the room is red, through
eyes stained by
blue glass ,

vague memories plague
me
(a girl in a dress,
the orange sun, and the red
and white
of his walls)

i can’t believe i know you,
with water leaking
from your eyes .
                          .
and
one day,
i think —
while gassed,

ill carve our initials into
the first
tree i find ,
and cry into my palms
just
to help it grow .
                           .

and
maybe that will make me love you
back.

she sits at her kitchen table,
skin pink and eyes
puffy
and looks at the print
of her daughter’s
missing picture on the
side of an empty,
old

milk container .
.
.

mommy,
maybe
pick yourself up ,

daddy never cried like this,

how will you tell him that
you lost yourself
in a bottle of
pills like a note
in a
bottle ,

lost at sea ::

?

i pull up my pants -

leg, leg, zipper,
buckle
.

the room heaves with me ,
a breath released
and a mind
unclear :
.

i don't know if
he made me bleed,

i don't know if he
even
would .
.
.

the sky looks yellow
as he walks me home,
but it's not:

it's blue
and the wind stings my
cheeks
.

who was i
to you
?

on that blown up
leather couch
and streaky,
sheet-less
bed,

who was i
if not the person
i explained

and who were you
to
imagine me on
my knees
?

don't forget -
youll love me forever
,

that pretty girl
in gray and
blue
who couldve loved you
back :

and
don't forget -
you killed her.

i cried my eyes out for
you:
thick,
         laundry detergent
                              tears,
in sickly smelling blues .
.
.

i will never be the same,
                  i
               sup
               pos
                 e
                  ,
stained in white and red .
.
.
                                    

you know i know who
did
this
to
me,
right?
i can smell it on you .
.
.

my                      love,
do i               sure cry
for        you, my
broken heart,
it aches for you,
but          my love,
my                love is
not                    forever .
.
.

i met a mermaid
once, at
sea
...
as
a little girl:

snaggle-toothed
and salty,
she sang songs in
the
      sun,

and i loved her:

for
her hair like
spun,
         white
                  sugar,

and pearl-fluorescent
skin,

and
i know her song,

a song of seaweed and
green sailors
and the
life
i
nearly
           lived
...


but i was caught,
one day,
in gray hues
                      while i was
basking,
starry eyed,
.
and
almost slimy with
love,

when
         my father found her,
                                            and
.
beat
her
to
death.

did you cry as hard as me ,

when you broke me
on the floor
that night ?

heaving chest ,
i screamed and screamed
and hoped
you'd see me
on that red
red carpet ,
heaving .

i bled for hours thinking
you'd notice and
sew me up ,

as you always do ,
.
did .

but you have never felt the way
i felt ,

and you didn't .

crystalline eyes ,
in the sun , watch as boys
laugh
at little girls.

transparent
over layers :
hidden by tears , that were
taken
by other devils,

teeth got locked on to
empty shells as
she smiled ,
sweaty
(while he)
took bites
from her kindness given
out of fear

and
punching heat,
they bare teeth at
one another
in haunting calls,
and

i'd hope you know -
that i'm not dumb or
blind
just clueless.

red
.
.
is a safe color,
the color of warning and
sweet relief,
as
a man wrapped in
plastic comes to your door,
with gifts or a fire hose,
to take you away,
or
as you zip
yourself up
in a sleeping bad with
crossed
stitches.

orange is the color of fear,
of horror,
of how you bled through
my doorway when i turned
off
my lights,
plucking at my heart
when i was trying to
sleep,:
orange is the color of night
when you want it to end.

yellow are the edges of
a picture, of memories
upturned by bees, and flowers..,
and eyes that look up
out windows.
yellow stands next to brown
as my toes tickle wood
and im warmed by
the sun,
yellow are the walls of my kitchen.

green is a gray color;
a neutral that fuels fire
with
mint swirls that surround me,
as
i wish
to run into a forest, hoping
i could somehow
drown a swamp with your body,
or
eat alligators alive.
.
i swear that i
would.

blue is left the saddest color,
ripping stains through
the sky
and leaving oceans with no
islands,
.
blue is the feeling of nostalgia
as you pray to planets
you'll never reach,
wishing for a hole to crawl into,
and a zipper for your heart.
singing
is blue, and so is
night.

purple is a royal color,
the color of a dress behind glass,
as children's laughter
tinkles and a man folds up his
coat; leather.
purple is the color of cake, or
the toys in a baby's room
and
my sheets before i cry.

black is the aftershock of sleep,
and of beauty,
as you stare at the floor from
your place on the couch and
wonder why it hurts.

i look at the sky everyday.

