“find a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic”

she does, Frida
she does.
she looks at me like I am Galileo
and I have mapped the stars just for her;
she has never been more right.

I have spent countless hours
charting the constellations in her eyes,
in the way she drinks her coffee,
in the sound of her breathing when she’s fallen asleep beside me.

when the room grows still,
I kiss the night sky’s secrets into the palms of her hands,
and know that they are safe.

I am so lucky to love her, Frida.
I am so lucky she sees the light in all my dark
and chooses to stay.

”How To Not Be A People Pleaser”
below are listed 10 bullet points
on how to toughen up,
on how to avoid the blow of others
wiping their ***** feet across
your ‘welcome mat’ heart.

Surely I have the look down, right?
Skinny jeans fit for skinny girls (who I am not),
tucked into loosened combat boots that have never seen a good shoe shine. Black eyeshadow smeared in the form of war paint,
"Today is a good day to die"

But the fact that this is all a charade,
that ‘looking tough’ does not mean you automatically
become some brazened ******* who does not let anyone inside
of your crazy head or heart,
loosens the grip you try so desperately to hold on to.

If you look the part, surely you feel it in your bones.
You feel the anger and the need to not be so polite all of the time.
Yet you still hold doors open, say please and thank you, smile at strangers on the street,
your mouth cannot form the simple word ‘no’ in fear of hurting another person.

So how can you not be a people pleaser?
You can’t. No matter how grungy you look,
no matter how loud you listen to rock ‘n roll
no matter how dark and damaged you let your soul appear
maybe you can allow yourself to become something you are not,
but you can not bury something you are.

The raindrops are Morse code outside my window
tap tap tapping secret messages like
“The trees told me you’re lonely”
“I’m sorry”
“Stay in bed”
I watch as they roll down
and I want to capture them
keep them in a jar
and listen while they whisper sweet nothings
about the soil and the clouds
and in return I could ask them
why the earth cries or maybe
to explain the art of sliding down walls
and puddling at the door frame,
maybe take notes on how they
make it look so graceful.

I read a sign on the interstate driving home today
‘expect the unexpected’

The wires in my brain are short circuiting again
And I feel myself slipping on black ice
I think I may have hit my head

Days seem like seconds
They jump back and forth like a game of hopscotch
Making me forget homework was due today
and not next week

Winter has come and gone
But my body still moves in slow motion, frozen
Unable to thaw even in the hottest shower
Even when my skin is bright red and burning

My room is a stagnant body of water
The walls seem to know how to breathe
Drawing closer with each inhale
And I am terribly claustrophobic

How can I expect the unexpected
when I knew this was coming?

I pull at the loose threads of my jacket sleeves
imagining I was pulling the seams of my stability.
The thought of coming undone is morbidly amusing.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that you never get any privacy at small parties, which is why I prefer to drown in the bass of club music,
dim lighting, and a sea of people.
No one takes notice while you slowly disintegrate
into a glass of liquor
right in front of their eyes.

I guess I like it that way.
Leave me to my own devices.
I will destroy myself only to be rebuilt,
like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
Just perhaps not as beautiful,
or poetic.

My mother once told me
“You shouldn’t make homes out of human beings.”
but I found you
with a vacant heart
among cold hands
and I knew right then that I wanted
to kiss you with a thousand life long promises,
to shout out to the rooftops
“come live in my heart
and pay no rent”.

You have made your home in me,
nestled tightly between the spaces
of the left side of my ribcage.
I hope I have proved myself a rebel to my mother,
And that I also live in the spaces of yours.

will be replaced by hers
and I could think of nothing worse.

I have begun to feel my skin softening.
I have spent 20 years of my life being told and believing my hide was made of steel, but now..
it has become translucent,
like the stained glass windows
held high in the chapel,
morning light seeping through
every nerve and heart beat,
every synapse and tissue,
every vein
and with even the smallest touch or threat of danger
I threaten to collapse like a kaleidoscope of blood and tears.

I tremble like a leaf being torn
from its branches simply by the thought of driving through a thunderstorm, when everyone knows its safest inside a car.
I cower in fear as I attempt to walk through a public grocery store, avoiding the imaginary stares of judgmental eyes behind a measly shopping list.

I have relied on my own structure for nearly two centuries and with that I do not no how to ask for the help of others.
Baby, hold me together. Do not allow me to come undone at the throat.

describe how you think the sky looks lately
how the leaves seem to fall in a certain pattern
what the silence says to you compared to what it says to me

sometimes the rain leaves love notes on my window
meet me by the river
the one you see in your dreams

i dream of the river kissing my eyelids
the cool water a warm blanket
tucking me in to sleep

i never sleep long enough
something tears me awake every time
the love note blown away

i find i’d been holding my breath
a gasp of air through aching lungs
almost as if i had been drowning

My father once told me my lungs were filled with the western winds,
swept from the plains of South Dakota
and when I spoke, I spoke in shades of the sky;
innocent and naive baby blues to raging, violent greys.

My heart beat to the sound of the hand drum, with a fire in my belly that could not be put out. I yearn for my feet to soak into the soil of the Black Hills, to run the hidden pine trails, seeking wisdom from the ancestors that rest among them.

