with soft eyes 
and the press of her perfect forehead against my hand.
i scratch under her chin and she purrs.
i lie there,
aching,
and try to sleep.

2
i believe in a past life i was a hermit
living on a wild cliff above the sea.
i spoke to only the animals i cared for and
my own reflection.
this makes sense to me-
why else would i choke on words so easily?
why else would they stick to the roof of my mouth and 
refuse to come out?
instead i think the words i want to say and then keep them inside-
little secrets
only i am allowed to know.
have you thought of a dam yet?
is it overflowing? water
streaming down the sides? throwing itself over the 
edge? dashed on the rocks below?
yeah.
yeah i think that fits, too.
bottles shatter in my chest only to be contained 
by another, larger bottle,
so on and so forth,
until my chest is fit to explode.
i get a gift for a friend, and it doesn’t work.
this feels like a metaphor for something
but i don’t know what yet.
i’m still working on that part.

3
something that always bothered me was,
like,
who allowed this to happen?
was it my mother? meaning well but hurting me anyway?
was it my father? was it G*d?
i don’t think we’ll talk about either of them
(and yes, i understand that this is a cop out).
the pinecone brings life and oxygen
but it stabs my hand when i cradle it.
life always finds a way, yes,
but could it maybe hurt just a little less?