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

whether or not
you decide to rid yourself
of tiny unwanted cells,
that are too early to hear your voice,
and too early to have a beating heart,
or rid yourself
of a future you may want,
it is your choice,
not your choice that
others get to make for you.

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?

i am still my past,
that stupid little girl,
with that stupid knack
for crying,

and i am still her future,
for shes still a little stupid,
and still cries with that
horrible talent for crying,

and i am still alive,
even if im stupid,
even if im crying.

imagine —
you are the last of your species,

an angel, who dances on
ice.

like
a
film that protects
this earth ,
your wings are broken ,
and these are the pieces of you that cannot go
home .
.

so on
tiptoes, this cracked marble
does not shatter,
and
everyone gets to watch you perform ,
unknowing of the cold truth that you are shackled
to ,

like
a ballerina in a box
that hums a sweet tune —

you still dance ,
even as the last of your species,
even though
you are all that you have left.

and
even though
you have decided that love is a form of
betrayal.
.

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.

disconnected ,
my torso has been torn from my legs
and i lay in pieces, separated
miles apart ,,

wires, like silver veins,
stem from plants
and flowers,
like
little golden ropes .
a noose around a garden *** ,
and
a robot without its head
.

they always say that love is blind ,
but i think love
must be cruel —
for she dressed me in red and then
left me to die,

and you know..
a tea kettle who boils
also screams ...

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

learn to cradle yourself
in your own arms,

be strong, because
your mother loves you, and your
sisters love you,
                             more than i
can ever say.

and…
your body is not temple, because
you exist to survive.
so cherish yourself, and one day,
someone else will…

and it won’t be painful, the
way that things are painful
now.

so bear your teeth,
                                 but wear a crown,
you shouldn’t
bite yourself just to cry...

Just kidding,
Sparkles don't heal
My wounds, only covers
Them up, like a mask but
For my heart,
That old broken thing.
Give me credit for trying,
Everyone is different,
Just like filters and sarcasm,
So if my words don't suit your taste,
Just know that I wrote them
With you in mind,
And forgiveness,
Whatever that means.

ive worn a brand my entire life
that’s been
stamped across my forehead.

i believe that
everyone can see it,
painted red with little girl blood.

all my life people have taken chunks
from me, and all my life,
i’ve given people chunks.

i believe that maybe if i were different
i would be perfect.
im cruel, and im sorry.

**** 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.

god must’ve made me , strictly
to be broken open —

and
you look at me with such innocent eyes ,
but
i know you see
right through
me ,,

so
tell me , do you want me to
strip ?

please you?

there’s a hunger in your voice
and i know i’ve heard it
before —

you
are like everyone and
everyone likes
me

but i do not falter ,
and i will never, ever break,

because
every time i touch myself,
god gets on his
knees .
.

sometimes
i wish that you could see into my mind,
and say all the things that i wish
people would say to me.

and sometimes,
i wish you would figure them out
on your own.

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

its the crying baby
who gets the milk.

i cannot seem to find any air
when i am with you .
                                    .
                         ­             .

so
i try to make myself anew,
and then
push myself out into a world where i find that
then
i cannot breathe,

and so when you hit me,
instead of laughing,
i just choke ,

and instead, when i feel water
in my lungs,
i heave
instead of hiccuping,
and finally understand why
i am not the favorite child.
.

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

dont
get too close,
or the smell of alcohol
will rub onto you, the way
his presence already has.

dont
get too close,
or he'll abuse you
like he does drugs,
and me.

dont
get too close,
or he'll start a fire
in your heart, too,
made of gasoline and
my tears.

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.

i really cant wait for the day
when someone asks
why im sad, and why
my smile looks too real
to actually be real,
and it's gotten to the point,
where i tell myself
that someone will notice,
and when they do,
ill marry them.

oh please, *******
and your opinion,
good deeds are selfish,
dont you know, so why
dont u spare me the kindness
of blessing me without
your words for a while,
just like i fail to do to you,
with everything u dont want
to hear,  
sorry i guess,
but if she can come off as bipolar,
so can you.

words are thrown
the way a machine spews bullets
and stains passionate red,
unlike your parents forgotten love,
screaming only defeat, and that
you were for naught

punches are swung,
like bombs that arent made of fire,
leaving something much more permanent
than ash and tears,  
an impression of what they thought of you

ice cream is dropped,
at a party and on a dress,
as your face flushes with embarrassment,
and while people laugh,
finally understanding why
*you are not the favorite child

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.

if i marred your body
with words and rusty knives,
and i peeled your skin with
the burn of every tear you
ever caused me;
would you label the remnants
as scars from our love,
or tattoos you regret?

i remember them
better than they remember me
i'm sure
my hate like the tip of an iceberg
drifting in the back
of my mind
driving me insane
since it seems like its been
years
maybe forgiveness
however much i hate the concept
is the right idea
when it comes to
their nature,
and my closure.

spoiled girls are sad too.

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.

you stand among us,
as though we were not shattered when
you took apart all that we made
to give you...

and i become that seething
sniveling,
mess on the floor...
when you tell me that you are leaving again,
as if i didnt just
create love to place in
your hands,

a kiss and a blooming rose, you
are all that i am,
and yet
still i feel lonely,

empty,
as you stand before me,
naked and in pieces,

but singing on a stage that i made just
for you.

it hurt when she took you from me,
but it hurt even more when you
willingly let her.

you were merely a gut feeling
that ate at me,
like a syrup in my stomach,
eating away at all my acid,
and dragging me
down,
down,
down.

but you were heavy, and
i could tell that you
knew this,
for i guess
i was the same
as all the others
in my place,

and it was only today, when
i woke up once again,
and realized that i dont have a clue
what youre thinking,
that i remembered that not only
do gummy worms exist,
but that everything would
be okay.

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.

can hearts be heavy like
the bags under my eyes,
or is my
illusion of gratitude
just stronger than
my effort to stay awake

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

i didnt fall in love with this boy,
not this one
                     who tore me to pieces,

and i feel like an angel ,
suffocated in white, my wings were clipped
on the first day you
                                  wanted to kiss me,

and it feels violent,
disgusting,
my halo wasn’t built just to break —

and i did not forgive you,
i never will .

because you were never meant to go to heaven.

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.

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.

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.

i am holding an axe...

empty towers stand tall in snow
-
yet
still i climb ,
(each step) —

like
a toy upon a shelf
(i am freezing)/

when
you rip the stuffing out of
me
and try to sew me
shut ,

but the
wound is not healing
(it never will)

and
the walls get stained with nicotine::
(i miss when they were white)

when i come back to, i am lost -
scared
(because it is dark)
.

i
try to howl ,
gurgle instead:
and then
i start to weep-
(and my tears all freeze like little pearls) .
.

when i look for them again,
(those girls)

they have turned into
wolves
(i remember my axe)

and they look me in my eyes —
glimmering//

so
spit on me, again,
i say

i
dare you —
this time,
i am not afraid to bite.

(they do not come back for me)
.

she smears her lips
with mama's red crayons.

(then
she swallows them whole)

lips like sour cherries,
puckered ,
                  swollen .

wiping her eyes on soft
tissue,
blood stains instead.

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.

8 days after
my birthday,
i couldn't breathe
as i took a
swim test
with my friends
and failed;
but that doesnt matter,
for now i know
that he couldn't breathe either.

justice for eric garner