Why do you feel the need to make me conscience of the way I appear to you?
I don't need to hear you analyze my mood
Or the way I talk, walk, and breath
Go home and evaluate me in your ******* journal

And stop shrinking people to fit into your unambiguous definitions. People are more fluid than that.

People aren't their pasts or disorders or behaviors at work that you can sum up in a punch line.

What you see is a tiny window into a deep infinite Galaxy  

"Be still and listen"

I look nothing like my father.
Not even my genes left a trace of him.

She brushes her teeth
Spitting sins down the sink
Splashing water through rivers of laugh lines on her cheeks
And wiping maps off her hands
She brushes cities out of her hair
And undresses her mistakes.
She kisses goodnight Lust and  
Words spoken like wildfires
With a galaxy in her mouth and
Stars flickering out on her tongue
She floats in mellifluous dreams on stained sheets
Sleeping soundly
Having worn the world
Like the sky wears the stars.

I'm still learning how to fill my body.
Let alone the universe
What kind of space do I take up?
Not enough.
The answer is always "not enough".
On the couch I curl my body
Until I'm camouflage.
I sleep alone on my bed
Leaving room for entire cities
I walk down busy streets
Dodging bodies and buildings
Like I might ignite them.
My voice is a cracked window
Down the street from my soul.
In bright rooms
I dance in shades of black and white
With feet that don't quite fill my shoes.
Yet my poems use the reddest colors of the solar system
On pages too small for my pen

the taste of gunpowder on his tongue as the night tangled around us like sheets: & so we hung, from the stars, as diamonds. His touch was new & like nothing i had known. (it made me feel alive again.) He is fragile flower petals, the burning soul of a constellation.

we will wait for snow, he says, & i know somewhere inside. For i remember the winter night; some three hundred days ago. i wore mittens - hand stitched blue- everyday that frozen month.
They said he wasn't there. he had gone home, 'for the holidays.' & so i left. tiny steps down the sidewalk, frosted like a brilliant glowing cake.

Alone that night i drove the long way there- that cemetery where you sleep now. (He misses you so much.) And you waited, said hello, & i wanted to cry. A blanket of snow, we talked of stories and i know. You miss him too. We were together, then. That candy cane night.

Roses are black
Violets are dead
I'm such a good poet
I live in your head.

Who is she to say you're a liar?
Maybe with every fiber
you loved her.
Like you do with your
Recklessly floating heart.
You two were different lovers.
She's the kind of girl with metallic blood.
An ancient stone
heavy in her chest,
Unusual and destructive
When it arrives late.
You were wrong to have loved her like butterflies when bones like hers require sorcery.