She has a bruise on her left knee
reminiscent of science-book nebulas,
and the veins reaching into her palm
look like the ivy vines wrapped around
the old oak at the end of my grandmother’s

driveway. But as she presses contacts into each eye,
her pupils dilate and contract like a camera
lens shifting to accommodate for motion
blurry as her unaided vision, and her wrists
crack as if made of ill-fitted cogs chipping away--

both a tempest-tide and midnight snowfall,
yet the sum of neither.

Oh, I'll sleep today, dream through tomorrow,
and wake when the quaking is done.
But if sleeping is numbness and dreaming withdrawal,
then what kind of victory'd be won?

Cut through my insides and quarter my borders;
wrapped up 'fore they've fired the gun.
Strength, I now see you, standing perfected,
then willfully you shatter undone.

we look for ground
our roots can grow in,
soil in which we'll feed.

but I need earth
that quakes and moves me,
earth that I can breathe.

I want a man
who overwhelms,
so loud my screams seem meek

a man so wild
he makes my heart
a damsel in relief

o, let me grow,
and love and live
in more than dirt and dust

let me grow in
earth that keeps
the wild inside of us

i put my ego on the killing floor
thick blood drops, i watch the door
but no escape for who i am
blood drops thick, i am no more

oh, God my soul, ransom me
from beams above, divinity
like honey on my wounds it pours
and washes clean that killing floor

with eyes still closed, my mind awakes
to the ocean upon my door,
it knocks with salty insolence,
my land locked soul to lure.

the thought of coral in chandeliers,
tempts my feet from bed to floor,
but twas the sound of kelp being plucked,
that enticed me to explore.

a tidal wave is just outside,
where mackerel dance and more,
schools of sea-life swim upstairs,
to feed off shipwrecked floors.

with eyes wide open, my mind asleep,
my skin drops on the shore,
my hands scale through my algae hair,
and i hear the turtles lore.

the manatees discuss it too,
a tale of souls at war,
who hear the knock and find reprieve,
in an oceans wandering floor.

the truth is no one ever taught me how to fix a flat tire or how to ask for help or what love was even good for in the first place

and the truth is that the cookie was good but the lemon icing wasn't and the truth is baking should be done without any kind of lemon at all

and the truth is i wish you'd hold me close enough that our skin fused together and i could burrow into your spine and learn all the things you won't teach me

and the truth is you were never good at making eye contact but i dare you to look at me long enough that i can trace the line that connects your iris to your pupil and count how many shades of black a person can produce

and the truth is i don't know if the grass has fingerprints but i know that yours are cigarette stained and no better at letting go than mine

and the truth is i am a dump site and you are an inhale and i am clockwork and you are a melody and i can't keep my teeth off your eloquence

and the truth is my feet are covered in acrylic paint from leaving smudged footprints in sparkly things

and the truth is i don't want you all to myself but you can pretend i'm yours when i'm engulfed in the ocean and making it hard for you to breathe

and the truth is i'm looking for a different kind of intimacy from you

and maybe it's just some teenage girl talking but the truth is that i want to drown with you. i want to burn with you. i want to scream with you so violently that the body that crushes my lungs crumbles and i become a balloon for real this time

and the truth is, if you hadn't called me beautiful, i would have mistaken last night for a paradise i don't believe in

I'm not
looking for comfort
but it's also no
coincidence
that every time
someone dies I find
myself wrapped
in a new boy's arms.
Like
maybe
this one
can catch lightning
in a bottle or
make my pulse mimic
thunder
again.
Like
maybe
this time
his heat on my skin
will
sear the
vacancy inside me
shut.

TWELVE. THAT'S THE NUMBER OF CHESTS I'VE GONE THROUGH - TRYING TO FILL YOUR SHOES OR AT LEAST COVER THE FOOTPRINTS YOU LEFT ON MY HEART BUT NONE OF THEM ARE LIGHTNING OR EVEN MATCHSTICKS NO MATTER HOW MUCH TEQUILA I POUR DOWN MY THROAT. I CALL YOU  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY  BUT THE TRUTH IS YOU WERE GONE LONG BEFORE YOU LEFT AND NOW YOU'RE BACK BUT NOT HERE TO STAY. AND YOU'RE NOT THE SAME AND I KNOW YOU NEVER WILL BE BUT YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERY SINGLE ******* TIME. AND NOW YOUR EYES ARE GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M ASLEEP AND YOUR VOICE IS GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M AWAKE AND I'M GOING TO SIT AROUND AND COMPARE THEM TO THE NORTHERN LIGHTS AND NATURAL DISASTERS LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING JUST THAT FOR THE LAST NINETEEN MONTHS. NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I NAVIGATE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE IT DOESN'T GET ANY EASIER AND THE WORST PART IS YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.