I’ve seen you twice since it happened
And each time you looked away so fast
I thought your neck might snap,
Like my face burned your retinas.
Am I so disgusting to you now
That the sight of me turns your stomach?
Am I so repulsive to you now
That sharing a space induces nausea?
You looked at me, in that brief moment
Like you’d look at a piece of road ****.

The words “I love you” scared you
So much so that you left my life entirely.
When I spoke those words without thinking
I didn’t know this would happen
That you’d pretend we never met,
And when you saw me on occasion
I’d make you feel so sick.

I told you it was fine, I was fine.
I could be your friend no matter the circumstance,
But the horror you felt at the mere idea
That I wanted to be with you
Ruined and overturned our friendship.

I’m more like a flower than a person.
I’m wilting, losing my petals, drying up.
I’m in a vase with others, and they seem to be doing fine.
They are blooming in vibrant shades of pink and red
With proud leaves catching the sun from a window near by.
They let off fragrant fumes to passers by
And everyone stops to look at the gift nature has given.
But then they notice the small dying flower near the back
And think, that should be pruned out
It would improve the over all look of the arrangement.

But maybe I am run away with this metaphor.
I am more like a china doll than a person.
I am fragile, painted, and stationary.
People see me and they know I have no real purpose
I cannot be played with, like other dolls
I cannot be taken around the world as a child’s companion,
I must sit preserved on the safety of a high up shelf.
A toy for children that can never fulfill its purpose
Because to do so would break me.

Or maybe I am more like the old pictures of an ex
The ones you keep hidden under your mattress.
I am only viewed and handled when you are lonely,
When no one else is giving you attention I am your last resort.
But when you look at me you remember why we no longer see each other
Why I am a memory rather than a lover.
I am too much work to be anything other than a smile
One that says things used to be good
But now call for us to be apart

Possibly I am like a song you have heard so many times it makes you sick.
The one you used to love, played over and over when you felt blue,
But eventually you realized my lyrics were contrived
And my message irritating, my beat not that catchy.
When you hear me now you think, ugh, more of this?
You still know all of the words,
You just wish that you didn’t, because my song means nothing to you now.
My beat is a reminder of a phase in your life,
One you don’t wish to revisit.

I could be more like that hamster you got in the 8th grade.
The one that seemed adorable with its fluffy hair and tiny nose,
Until you realized how much work I am,
How our relationship was one sided with all the work falling to you.
Cleaning my cage, feeding me, bathing me,
And doing everything you do for yourself, for me as well.
And it just wasn’t what you signed up for,
So after a few months of boredom you let me die,
And held the little funeral for appearances sake.

I am more like my illness than I am like a real person,
Or at least at times it seems I am to you.
I need more help than most people,
I can’t go out all the time like most people.
I need rest, and need breaks, I need a helping hand
To prevent my body from falling apart.
So I think maybe the metaphors are pointless,
Because you are tired of me complaining
And you aren’t listening to me anymore.

I can feel warm blood drip down my muzzle
Painting my fur with that gorgeous crimson
There’s nothing like the fresh ****
That snap and crack of bone and cartilage
Taking down the prey and owning their body
Opening them up and watching their eyes fade
Until it’s just me and dinner

The chase isn’t the best part
The best part is when you pounce
When you know you are going to win
Because the predator inside has to
The call to run, to feed more, to ****,
It’s what makes a wolf, what makes me powerful
The thrumming in my veins that says
I was made for this, was made to hunt

Racing through the forest
My muscles tensing and relaxing as I run
Faster than anything else in here
I can smell every little bunny and squirrel
Shivering with the knowledge that I run this place
There is no escaping me, no way out
And I will always find you

What I want from you,
what I need to see and feel from you
at this moment,
isn't what you'd think.

I don't want to hold your hand, sharing a book in the other
while we read Frost or T. S. Elliot.
To be embraced, to breathe you in like the scent of home.
To **** all night long and not stop even after I can feel shivers wrack your body.  
Because none of it has ever been real.
Not for you.

You lied to me.
Not with words but with your expressions.
Your silent smiles,
your quiet support was a safety blanket,
ratty and warm with age.

Your eyes pooled with compassion,
you brushed my hair back held back the loneliness
when I lay on your bed shivering with fever.
But on another day, when I lay there resting and well,
you told me to get out.
To leave you alone and stay away.

You exiled yourself
and punished yourself.
Buried your body and mind in your work.
And when you ripped yourself from me
it looked effortless.

I want proof you aren't a robot.
I want to rip at your skin with my nails, really dig in,
to prove you can be hurt.
I want to pry that grin from your lips,
and wring blood from your lying mouth.
I want to press bruises into your skin,
But this time not with my kiss.