The earthquakes are scary
They are weird and red.
They try to pull
down the people from
bed. the people
are crying they
are trying to run.
They wanted
to fly and
reach
the Sun.

blood.

so much blood leaked into
my eyes
as you took apart the
pieces in my head.

i don't know when it started:
but i was four, maybe
five,
the first time i remember
you taking a big chunk out of me:

i was sweet, rosy red,
and stuffed in a dress,
and you were black,
a pale shadow in
dark clothing as you grabbed
my legs when i tried to run....

and did again,
every night
from then on out.

i was
seated on a couch each time,
and
i felt as though
my eye bags
touched the floor
every second and all i really
wanted
was for you not to be angry...

i hate that stupid couch.
i lied so many times.

i am a mess of
open wounds and
needles that have
never sewn
shut,

and
sometimes i still find
string and knots in (the) places
where
i tried to tug shut-
but ended up ripping
skin,
instead

where:
there's still
salt
from when i tried to cleanse
myself from you,
but
hurt too much to continue,
and left myself
bleeding,

so i'm still here
healing,
letting my veins cry and
my scabs heal over,
with
my a hole where my
heart should be,
and no band-aids to fix
it.

i see myself:

a
little tiny girl,
tear stained, broken..
.
pressed up against a glass
window that some might
call
a mirror,

and
submerged like a castle
in a fish tank, i
watch the way
that
little me swims
above
pretty little rainbow beads
and
picks at affection,
somehow
dropped from
the sky..
.

its
blue, pink, and
green;
and
there's a face in the clouds:

like rain, i
cry. looking down at
what once was..
.

and i remember why
that little girl
died.

Too bad
Saint Valentine didn't weep
on the grave
you left in
heaven;

as you were
plucked
from the thousand poppies
of little lost girls
dressed in blue,
white, and
yellow.

and
even now, i know:
(that) you're not from here,
crying pink balloons
and little white
strings-

still attached to your eyes,
they
float right back up
and pop, when
they hit they sky,

and maybe,
maybe
it shows,
you just weren't built for
flying.

Don't make me laugh
you
sick
sack of meat-/rotting
in the city's
yellow
sun... don't claim you
were
broken,
by a boy who never
loved
you,
because it's so easy to
see
why.

i want to be smaller.
tiny, tinier, tiniest.

i want to be so small, that
i fit into a jar, and
can hide in the walls of
houses i never called
home,

maybe if i cut out some
stuffing, i will be satisfied.

my back
will slump forward and you
will see my spine, but i
will be smaller,
less open,
less
there..
.

and i will cease to exist,,,
almost
an empty shell of skin and
zipper, collapsed on the
floor, maybe my lungs will still
breathe.:

die, died, will die.
i want to be dead.

Step one starts with forgetting/

you begin by tearing
yourself from the skin they took home in,
disconnecting your arms from their seams,
eating their hearts
and hoping that they forget you,
too

Step two means burning all
ties,
dissolving each memory like the pills
your mother took at breakfast,
how could you have let this happen?

so you pull
their
veins from yours and
untangle what they gave you,
choke down a penny
and hope
that they don't think of
you

Step three is the
detox,
cut yourself open and scrub yourself
shiny:::
unchain your wrists from that dinner table
and hope that his nightlight doesn't bleed
through
that
doorway,

orange was never a pretty color
anyway

Step four is the hardest,
.
when you take a knife to your palm,
and make slits down to your wrist,

when you ignore the beck and call
of memories you forgot you had,
people you realize never cared,
so you take
a drink for those you know you've
long forgotten,

and come clean
to three different people, all the
same and hope the next girl
doesn't know step one....

it never seemed to hurt when you
played it all out in your head.

happy New Years to
the girls like me,
who forgive and forget as if
yesterday didn't hurt
and tie knots over wounds
like they lace up shoes


happy New Years to
all the boys who still cry
at night, over
their fathers who don't love them
and things they were never
taught to say

and happy New Years to
everyone in between, to those
who can't tell black from
white,
good from bad, and still don't
know
how to dress at night

tomorrow might be better.

i want to be loved so bad

it took a long time to feel okay again

no one in the world is as nice as me

congratulations,
you are unloved;
undissolved in a world you
watch through glass.

and once again,
you are nine; in the bathroom,
on that floor, as
the blue tiled walls reflect,
and replay
over and over and
over,

and
you wish that
you never truly woke up, from
the strange mix of dream
and reality you
succumbed to long ago,

like a princess, at
rest;
wrapped in thorns

maybe
you'd never have had to pack
that sleepover bag every time
he made you cry,
.
leak

even as the tv still played
cartoons, snot still
ran, and you still
bled (and left).

