We see words lined up pretty,
spelling out sorrow.
Like beautiful crying ladies
we want to help
but also want to touch.
I never know when or how
to express that I am here for a poet.
Love, is it ever just a poem to you?
Or do you actually mean to slit your wrists?
Is writing the only way you escape?
Should I stop and whisper empathy
or should we just continue
to admire
each other's talent?

You are searching for some one
who loves like you do.

Gave a call.
Rang twice.
Mailbox full.
Gave another.
Rang five times.
Lady's voice.
Unavailable.
Shower time.
Maybe after?
Brooding.
Longing.
Wet.
Wrapped in towel.
Look at phone.
No missed calls.
Typical.
No surprise.
Forget the phone.
Forget the caller.
Return to life.

Ah, now I remember.
It was in those rare moments when you say something different.
Words weave in and out of your lips
but your eyes have the freshly stitched smile
like that of a child
listening to their favorite bed-time story.
Satin slips from your mouth,
wrapping around the beating murmurs
below my necklace
triangle yantra of Kali,
under a lacy leopard bra,
beneath the tattooed deviant octopus,
and soothes the palpitations
to a comfortable pause.
We don't always need air to **breathe.

I think I am
falling in love
with myself
again.

He doesn't like to skip pages
- I'll try to abide.
People like to talk,
- in books, I confide.
I wonder if this is legible,
or too riddled with pride.

When I was younger
my older brother
would turn the lights off
and whisper...
"DARK FOREST!"
In a deep and scary voice
and I'd flee the scene,
like I passed gas
and didn't want anyone
to know
it was me.

The countless nights of being taken ever so uncomfortably,
fogging up the windows drawing cheesy arrows
stuck through hearts with our initials
in the condensation of our ****** tension.
Unfulfilling menaje tois cuts right through any arrowed hearts.
Sat dripping blood and juice,
"Don't get it on the fabrics...I'll come back with a towel."
You said.
I sat there
in too deep.
Staring at the bag of thrift shop,
sports flags,
my blood dripping from my fingers
to my thighs,
in your backseat.

I didn't know a broken heart,
until the day I realized I could never make you as happy
as she once did.
And in that very moment,
every second where I made you look away,
crushed every second where I held your gaze.
My childish attempts to make you love me,
need me,
at least want me,
seemed to only push you further.
I wonder
how much it took for her?
How many times you wound yourself around her wrist
was it even a better kiss?
There goes my growing confidence,
along with the bracelets you've left on the floor
gifts gone amiss.
I don't know if I am enough.
Fear is all I feel through this love.

The little boy left his soccer ball on the field,
perhaps to be kicked around later,
only to find it missing.
And it was a gift from dad.
So dad bought him a new one,
and the little boy decided to keep it in the trunk,
and never play with it.
And he just picked up another hobby.
Years later, he found his soccer ball-
deflated.
So he went out and bought a new one.

When was our first kiss?
I wondered what you tasted like.
To this day I am dismissed-
though scandalous was our first night,
for me, it was still real bliss.
Not because you weren't him-
but you were you,
and not because it was a sin,
but you were you,
as much as now, and as much as then.

I haven't written in a while,
and my writing might be getting trite.
But though I can't speak for us all,
I know I'm sick of hearing lies.

I am a puddle for you to play in,
because you'll never spill my tears.
Your big eyes stare back at mine,
and I wish I could speak to you.
I'd promise you protection,
love and attention.
And by the way you lick and sidle up,
I know your intentions are the same.
See with puppies, there's no guessing,
there aren't games or deception.
You'll forgive me if I'm mad,
or lost and impatient.
As long as I pet you and keep you healthy,
you'll be my best friend.
No questions asked
nothing to defend.
And when I look in the mirror
and attempt to rip my collar off,
you'll be there sitting
with your head cocked to the side,
making me smile
when I want to cry puddles
for you to swim in.

Listening to the sound of the dog in the distance,
the song with the volume uncomfortably low,
Instead of your silent noise,
is my favorite rebellion.