Now when we come and go
From each other's lives and from each other's beds
There is warmth, comfort,
But at the center of what is and what will be
nothing is there.
I'm reaching across a gaping void while you watch
and apathetically reach back
without really trying.

As I kid I watched in wonder at the sight.
The shining goblet of Grape Juicy Juice,
Candles, flags, robes, and glorious gold-tipped bibles.
I loved the songs, the community, and the people.
Faces and arms raised to press up to the sky
Like they could literally feel the hand of God.
It was everything I'd been missing at home.
It was home cooked meals, smiles, and togetherness.
It was leadership, mentors, and pop rocks.
I joined AWANA at age 8.
We read the scriptures, played games, ate snacks,
And enjoyed the bath of warmth that God's love gives,
With the intensity and guilelessness that only kids can have.
There were no difficult questions and everything had an answer.
Until I got a little older.
The questions got harder and the words got harsher.
My mentor, Denise, loved me. I know she did, in her way.
But she didn't understand why my family never came with
To church or on my spiritual journey.
It was my responsibility to save their souls form eternal hellfire.
"Don't you love them? Don't you want them with you in paradise?"
Of course I did. I tried to tell them
But their expressions were condescending,
Like they knew something I didn't about the world.
But God wants to save them. God loves everyone.
Or does he?
Slowly there was less talk of love and forgiveness
More of sin, atonement, and apologies.
"You lied to your mother, Victoria?"
She rapped my hands with the bible
And looked down at me with disappointment in her eyes.
"You know God wants you to be sorry, but it's not enough."
She drilled it into me in increasingly violent ways.
The manifestations of my sins and their atonements became more.
More physical and more mental.
More and more rules piled up.
More and more sins piled up.
More and more lessons and meetings occur between us.
I read the entire bible. I memorized verse after verse.
I became passionate about helping others,
But instead of soup kitchens and fundraisers
We spent more time outlining everyone who would burn.
Gays, feminists, other religions, different denominations, Me.
"You don't deserve God's love and yet he gives it to you. Are you grateful?"
"You can't preach or teach, you will find a man one day who will help you."
"Hold out your arms."
Until one day found me sitting on the edge of my roof.
Wondering what it would be like if I was in hell.
Wondering if I was gone would anything be different.
Wondering how I could prove myself.
I climbed back in through the window and picked up a hammer.
The one my dad used, but never to fix things, before he left.
I laid down on my bed and slammed it into my ribs
Once. Twice. Three times.
Tears ran down my cheek
while I gasp quietly.
*Is it enough yet?

The dawn of a new day feels suspended
In time, and glues these eyes like sandpaper
To the light. But my day hasn’t ended.
I grip the grass and wait at the suns leisure.

Breathing deeply I find myself just waiting
In the noon-sun with my skin pink and warm.
All of the weight from before abating
Like with each breath I exhale a small storm.

I want. I wait. I writhe among the weeds.
This morning is mine to use as I please.

The scene was casual for its inhabitants but an unholy terror for his eyes
A carnival of violence and debauchery, ages 18 and up if you please!

Walk on in ladies and gentleman
You’re just in time to watch the show!
This circus is rated F for *******
And now its time for the new act.
Watch as the young thing we call
Serotonin Sam battles her demons
Armed only with her blustery attitude
And a .44 mm Magnum

Terrified, he stared on as she lifted the gun and pressed it to her temple
Her face was placid, serenely calm through one exhale and an explosion

When the smoke cleared the carnival disappeared
Replacing his fantasy of wild music and colors
With the faded pastel reality shrouded in darkness
She wasn’t gone quickly, she just became less
With each self-destructive move
She lost another piece of herself
And now instead of a vibrant girl
He listened as a ghost began to speak

“Can’t you feel me,” she whispered?
I came here to breathe words of derision in your ear
Take stock of where we are and react
Just like the sweet little boy you are

Give me your innocence, not much but it’ll do
I need it to lighten my heart and empty my brain
I’ve never had the will to do so much penance
I’m doing my best impression of oppression
And fertilizing the weeds that strangle you
I’ll need to drain you dry of wholesomeness
Come on babe, escape with me

“This isn’t you!” He screamed while the carnival colors and sounds return
Everywhere he looked he saw a different fun-house mirror version of himself

He turned and ran as fast as he could
Tripping on bags of peanuts, discarded prizes,
and popping a lost bag containing a lonely goldfish
He keeps running until a curtain smacks him in the face
And the scene is the same.
But he’s the one out there now.
How long can he regale the crowd?