You pretend to zip your lips like
there's even a secret to spill,
as if i couldn't pry open
your mouth like a four
day old rusty paper-
clip
off an
empty
          manila
                     folder

i can't believe he didn't love me--

i spent so much time
dreaming of what we
could've been,,, and
what we never had, **

on
those days when sunlight
would pour through glass
like liquid ****** and drown my
mind as if
nothing else existed// i remember..:

how i still coughed and cried;
knowing he gave
me up, as though
the memory of us was just a
vignette...

stained,
fleeting.

HOW
do you convince a man that you do not
like him?

how do you transfer in
                                        words,
the feeling of bile stinging your throat
as you choke on words that should've
never
have needed to
be said

WHY
doesn't he listen the first time?
                                                      when
you spit on your hands, and pray to a god
that you don't know, forgive me,
but don't forget me,
p l e a s e... i
just want
to go home,
                       even though
he has taken your bed, your thoughts,
and
      your
             sleep,

WHEN
did our belonging become
less than
his success, my organs are
                                               not
a playground, and his skin is not your
rug-- let us go,
well say once more,

we really just don't like you.

Little blue boy-
don't sleep for me, i
am not
your
princess
decked in rhinestones
that come in
red and
pink,

so kiss your fist and
say goodbye, my
heels just aren't that heavy...

save me in
another
life.

i had a dream,
we were older---

i was pretty and you
had
become gentle,
and i remember looking
into your eyes and
smiling, and it was a new
sort of
calm,
but it hurt/ because
it wasn't the same,
and i realized
that understanding
is
different from
moving on.

Little needle face,
With a long pink dress and teeth
Too big for your mouth,
You are but a doll
with a back breaking slouch and
chest made from cotton//

your
Little needle hands
the machine that
stitched yourself
Together, the twine that
holds your heart
In place a
Jagged knot of
Cage and wire.

Little needle girl,
with a button nose and stringy
hair,
Please
***** all your tormentors
The way I could never ***** mine,
And
never grow your body
Back

Balloon head girl...
With eggs for eyes and
Sharpie lips,,
Don't cry your egg white tears
For me, or let
the yolk leak from holes in
Your diabetic fingers...

Snap your blouse back on, with
The buttons right up
to your neck, a throat with
3 imprints, but
2 hands and  
1 threat

and he was a champion,
basking in the light of
a king and his victories///

lost between two walls of glass
and
an ocean full of something he
(just)
        can't
                quite
                        remember
.
.
.

a spaceship his battleground,
but also his home--
with mornings
consisting of no dawn, no
neighborhood and no blood
shared
between two//

locked up--
with a window full of sky,
and many roads
diverging,

And he cries,
looking at the stars, not knowing
that
the stars cry for him, too.

Sadness grew
        a flower in my heart,
With big blooming petals and
A long winding
                         Stem,

And as your fingers
        reached down my throat
                                                  to tug at
It's roots,
it regressed into a n g e r,
and
shriveled (all) away

I want to be
the
Cruel type of
Beautiful--

with my lips dripping
Blood and my dress
Trailing jewels,
My insecurities hidden between each
Fold of silk, saying
"I can **** if I must//"
but I won't

The kind where
after crying  
my eyes are red-
(Not from sadness
But)
from anger and dissociation,
and people fear what I have not said--
With my  
heart stitches torn open, and ink
Seeping through

and I'll never have to
Apologize.

don't cry,
little me...
youll shed your calloused skin
one day,
hatching out of
your candy-wrapper cocoon
of dreams and ribbon in
red,
      white,
               and pink,  
.
.
.

so
give your jaws a rest,

undo your sewn on smile,
with your
skin collapsing on
your cheekbones and
empty eyeholes,
worn,
tired, and d u s t y
.


you will be fine.

I have been in love, before --
I think
.
.
.

The kind of love where
Your heart
squeezes
in your Chest
and you
Feel like you're exploding
From the inside out and
You cannot hear
Anything,
Anything at all/but them


and it was real--
I tell myself.
My friends tell me.
They told me.

As real as being young could
Be...
The kind of real you get from sobbing and laughing
While your stomach melts your
Heart and your brain fries to
Bits
.
.
.
From their smile..,
Or their frown.
:(


But
I don't remember crying--
Just forgetting
.
.
.

