Your smile inspires me
To write

I have already spoken about hearts
and their inability to affect other peoples hearts
I'll never go there again

But your smile
makes me smile

You've got dimples designed for sailing
kiss me
and we'll make a ship
big enough to break the bay

Brave enough the beach our bellies
to kiss new land

Smile so big you chew the tip of your tongue again
I want to make you laugh so hard
and so often
you have crows feet by the time you're 30

You are an ocean-throat whisper
of salty air
and sand that sticks to the bottom of my feet like a memory
the way my feet always remember how to land
to cushion the blow

Inside your smile are lists
lessons on living
that you might one day tell me
it's hard to talk when you catch wind like you do

I want to kiss the words out
taste your language

Run my thumb along the bottom crescent
curved first finger under your chin

Your smile is a language
anyone can learn
I can read your lips

At least I think I can read your lips

They always say kiss me

say

There is a secret hidden between these teeth
Tucked under this tongue
Buried in the back of this throat

Coax it out
I dare you

Secrets are prone to laughter
find safety in the crevices
of dimples designed for sailing

Tell me what it is

Your smile inspires me
To write
To kiss you
To mirror back your language
With my
Broken toothed
and ***** dimpled
secret

Your smile
I want to kiss it

Apparently
I am a blade with no edge
"useless tool"
She said it because I cut her.

I am not born as yet,
five minutes before my birth.  
I can still go back
into my unbirth.
Now it’s ten minutes before,  
now, it’s one hour before birth.  
I go back,
I run
into my minus life.

I walk through my unbirth as in a tunnel  
with bizarre perspectives.
Ten years before,
a hundred and fifty years before,
I walk, my steps thump,
a fantastic journey through epochs  
in which there was no me.

How long is my minus life,
nonexistence so much resembles immortality.

Here is Romanticism, where I could have been a spinster,  
Here is the Renaissance, where I would have been
an ugly and unloved wife of an evil husband,
The Middle Ages, where I would have carried water in a tavern.

I walk still further,  
what an echo,  
my steps thump
through my minus life,  
through the reverse of life.  
I reach Adam and Eve,
nothing is seen anymore, it’s dark.
Now my nonexistence dies already
with the trite death of mathematical fiction.
As trite as the death of my existence would have been  
had I been really born.

Star shot blue eyes
a meatior shower starts to fall in my head my skin tightens
I see a faint flash nothing more then a flicker at first, a galexy was born between sparks of our laughter
I thought I knew but I wasnt sure I loved her at least these fleating moments I could
all the hot new stars started to fad to a deep terqose as our galexy grew old I say good night you shift your eyes and said the same and give me one more meatior shawer with a simple smile
in my dreams you came sailing along the soft light of the moon to steal me away once more
for two weeks I just traced my way through our constolation just finding little remnants of you just star dust now
I sit and wait under the night sky speckled with stars hoping you would deside to fall my way again and bring me back out to space to spin around and around like we did our first night in the sky

You complain that I don’t tell you anything.
I’m a secret and a mystery to you.
You’re my daughter, you say.
Everything should show plainly on my face
and my heart needs to be planted squarely on my sleeve.
Well, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I need to prove to you I’m worth it.
I’m sorry that I don’t trust telling you anything
because I’m afraid you’ll squash
my moments of happiness.
I’m sorry I could never be
who you wanted me to be.
But you never saw me for who I was.
You never accepted me just as I am.
“You need to be better.
You need to be thinner.
You can’t sing for the rest of your life, it’s not a living.
You can’t
You’re not
You are forbidden.
We always thought you’d get C’s in school.
What’s that on your face?
Let me pick at you,
because I can’t stand to see any blemishes.
(Never mind you’re a teenage girl,
that blackhead has got to go.)”
And you wonder why I don’t go home much anymore.
I think the things that hurts the most
is that you didn’t have high expectations for me.
You didn’t push me to be the best that I could be,
you pushed me to be who you thought I should be.
But now, I’m someone who you don’t recognize.
Because I realized the most important thing:
I can’t be anyone
but myself.
P.S.-I had a 4.0 this semester.
So much for the C’s.

The room shrinks.
She missed again, the vein dodging the needle.
The body reacts

                                                       confused

And ineffective. Cold yet sweaty, those ears sink under water.
My bags unpacked, my threads untied, yet

                                                                                           I am gone.

Nothing remains, and the nothing is tranquil.

A second? An hour?
The cacophony begins, muted
The ears throb and resurface.
Voices touch, hands speak. I taste their worry.
And finally

                                                                                            I am back.

I wash in the relief of my return. I’m not ready.