Wrapped up with the sky,
He said it speaks to us with words,
in the form of empty storms.
But the clouds don't shower thoughts
they only crowd the morning dew,
and the broken jukebox birds.
The chatter reminds me of my noisy efforts.
There was a time I said little-
"Don't trust the quiet ones."
They are the fools who believe in the blues and the sunsets,
sleep little and dream of promise.
Comfort brought me to speech
to explain the thunderstorms outside my windows
to shake off the dew his clouds
crowded in my chest
and the broken jukebox birds in my throat.
Yesterday he said I smelt like home.
The familiar scent of pillows and cover-
warm things in winter.
Campfire cinders.
Smoldered once in quietude-
burning with desire.
If my lips don't sound-
maybe I can hear the rumble of his clouds.
Maybe I can listen to his blues.
Watch his sunset in smoldering quietude.
Maybe he'll speak to me with words.
Or maybe he'll just rain on me
thoughtlessly.

I've eaten my sickness
and I've no room for seconds.

I'm so glad you can't comprehend the feeling behind
the word, "hate,"
enough to use it without an accent that removes its sting.
But I think "shavam" is not too far from it,
because every time you mutter it,
under your breath
my skin burns off.

If you must know
why I kicked your stupid
"MEN WORKING AHEAD" sign
into the street,
This WOMAN WALKING BEHIND
is not for you to comment on.

Mathematical sound,
uplifting souls,
surreptitiously
ingrained into our
c**reated beings.

I want to be the band
around my wrist,
at peace,
at rest,
with the sole purpose of being a band,
around my wrist.
With nothing but thread and elastic
holding me together.
Without option of thinking,
but simply existing.
Without the desire to love
or be loved,
but to be loved perhaps,
and hated perhaps.
I want to be the band,
around my wrist,
and I don't want to be me.

Casting judgement with your chuckles and snarls,
Is first nature.

Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.

The spaces between their thighs
signified
the act of vomiting and starvation,
or just really good metabolism
a small appetite
genes
but
considering that their instagram
has no photos of food
but filled with selfies
of their thin legs donning patterns
maybe they have that problem.
But they are beautiful-
I suppose.
I draw them without clothes.
Confidence in a pose.
and I, with my curves,
wouldn't mind to appear like them,
sans *****.
So I eat
and I work.
And I stare in the mirror,
and see the tiniest space
right below my womanhood,
and muscles
closing in
I guess it's healthy,
just not thin.

You and I are always together
in sweat and showers,
delicious dinners,
in choice, in trials, in travels
and at bedtime.
I watch you sleep and wonder
if we are together in dream.
Because I can never get tired of you.

Let's pull those knees close,
and think of childhood.
We were fragile beings of light.
Now we're heavy black glasshouses
throwing skipping rocks in the dark.
I wish I went to sleep-away camp,
like all the cool kids.
I could skip rocks,
and learn slip knots,
and maybe how to swim.
Sit by campfire
and tell scary stories,
and spill my first kiss
as the truth in a guts game.
"It was third grade.
She was a ******* girl-
and we wanted to practice
for our shared boy crush.
Baby tongues danced
and I just liked it more than I should have."
And then someone would
douse the flames
with a bucket of lake water,
to put an end to the horror.
Today she's having a baby,
and we haven't spoken
since grade school.
I wonder if she ever reads my poetry.
The kids would have teased me.
Or perhaps never believe me.
The holes keep getting bigger.
They let the light in from outside.
Let's let our knees go.

I miss the days
when the only way my heart
was broken,
was upon achieving an ending
to an RPG
I decided to leisurely beat
in a year.
That empty feeling afterwards,
used to be the only hole
that I dug myself
until I left the protection
of my bedroom,
and realized we are all games
Life loved to beat
over and over again.

Elixir for the weak-
minded.
Excuse me for the cheek.

I know the spark that left me.
It shocked everyone.

Make my eyes shed again,
so that I can write.

No, I am an immortal,
now that I desire death.

Sometimes I cannot say
what is blue rose or basilisk.

I hope you knew I'd write about you.
I hope.

A cop car saw me
then sped.
I am invincible.

Give me some wine
So that I am not afraid.

Voices exclaiming in the distance,
It's 1:44 am.
I wish you didn't feel so righteous.
But maybe you are right,
There could be better things than this.
And though I love you
And I could be drunk,
And feel empty in the morning.
I can't help but feel what I'm believing in is like what the world finds
Wrong.