How
one day my lungs were back to
Normal size and
My brain no longer
Screamed...

And (how) they weren't
in the obituary section
of the news.

will you talk to my corpse
after im dead?
.
.
.

ask me things like how
was your day?

tell me about
each and every
person
youve replaced me with?  

and ill have changed...
you know?

you're so quiet now
.
is what you'll say,
but i won't respond.

and maybe you'll cry?
the way i cried after you broke my heart--
into
p i e c e s

all while saying sorry and
what not?

and will you tell me the truth?
like the old days, when we were
kids

what caused you to do it?
ill think to ask,
.
but wont...

was it me?
or the first night
you went drinking?

or
will you just pretend that it wasn't
you
who killed me?

Spoil me with
One
    thousand
gifts

And fix my heart with
ribbon and tissue,
    All wrapped up
so
I don't lose the pieces

And
It's almost my birthday,

So Tell the little girl me
That
    the kids have just
woken up


And that the gifts are just
Waiting,
Broken and torn, and
    Opened... Already.


Just for me.

you are so far gone,
that
you might as well be
six feet under...
buried alive
or only half

alive
and still buried...

and i will spit
snot on your grave,
and clog my ears with dirt
and flowers
grown from your decay

say one more word,
and I might choke on
your fire

He is
No longer
A person
To me

As I sit here
And watch him
*****
Onto the floor

And it looks like
Alphabet soup...
But
Maybe it's just soup, or
Just Alphabet...
As he begins speaking
1, 2, 3s.  

And I have cried before,
For him. but
Now that I sit,
Eyes on his back,
Unspeaking
And still
.
.
.

I frankly hope he
Chokes.

...and i am suffocating
under the weight of your words

i ask you nicely to
please stop

you laugh and mock me of
my pain

and when i cry
you look to the side,
pretending it wasnt you who hurt me

stop crying, you ask,
but not nicely
and i have to put a bucket
over a barrel of
T
E
A
R
S

my throat constricts
.
.
.

and i suffocate on words that
are
on fire.

words that are begging
to be lashed at your face
but lash in my esophagus
instead.

cutting like blades,
bleeding like tears.
it
leaks down and burns my
stomach

and

you laugh,
not taking me seriously
thinking that i wont gag
the next time i think of your face.

don't call me honey.

i want to scream,
and forgive myself for
forgiving you.

**** these tiny butterflies,
that rest in my stomach,
and expand in my chest...

like little paper knives,
i choke.  

and
ill block my lungs one day,
and ***** them up,
coughing out each wing
and eyeball and
tooth
.
.
.

even if theyve got my tongue twisted,
and my brain scattered,

like paint,
it is venom to my
squeezing, breathing heart
and
one day
ill rip out my
intestines
just to see them
gone.

spoiled girls are sad too.

i don't blow kisses,
nor do i send hearts
made of broken paper construction
and lots of missing parts

its the crying baby
who gets the milk.

there is relief in
such tragedy,
when you're
not the one
who's
suffering.

I inherited my mothers lost tongue...
when she dropped it, i
picked it up.
in it, i found both her
fire, and her hidden words.

i inherited my father's bitter wounds;  
every time one opened up,
a piece of me grew to douse it
in alcohol, and
in tears.

i was given both a lock and a key,
and the need to stitch things
Closed.

he came crawling up the street
like a nightmare in a human body*
grabbed her arm, and while
paralyzed with fear,
*she forgot to run

feelings are meant to be
hurt,
for if they were not,
why would they?

we live on a dying planet,
where phone chargers keep
us together and
late night conversations
are entirely possible.

we live in a place where
our bodies are made of star dust and
water,
and we stuff ourselves with
toxin covered
pictures, people, words.

there will be a day,
someday soon i think,
when we tear apart our seams
and destroy the only thing that
seemed to bear us,

and we will be nothing but
dead phones and
silent voices.

but
our websites will be somewhere
and
our words will be forever.

It's as if someone
took a knife straight through
my melted butter heart, and
smeared the blood on a piece of toast,

like the feeling of Ice in a bath,
and a foot sticking off the bed,

its as if I was made of paper
and she was the little one who
ripped me to shreds,
i'm in tears but still she can't understand;

that yea, it's not your fault,
but at the same time,
like bugs in
a trap
you have done me no favors
and I am angry,

was my love not enough for you?

i hope he breaks your heart, and
i hope he breaks it good.

send me to heaven,
or **** me in the process.