it's the whisper of a weary goodbye
caught in a sea of hellos
the faintest touch against your lip
from a manicured hand
or one so callused
it's fingertips rough as they glide on your skin
it's that feeling of familiarity
in a place so foreign
where no one knows your name but you
or who you are
and when you wander around at night
to stumble into your kitchen
making the pots and pans rattle against each other
it's the burning in your chest that goes down your throat
and into your stomach
birthing butterflies that flutter around
it's the cold splashes of water on heated skin
the tear stained pillowcases, the tear stained sweaters
the near-bleeding red scratches of the night before
and the deep blues and purples of a bruise
and when you've had enough
it's the mind-numbing ringing in your ears
and the sudden wash of everything at once
when you take those rose-tinted glasses off
maybe it's love.

dragging your claws
along the skin
of one who has
(long before this)
done the same
to her and him,
that and those.
trying to bring to the surface
what lies buried
(far below)

remember,
what you know about time
that sees under your you
to take what lies low
high

Did you hear that?
That shear pain
That sounds like scratches on a chalkboard.
That horrible sound that makes you think of the last rejection from your crush.
Did you think about that one moment that everyone around you knows the truth about you but you
That’s funny because you see the truth all around you,
All you could hope is that no one notices all the issues in your life
Everyone sees what’s going wrong in your life while you are putting on this big cheese smile,
Knowing that your whole world is on fire
And I don’t mean a little campfire fire, I mean a fire that could take out an entire country
A fire that could burns you from the inside out.
You can tell who have been fighting this fire within themselves
It’s worse when all the people involved end up acting like they know nothing
You just have to sit there and wonder what is going to happen next
This is that moment that you hear that shear pain all over again
You feel that fire that burned you
Sometimes you just got to think about how you got there
Did you ever think that someone is setting you up to fail?
That’s something I always thought about
Why, why would someone like myself think that way?
Well, let’s get real.
Everyone has an agenda, whether you were meant to be there or not.
That agenda changes more times than I do into an outfit to go out in
Which is upsetting because all I do is try on different sets of shirts to get told
“Just wear that, no one is going to care”
Sorry that I actually care about my appearance
Sorry that you wanted me to just choose one shirt
But I am not sorry for making myself look different
Because when I am out, I want to be a different person
That is my moment to meet someone new,
Every time I’ve gone out with my friends I made at least one new friend
So I am not sorry for trying on different sets of shirts to remind myself that I am meeting someone new
Someone that didn’t know I was going to change their agenda
But one thing I will always notice is that once you change someone’s agenda
Your agenda stays the same,
This one person I met at a bar
We chatted it up, I learned they lived in my same borough, they got me a couple of drinks
All I gave them was my Facebook profile…
Clearly I was making “a move” as my best friend told me
That’s the moment that I questioned where my agenda was taking me
My agenda wanted me to feel that shear pain again
But it raises the question of why does being nice have to look like flirting now?
How does that make sense?
So if I compliment your outfit, does that mean that I want you in my bed?
No...it means that I think your outfit is cute
I just can’t even comprehend that thought process of how we got to that point
My mother always told me to be nice to everyone
I guess that would make me a flirtatious person…
But guess what I am not that person
I’m the person that fights for what I believes in
Fights for the people closest to my heart
This is all about that shear pain that makes me think of a scratching on a chalkboard
That shear pain wasn’t created physically
It was all about the words that was said aloud to me

The marks you left behind after the bruises faded
A flinch at a hesitant touch
Afraid to be alone with someone
Afraid to be touched in a hug
It isn't on purpose
I swear
I just panic at touches even by family
From what you left when the bruises had healed over

sometimes an acrid heat
rises in my vocal cords
it tells me to do things
i don't want to do
but i do want it
i just wish i didn't.

it steals my voice
it masquerades as honor
it whispers justifications
it reveals itself to me
in a way i can't refuse

it tells me
it reminds me
how sweetly it stings
when i drag my fingers
against my skin
how could i say no?
i am weak

it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
i(t) want(s me) to hurt
because it never was anything
but my own desires
i just didn't want them
to be mine

I knew I’d had met him again one day.
it occurred …
when the sense of pain was just gone.
I’ve absorbed it all back at once
just once, by chance, he saw my eyes.

Sly strategist of mine.
we built hybrid addiction
ought to be banished
but for them all, you pounded loud.

Ancient visionary,  

You go back and
dig my utter emptiness,
sweating not a drop of infinite.

You seek out what’s never been lost,
what’s baffled and vain,
rot and forceful either way.

Blue worship my reveries
thin like blades and air,
worn out like time, space
and everything in between.

Some shy away from shade,

beams are scratches of light to me.

Crying like a fool
For a friend hurt my feelings
Scratches on my heart

hello
it's been a while since we've talked
you let me become a stranger
another face on a milk carton
helpless and sad; a lost soul
hello
it's been a while since we talked
i heard you went to my funeral
where they buried who i used to be
hello
a introduction; a greeting but
you let my hello turned strangled.
hello scratched through my dry throat and
when it finally pushed past my cracked lips
hello
sounded far too much like
help

You are strings of pearls that cross thresholds between worlds
Little beads of ecstasy threaded through debris
You’re a smile in the morning when the sun is fresh and bright
You are scratches in the dark when the day has turned to night