a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of picking concrete out of your knees;
your father's footsteps outside of your bedroom door at night,
the loudest sound you've ever heard.

you hold a tadpole in your fist and you love it, for a moment, before it slips out from between your small fingers and back into the water, disappears into the silt.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of yanking a nail out of the sole of your foot.
your mother's voice cracking into a million little tears as she screams and screams and screams and you don't know what you did wrong but you know you did wrong.

you tie a balloon to your wrist so it cannot float away, but you cut it off to watch it go, and you cry when it is gone.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of wind rushing past you as you sprint barefoot through the woods;
your father's footsteps outside your bedroom door, still, after all this time, as recognizable to you as your own name, heavy and hurried.

you are only a child and you wear a necklace of thorns, a crown of beer bottle caps, bags under your eyes as dark as sin. you feel heavy.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again.
you feel heavy.

"go," said the girl,
and i went quietly.
"come back," said the girl,
and i came back quietly.
"go" and "come back" and "go" again,
and i did.
"weep," she said,
and i wept.
again and again and again and again.

become immovable,
a wall of unimaginable strength
too tall to see over and
too wide to walk around.
become undeniable;
do not mewl,
howl.
become so vast you cannot be looked past, shoulders so broad you cannot be held with one arm.
do not drown yourself in the tide of a man who would not **** on you if you were burning.
cultivate a culture of talking back. cornering. countering.
refusing and defying.
become unwavering.
become brave.
become angry.
become loud.
not because you are bitter but because you deserve the things you've been denied.
become immovable.

every pretty metaphor has been used,
so instead of telling you,

"your eyes are like stars",

or,

"your skin is like glass",

or,

"your teeth are like porcelain",

I'll tell you the truth.

your eyes are brown,
brown like the color of blood,
when it's dried into my cotton sleeves.
with little dark flecks that look like footsteps in desert sand.

your skin is a landscape map.
it's got bumps and pockmarks and divets
and hills and valleys and wrinkled canyons
and forests where you don't shave because you don't care (I like that).

your teeth are tombstones.
a little jagged. not quite diamond white.
you smile too big for your cheeks, and
you had all your wisdom teeth cut out before we met
(you wish you had asked the dentist to keep them, but you were on drugs and forgot).

by now you're probably thinking,
"is this an insult?"

and I want to clarify that, no, it's not.
I think your eyes and your skin and your teeth are so ******* beautiful
I've looked at you and wanted to cry.

just kids

we didn't actually do much
besides ruin street signs

but we felt like we were saving the world

he didn't ask
i didn't tell
and that worked
now he wants more
than i am willing to give
or have and
i think i love him
or loved him
or could love him someday
but right now
now he wants more
than i am willing to give
or have

i am suddenly in the autumn
autumn
autumn

of everything

and i only smell wet leaves

instead of honeysuckle

where once there was spring

i am suddenly in the autumn
autumn
autumn

light socket
***** rocket
plain white pills
silver lockets

Hennessey
Tennessee
dollar bills
can I see?

you ever scratched until you bled?
ever pinched til it was numb?
ever rubbed it raw and red?
cut just to see the blood?

how do you become
comfortable with
the bogeyman when
he lives inside your
lungs and brain and heart?
how do you tell him
that your lungs must pump
that your brain don't work
that your heart can't beat?
do you pray to him?
write little notes that
say "please" and "thank you"?
do you beat him til
he gives in and goes?
do you hug him close?
does he know how dark
it is inside there?
can he even leave?
is he permanent?
is he washable?
can you scare him out?
can you swallow down
poison and force him
out of your soft parts?
can you cut him out
with scissors or blades?
can you smoke him out?
can you drink him out?
can you throw him up?
is he there because of you?
do you really want him gone?

you ever been
cold in hot weather?
no holds barred ever?
grown old forever?
ever wrote a red note,
blood letter?
ever eaten crow
and feathers?
ever known old scratch
in the false heathers?
you ever been
cold in hot weather?

listen, I'm not tryna romanticize
the ways I feel I want to die

they're MY suicidal thoughts
and I'll write them all however I want

she's the reason my knees are bleedy
she makes it easy to be so needy
she kisses on my achy feet
and ***** the coffee off my teeth
she makes me be a very good girl
she makes every one of my toes curl
i want to smell the way she breathes
i want to make her flower wreaths
she's prettier than pity pink
she laughs like teeth hitting sink
she has a really mean right hook
i love when she makes that look
she only bites me when i plead
she's all i'll ever really need

**** it all I'm not okay
you don't wanna get this way
love until your sweet heart breaks
read until your dark eyes ache
smile until your whole face breaks
laugh until your body shakes
scream until you have no hate
fight until you get away
sing until the days grow late
do whatever it will take
but don't give in to this dark fate
you don't wanna get this way

he's my pretty buttercup
he looks so pretty collared up
on his knees
and in between
i love my darling honey pup

a heavy heart
& a hard-on
a little ****
a little sweet on
me, but never hot,
he drew a sour lot
he was a lot
but not enough for me

your every artery is stitched to your sinew with my own heartstrings
and when you are falling apart at the seams
know that i will always be there to sew you back together

she drinks her coffee

black

even though she hates the taste

the seed of a thought cracks open in my gut

it climbs its twisted way from there and goes all the way up

it wraps itself around my tongue like climbing morning glory

and blooms into the light, a freshly blossomed story