Forgotten crosses in the clearance section-
religion has become cheap.

I want the open mic.
I need to be heard.

We were at a gay bar for the first time.
I was reminded of friendship,
while she looked for love.
I have a purse full of memories,
and she looked at her empty hands
in disappointment.
I pointed to show her
in them we made her story.
By pushing the door that spoke to her,
that she once ignored
in a fear she couldn't accept.
I thought of you and smiled in comfort.
The women here are so respectful.
And fun loving.
Singing 90s songs.
That is where her love may be.
And mine is home with you.
Because I've been thinking 'bout you
ooh na na na
I've been thinking 'bout you
I shared her cigarette,
and met a woman with a husband outside.
She is a frequent there-
I can't sing for ****.
But I heard some melodic voices.
I don't know many good karaoke singers.
I'd like to hear you up there.
Do they have Morrissey?
Lady called my name.
Center stage.
I'll think about you ooh na na na
and sing away.

I Like many tend to think what I know at the moment is most true,
although I like to pretend I believe I know nothing,
and use the popularity of the thought, That is what I just said
as an excuse for being self-centered.
I've become what I've feared. Just like you
But maybe you won't- as we are allowed to be different. But we're not
I know that I must unchain my mind from my own protections and coping mechanisms, Am I just your coping mechanism?
I am not just I. You are not just you.
We are everyone else who has ever touched us. What about me?
How could I hate you for treating me differently to protect yourself? Simple- people are responsible for their actions!
My hate is just protecting myself as well. That's what he wants you to believe
I have voices in my head I am not just a voice telling me to be stronger than this, Yes? and they're just as juvenile as I am. Trust me
No wiseness of years because they're only as old as I exist. But I'm your friend
They want to cocoon me inside and keep me safe but they do not know. I love you.
I do not know. But...
I do not always know the best answer. Neither do they. Or you.
And this I know to be most true.

I wonder if you knew
the faces you were making
when you saw your dead sister.

The sea of fans churn to your voice sounds.
I am the part in the song where it strains,
to hit the note that makes the ladies swoon.
Over the moon, I float,
swishing your lyrical lies in my mouth.
I don't see a thing but the blackness,
and you, the star.
And I can't reach you,
but I can pretend to know you
chanting your words
like a false prayer.
The music is only a street we run on,
our feet pounding against pavement
like a war drum.
And I feel your sprints in my chest,
you're heaving.
But I can't reach you,
and I can pretend to know you
chanting your words
like a false prayer.

I wonder about the pearl
that sits in her pocket
preciously hidden
like a photo in a locket.
I wonder what it means
when it gets to be seen.
Does it hide in fear?
Fragile
in need of protection.
Or is it very present-
at risk of detection.
Embarrassing reveal-
so tucked away and sealed.
I wonder about the pearl
I wish to steal.

What does it mean to relax?
I think I've forgotten true comfort.
Fear is a constant hangnail,
and the summer heat makes my nerves kick in.
My teeth peel skin as I worry and my clothes dampen.
Drawing my own blood, it's a stupid self-induced sin.
Voices whisper in my ears.
"Watch your gaze, or they'll think you're up to something.
They'll assume the worst.
They won't see your chewed up fingers
and they'll only see the thirst.
Your lips parched from heavy breathing."
Who spoke first?
Was it me licking my lips-
causing questions within them?
Or am I the one asking?
Wondering like this when I should be relaxing?
"Close your eyes to heighten the panic,
seems like it's euphoric,
But you're really just frantic.
Open them but don't look at a soul."
I have eyes that penetrate
as deep as their goals.
They speak more than my clothes,
they speak more than my curves.
If I stare at them longer,
and release my nerves,
Misunderstood.
Misunderstood.
I'll relax when reality
And their thoughts become good.

Your kindness you're killing them with your kindness.
He ended up not knowing anything anyway.
This stinks.
The 50s were staunchly, real staunchly...
12:34 12:38...around that time.
There's a bathroom over there!
Ahhhhhh yeah we could do that.
Look at the one we just took. See the boat here?
There's a strange man in it.
I thought so too but...
Is it just one bathroom?
Nice ***** and schmooze. Gotta salivate.
Oh bless you!
Then he go "marriage is a waste of time."
This is just not worth it.