My thighs ache with hunger for release
And tears stream down my face
176 Days Since I saw you last
And felt your sweet caress of silver.
I feel you rising up inside
Engulfing my lungs and
With every breath you grow.
I must resist.
I will do everything,
Everything.
To divert your attention.
But I only manage to divert it to my wrists.

Most days, I wear
my depression, my anxiety,
my PTSD, like Girl Scout badges
I proudly sewed on a sash
and wear on my uniform to Brownies.

Part of a girls' club for which
my member's card never came home from school
or the mail,
but the ceremony was held anyway.
Induction was never an option,
and the meetings are held every day.

Reciting the motto,
and finger painting it everywhere;
it's my identity more often
than it isn't.

There are others outside the club,
who say maybe those badges could be replaced,
one by one, with items that are
more worthy of what life becomes;
More worthy of topics of conversation, they will bring more joy;
More entertaining than ****, or abuse,
or why sadness lingers like strep in my throat
that cannot be cured with the strongest of antibiotics.

I just want to get a badge that says I learned how to skip today.
I blew bubbles and they flew and glimmered into the wind.
I played hopscotch and counted to ten while remembering to breathe
and reciting my favorite rhyme.

Cognitive distortions, and it's always been like this;
Water fountain eyes with no thirst-quenching,
bruises spreading out in hand-shaped marks around my neck,
whispering not to speak;
Mom says I'm just looking for attention, while wanting to shrink
with all the clothes that no longer fit;
Dad hits me when -

There I go again.

I'll dream in cotton candy color of a future that dissolves
honey sweet between my teeth:
Carefully I'll sew on badges saying I graduated,
held down a job,
and became something.

adhesion of water on the glass
in the car it feels foreign
maybe delusional is the mind
to think and think constantly
stare at it longingly
then it will be undone

as bare the body
as bold the head
i rub in circles
try and try the melancholic hums
to no avail it numbs
not the left hand
nor is the right hand
thus the chest screams
in silence

round and round the wheels of the car
travel the echo to an empty space
there is no instance to mask
the lines on the skin

you will be 14 the first time a boy surges his way inside you
like a battering ram, unyielding at the castle gates
and you'll cry quietly and forget about it until you're 17
when a leering grin is the only precedence to fingers like knives
that scale the walls searching for whatever treasure that is rumoured inside you
you will be unable to dismiss the fear that swirls like animation-show thunderclouds above your head
when its dark outside and you've still got 10 minutes left of your journey and right here, this alley
cross the road to avoid it because you can't trust shadows in places like these
and hell, you'll still be afraid the next day at 2pm walking home from a doctors appointment
hearing the loud thud thud thud of footsteps behind you and they speed up with a thud thud ThUd THUD
your heart crazy and rioting like a bird in your chest but its just a man trying to get past you because of his long, long legs, and heavy footfalls
you haven't felt safe in the places you should've and that scared you for years until you made it to 17
layers of memory peeling back with the catalyst and you know now why arms always felt like iron bars
because you see a smile storm past your eyes when you close them
and hear the soft laugh of the older boy
as you squirm under him and no, you haven't told anyone
too late to make change and too late to stop being afraid
this, your secret shame,
you will be 14 when you let yourself get *****.

stone's throw and the water's current, clouds shifting in the valley of the sky above
screams could be heard near
no,
it was more of a giddy falsetto, shouts that sounded too drunk,
it was an all too familiar sound for james an all too familiar person

"look at my wings! im a fairy! im coming home to the beloved land! wait for me fairy sisters!"

he went to the clear to see if he was hallucinating he wasn't
it really was her;
sophia
nine months since they broke up; that tearful separation

for a minute he just stood there at the far end of the river watching his ex girl friend spread her arms and glide near the banks in the bridge chanting and giggling

god, did he miss her voice and her laugh

she was just like how he remembered her, her timeless free spirited soul still intact as if she took her childhood with her as she grew up, clenched tightly in her fists

the moonlight kissed her milky pale skin, bathing it in a dusty sort of blue.
she was all by herself and he could tell that something was off;
like she was only half there, like her soul vacated her vessel and she was talking to someone not there

she seemed disoriented and james wondered if she was getting bad again,

the worry kicking in as soon as he thought about all those nights,
those times they got high and drank too much and drugged themselves, injecting poison they craved into their veins, letting cigarette ashes fall to their feet, tiptoeing about as if by a marionette's force trailing along the synchronized beating of their hearts
his mind and being time travelling, to the motel room they stayed at that summer bursting with heated afternoons and passionate air, the sheets that smelled of their love making, the wooden floor they sat on as he strummed the strings of his beloved guitar, singing to his muse, the balcony where they laid in each other's arms, in awe of the world around, cicadas chirping
their adventures and misadventures where she pretended to be a superhero and had him as her sidekick the times they pretended to be spies on quest and missions-she introduced and dragged him into her colorful magical realm.
she had dog eared, coffee stained colored books piled in the trunk of her car with words and sentences blacked out, renewed into greater poetry. he could've put a bookmark between pages of one of those books, and they could've dived right into it, staying in a chasm of a sappy, lovesick, sensual poem. they could've gone on a quest of slaying monsters and stopping time for eternity. he couldve stopped them from drowning

they were looking for heaven not knowing that heaven is not a places on earth

all he did was pull down the anchor and let her sink as he kept afloat. sure their connection was real and pure. they comfortably had both of their minds and spirits bare around each other they were two kites flying in a parallel motion but the wind dragged them down hurling them recklessly

they were rarely under substances, almost never under the influence of vices. it filled them up like birthday balloons and their love was the needle that caused them to pop. it had reached the point where they were trapped in a psychedelic haze holding on to each other to stay lucid

the drugs took their toll on them resulting to violence, abusive fights
he loved her so much that he built her a house of bricks and cement to protect her from the big bad wolf not knowing that ****** and ******* turned him into a wolf and he huffed and puffed til he blew her down blew her dead

he felt his heart hit the flat line as her heart stopped for seconds in the ambulance that night he felt everything warp into everything he's ever known everything he's ever had, ever los. he felt the drugs warp into her as if she was the side effect instead of the addiction. the drugs gave them the illusion of being alive while remaining two lifeless, misguided souls.