My mind is as wandering as the Black Foot river and I cannot be stopped.

cartographer of my heart
there are days when I will not be easy to read
I will hold myself upside down and backwards
buried beneath bruised knuckles and cheap fear

and yet late at night I find you saying
“you still make sense to me”
leaving landmarks on my skin
signs that say “you are here"
and here
and here

trace the land lines in my palms
and know they will always guide you home

this winter will be not be easy
it’s only 35 degrees
and i can’t even make the trip out to my car
the cold air tastes like regret
and it freezes in my lungs and
i’m having trouble breathing
i’m having trouble breathing
and all i’m seeing is black and all i’m hearing
is laughter that’s not my own
and i’ve been home now for hours and i still feel the chill in my bones
i will never be warm
i will never be warm

When you are home alone sobbing on another Friday night, do not call her and ask her to come back,
you know good and well her answer.
Do not reach across your empty bed to feel if she is still there,
when you know you have carved the date she left into your bedpost,
and now she is hours away wrapping herself like ivy
around a porcelain column, twisted between warm limbs and bedsheets
while you are curled next to your own grief
and tear soaked pillows that still
smell of her shampoo.

Do not make the same mistakes you made this time.

We set fire to that ****** emotion chart
with nothing but a bic lighter and a gut feeling of revenge.
How dare they try to limit our feelings to a piece of paper,
how dare they assume the tsunami we’ve felt in our chests since we were old enough to understand the words ‘I’m sorry’
can be labeled as simply as
‘today I’m feeling ‘sad’

Today I am feeling enfeebled,
belligerent,
subdued.
impassable;
Today I am feeling words you will never find on a cookie cutter hand out
given to you by your therapist.

We watched the flames grow and destroy those childish faces
in hopes of it feeling something,
it feeling our hatred
or our underlying sadness and maybe then
it would understand that one should be labeled ‘ignorant’
for thinking someone could put a name to a feeling or emotion
and call it good enough.

hey, are you doing anything?
i’ve been reading a lot of poetry and i was wondering
if you wanted to stay up all night again
and when i say stay up all night again
i mean let’s not sleep a single hour
roll around on the floor again
chlorine scented hair
and warm hands
under torn shirts
and let’s go swimming in my grandmothers pool
in our underwear at two in the morning
float on our backs to see the stars
maybe we’ll catch the sun rise just over the neighbors roof
or maybe we’ll dry off
and eat melted klondike bars in the driveway
and i’ll be tempted to lick the chocolate off of your
fingers

hey, are you doing anything?
let’s hold each other’s face
like we’re stopping earth’s orbit
and pretend the sun won’t rise anytime soon

My mom yells at me because I never finish my cup of coffee
and I’m like mom,
I never finish anything.
Everything feels incomplete, slowly growing cold like the coffee
she made just for me
and I want to apologize to her.
I’m sorry I never finish what I wanted so badly in the first place.
It seems like I can only finish the things I don’t really want.
That six pack of beer, the hole in the wall, those red lines across my skin.
I finish the things that hurt to get them over with
and leave the things I love unfinished so I can always come back to them.
Pick up where I left off, know they’ll still be there,
waiting to be completed for when I’m ready.
Greeted with open arms and a kiss on the forehead;

“Its okay that you left, I’ve remained here for you to return.
I have not moved an inch.”

Every word I read aches;
aches like the glowing coals of a dying fire,
aches like the throbbing that starts at the base of your skull.
Every word I read spells your name and I
can’t get you out of my head.
I don’t want you out of my head.
I don’t want you to leave.

Every word aches like my chest
and I know I am long gone out of your thoughts
but when I think about kissing other people
all I can imagine are your hands cupping my face
your lips kissing my forehead as you sing to me
with music playing in the background and a feeling of
safety, a feeling of “home”.

What am I supposed to do now? Please tell me.
I am so lost, so afraid, and all I want is to come home to you
but you’ve changed the locks
and I’ve probably lost my keys
anyway.

She calls me "baby" and I don’t flinch
it feels like I am Joan of Arc
and her touch is the fire
flames licking up the sides of my body
Jesus Christ does it feel good to burn

I’ve never had anyone touch me the way she does
Soft yet hungry
Understanding of the scars
and still wanting to kiss me
I want to leave ink stains all over her
marking my territory so everyone knows

I will never get tired of your warm, fidgeting hands
Please don’t tire of mine

You know that movie scene
The one where the girl unexpectedly
sees her lover in the distance
On a crowded street corner,
everything else losing focus

except for the hurried, automatic movement of legs and arms
knowing that she has to reach the end of the street
Before they disappear completely
Slipping through her imagination like
a fever dream

i can recognize the outline of your body
from a mile away
the way you stand with your feet pointed slightly apart
headphones dangling from the phone in your pocket
how you push your hair out of your face
the same way i do

i’m always afraid you’ll vanish before i reach you
not knowing that i was seconds away from grabbing your shirt sleeve
saying look,
here i am

i don’t know where you’re going but
can i come with you?

Tell me how I sleep.
on your side, curled up like a small child
Tell me how I wake up.
slow, hazy blinks. A “good morning” and then back to bed
Tell me how I dream.
*in full color, vivid and too real. Too optimistic. I don’t think you ever really stop dreaming, even when your eyes are wide open.

she has these eyes
these eyes like softened soil
like dreams could grow into reality