you're the kind of girl
they write sad indie songs about.

a grandly woven rug, full of color and zeal
held together with cheap scotch tape
and promises written in thick smoke by the most crafty of tongues.

dangerous girl-
though just as much to herself as to the rest of the world.

you're the kind of girl who thinks of herself
as a character in an offbeat film:
starkly humorous, deeply tortured,
a promising independent piece that doesn't quite have its identity yet.

maybe such a film is the brainchild
of a few washed up art students
some of which got together with cheap whiskey
and enough ambition to keep the world turning
for a little while longer
so they could breath life into you, starchild.

their lonely, brilliant minds fused into one
equally brilliant
equally lonely
teenage deadbeat
who's trying
but only just enough
to make herself feel something.

My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My ******-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.

Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."

Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.

Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."

Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.

The tent fly
flapped
in the
Arizona dream.

I fell out
of the door.
Saying,
"I should be
dead soon."

My bleeding feet
stained the
brown sugar sand.

And God
was everywhere;
in my cuts.
In me.
In us.

And God
was nowhere;
absent-hearted-
blood-kissed-
consciousness.

My hands gripped
at the cheeks
bordering thin lips.
I kissed the
Arizona dream
as if it were
my own.

If it were my own.
If you were my own.

It’s the place we live
A place of treachery
A place of trembling hope
And sorrow

A place where centuries of salty tears
Have cried the oceans high
Where the pines, the redwoods, and the oaks
Have fled high to the skies—learning from their earthly mistakes

I want to know it all
But I know I never will
And I want to feel strong
But a feeble human existence can never fulfill

And when the thorn ******
That’s when I’ll feel pain
But to the pain I feel when I lose you
Every few months-it is nothing

You were here on the first day
And we know-- and He knows
You wont be here for the last
But I hope you will be, for the talks in between

We don’t really talk about it
Instead we talk to talk intelligently
And I like that
And you like that

And that is why we’re the same
I wonder when I’ll have faith
Perhaps, when you have faith
Have faith in me and have trust in my words

Sorrys spread themselves wide—too wide
With every rise of the sun and turn of the tide
Despite the try, despite a determination of independence
They are taken

I worry I lack some sympathy
For I did not cry the day I heard
But you do not cry on the days you die
And you die for quite a few of them

Do you know who knows?
Or do you not care
Does it matter?
For me, it does, and you know, and he knows, and she knows

I scoffed the day I heard you believed
I laughed that I figured you a man of reason
You said you could be both
I still scoff

When I shall count the stars
When I shall breathe evenly
When I shall free the butterflies from the pits of me
That’s when I shall—when I shall free you of the blame

I know you deny it
And you may right not deserve it
But when I’ve read of all the little live things
We too, will be alive

Do you count your lucky stars
Or do you rest assured
I call the arrogance a bluff
I call it today—for tomorrow

The blanket of grey
Which comforts me so nicely
Will always remain a compliment
A compliment, remembered, and not deserved

It’s a humbling experience to realize
Not one idea you will think
Will ever be
Original

And it’s a disappointment to realize
Some ideas
Ideas of others
You will never even think

In that I call injustice
But no one will make it just
And I will rest aside
Quiet… less than robust

My existence is frightening
So is yours
So is his, so is hers
Though arrogance makes for a fantastic façade

And we’re all incredibly concerned
That today will be lost before we have achieved something--anything
Yet too distracted by tomorrow
We fulfill the prophecy, and yes, we lose today

Pride is a thing to tussle with
I want to be proud, but more so, I want you to be proud
Of me
We’ve been told to not be so proud

To be humble and oh so very honest
Though those before me have proved, time, time again
That to be anyone and to get anywhere,
Humility just won’t do

And that’s the juxtaposition I live
The contradiction I’ll never escape
How to make it all of worth
While upholding a worth of self

Your mood changes with the moon
And I try not to mind
For I know that mine
Is as steady as the tides—not very

But you could live without me, right?

You've done an excellent job of proving it so far, love.

Once I'm yours, everything stops.
Doubt brushes up my spine, the ghost of every romance gone wrong.
The missteps and mistakes that broke the spell, or simply chased away what was already dead and gone from our hearts.

How can I ever know what swirls behind your eyes and moves beneath your skin, if you're never inclined to show me or tell me of your secret way?

I lie in bed at night and wonder if you find me beautiful, or worthwhile to you...

You read my poetry with stone lips and brittle eyes.

You seek not the light that stirs within me. I know only that light. You seem now to be nothing but a moth, who's attention I'd held for a tentative breath.

A breath that was ****** into the grand hurricane of life itself, born to be nothing more than a quiet whisper on a dark, still night when I'm in some far away place, alone.

It was dissipated on the cold northern winds, scattered on freshly fallen snow in some forgotten place you and I have lost the map to.

So yes,

Feel free to paint my scalp any color you choose.
Massage color into my listless locks, and let the pigment seep through
the tiny, pin needle cracks in my skull.

I want to see the dye behind my eyes.
I want to feel the kaleidoscope making my broken mind beautiful again.

You are an artist, a concentration of stars, the gentle breath of a wayward nebula ambling through space and time.

Stars are in your eyes, my love, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

I am a hummingbird heart on a ripped up sleeve, a bumbling creature that brims with pretty words that are too big for her halfway heart mouth.

As you preen and paint, darling, save me this. I don't care what you paint me as- another mistake, a prayer on trembling lips, or manic mumblings after midnight...

Just christen my hair with your fingers when we're done. Run them through so that I can shake out stardust afterwards. Kiss me so I can taste honey on my breathe long after you've gone away.

Love me like I'm a promise worth keeping.

To the girls who are secretly so broken
You WILL be alright
I know you have scars on your soul
Maybe your heart
Possibly your wrists
None of this is your fault
And even if you think it is
Let it go
Not that you can, that easily
But try
I know you are broken
I know you're not okay
Especially when people ask how you are and you answer "I'm fine"
When what you really mean is "I'm alive"
But what do you really care about your own survival anymore
Well I just want you to know
There is beauty in broken glass
And to me
There is immeasurable beauty
In broken girls
So don't you ever forget
You cannot be defined by pain
You're too beautiful for that
Stay strong, broken girl
Nothing is ever really broken