miraculously they were able to revive her back to life but comatosed with only monitors and tubes sustaining her "life".
that night he dreamt of being with her and holding her hand for the last time as they made a pact, the promise; that they would both get better, get help, get rehab, have blood in their bloodstreams again and have normal functioning lives. they parted with a promise and a someday; that someday they'd meet again when things were right and the stars have aligned maybe, maybe. they kissed and touched in one another's presence before they parted in different directions, for freedom for the better it was a dream within reality. he knew she dreamt it too, that they were stars weaved in the same dream.

he walked closer, to where she was, still seemingly trapped in a trance mindlessly but she alarmingly tethered too close to the water, flailing her arms inviting the wind to knock her down and be part of the river, be the tides the rocks skipped. he had to do something

" sophia!" he screamed, her name echoing past the trees and the trailer houses. it was enough or her to look at him with those eyes, the same eyes that said it all before. recognition fleeted for a second before it went blank but she stopped tethering and perched herself on the bridge

he gave her a lift and took her home to the dorm she was newly staying at for the semester (it was hard to get it out of her from her drunken slurs almost like he had to pull her back from space) and on his drive back with a cigarette perched on his lips he thought about the way he laid her down, passed out and how he stayed for a bit longer, letting his fingers linger across her hair spun from golden silk and the lopsided smile that hung in her face while she slept.

he wondered most of all if she really got better, if the dark was behind her and if she was truly beyond it. he really wanted to believe the pictures that lined the walls,pictures of her smiling, with her friends, her family months after the promise.

she did look better, her skin baring a hint of plumpness and had a healthy glow replacing the sagging hollow that lived in it all those months. after the episode he witnessed (she did reek of ***** and had bloodshot eyes and was shaking not to mention the trance she was in), he didn't know if she was only good at keeping up the "better" facade. but he had his fingers crossed

he was about to let himself out, an ache growling in his stomach as they were to be separated again but he guessed it was the closest they would ever be.

"tell james i love him. always"

his head swiveled back to her and she was still tucked asleep. he could've sworn she said it, he couldn't be hearing things-after being eight months clean of substance usage.

he felt the familiar burn of the cigarette, and he threw it out of the window leaving the remnants of the nicotine inside him. he hated himself for lighting one up and keeping a half pack all this time. this was his first successful relapse and it was all because of her. like a ship tied down to an anchor;he was still tied to her, invisible ropes weighing him back to her ghost



she would always be his downfall

Hunter S Thompson held hands with death
The bony fingers wrapped over his own
Resting on the trigger of a gun pressed to his head
Bang: blood went everywhere
Found by his son with dead eyes and cold to the touch

Sylvia Plath laid her head on deaths lap
Inside of an oven with the gas turned on
She took deep breaths and starved for oxygen
Carbon monoxide filled her lungs
Found by a nurse with blue lips and a still chest

David Foster Wallace reached up to kiss the lips of death
A rope worn as a necklace
He let his body hang as his face turned blue
Found on his patio with a broken neck and a broken heart

I too am a writer and they are scared for me to reach for death
I long for their embrace as a razor across my wrists
Writers are always torn apart trying to be too many people at once
So let them find me without a spark of life or an ounce of blood left inside

the only funeral i've ever been to was my great-grandmother's. it was alabama in june. i was young, maybe 8 or 9, wearing a church dress and watching strangers offer me comfort and candy.
when the viewing was happening, my oldest sister took us outside and told us stories of mama. how she fled from the phillipines during WWII with a five-year old kid and a dead husband. it felt like a made up story then. still does sometimes.
my father gave a eulogy at the grave sight. he compared my great-grandmother to a magnolia tree. how southern. we prayed. then we ate.
i remember my grandfather crying. sobbing. openly expressing his grief. i remember the look on his face. like it was all over. like existing hurt now that his mother was gone.

that funeral has never ended for me.
i still feel the humidity in my head.
the mourners, unaffected, continuing
staring down into the ditch where she lays
empty condolences from faceless relatives
overlap each other until they are only mumbles
an ongoing buzz of misery.
and when the bells toll, it isn't space
it is the ground in which the box lies
a perpetual reminder that i will join her soon.
grey matter the soil, nerves the worms, and i
the ditch digger. searching for my great-grandmother's
pearls, her soul, my soul.

that funeral has never ended for me.
and when the plank in reason breaks
the worlds i hit will be those of knives
and monsters and crucifixes nailed to
the walls of my childhood bedroom.
shadows envelop me further,
anonymous lovers will invite me to believe
that i have finished knowing yet
i am no where ******* close.
my great-grandmother's shaky hands
will try to catch me as i'm dropping down
but no luck. i will keep falling
until every single person who has
broken my heart and whispered truths into
my skull has ripped every inch of skin
off my body while the mourners watch from
above. i will keep falling as long as this
funeral continues. as long as my life continues.

we named the magnolia tree in our front yard after her. Mama's magnolia. when it blooms, my grandfather comes over and stares at it for a long time. like i, he and silence have wrecked.
solitary. here.