Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt
and a locksmith;

To crack you open without a key.

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this locksmith;
The bitter sweet symphony of just letting things be,
after letting you out to see the world beneath your feet,
I wanted to be the one to set you free.
Only, that wasn't good enough to me…

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt;
and with a single pull of a kiss,
lock you up inside of me,
so you could never leave me.

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt
and a locksmith.

I keep the deadbolt unlocked
Just in case you come home.

You don't.

!!!!!!Trigger Warning: ****, domestic violence, abuse, suicide!!!!!!!!



When I moved to your hometown, I saw your true colors.
I saw that power meant more, your dominance meant more, your ego and your assertiveness meant more to you than I did.
I tried.
I tried to leave you alone, but like a moth drawn to a flame, time and again I allowed myself to draw nearer to you, shocked when you burned me every time.
Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
Days later, I cut you off. I blocked you. And it felt good. Like I regained some of the control you took away from me. I was starting to feel like myself again until I got home that night.
You busted through the deadbolt lock on my door.
My backpack was missing.
I called your mom in a panic, having not connected the dots until moments after I hung up the phone with her and I heard your voice, calling me from outside my window.
I asked you.
I asked you once.
I asked you twice.
Did you do that to my door?
Your calm, unchanging face didn’t even blink when you answered,
No.
It wasn’t until I put two and two together, you being there, having my backpack, the holes in your story, your unchanging, unsurprised, unsympathetic face, that I realized what you had done.
And when I called you on it, you admitted it.
Why lie to me? Why lie to my face?
So I blocked you, again.
Leave me alone until I give you the word, I said.
Just leave me alone.
Two days later, I was breaking down crying over my inability to be alone, over my inability to love my broke pieces enough to pick myself up and put myself back together
Two days later, I called you.
You told me you were sorry.
And that you sent me roses in the mail, set to arrive sometime before I left, two weeks from then.
And I melted
I caved
I gave up being strong and decided to instead be naïve, oblivious, or simply in denial.
We can make it work at least until I leave, right?
What’s the worst that can happen?
But then the worst started to happen.
Your flashbacks took away your memories of me and replaced them with menacing, intrusive thoughts
Replaced me with other girls
Nameless, faceless, meaningless bodies for you to use as you please
Or a roadblock in the way of you achieving peace at last, kissing death’s sweet lips
The bad guy you worked so hard to bury deep within your subconscious became very, very conscious
Very real
I first noticed it the day we were walking to the park, I said you were less mature than I, a harmless quip meaning no personal injury
You walked on the opposite side of the street as me, refusing to look at me, refusing to acknowledge me, refusing to come back to my side.
But when that car full of guys rolled by me, whistling, yelling various unsolicited, uncomfortable things resembling compliments, you laughed.
You laughed at my fear.
And still wouldn’t walk with me.
It was that day, you got in my face and dared me to put my hands on you so you could lay me on the ground
It was that day, I asked you, why are you talking to me like this?
It was that day, you answered, if I don’t hurt you verbally, it will be physically.
It was moments later, through tears, I begged, why do you treat me like this?
It was moments later, with cold eyes, you answered, to feel powerful
Is it a switch?
Can you flip it on and off?
How can the one who caresses my face so very gently,
The one who calls himself my protector at all costs,
The one who rushes to my side at every beck and call,
The one who opens doors for me
Walks two hours in the rain for me
Spends all his money to send me roses,
Be so cruel?
Three days before I’m supposed to leave, you come spend the night with me
We’re laying down, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the darkness
When I suddenly admit, I’ll miss you.
Don’t go, you say.
But I have to. I have to, my love.
It was then that you grabbed me by the neck, and told me I was not going to leave you.
Baby, please, I can’t breathe.
You’re not leaving. I don’t care if I have to take you away
Then you jolt out of it, looking at me with confusion. Your head hurts.
Just lay on me chest baby, it’s okay
I stroke your hair slowly, softly, calmly
Why is your heart beating so fast?
It’s not baby, close your eyes.
I hear it. What’s wrong?
Nothing, love, I’m fine. Just anxious about the move.
You know, you could stay here with me.
Baby, I already got my plane ticket, I’m leaving in a couple days.
No.
No?
No.
You grab my wrist with one hand.
Baby, let me go.
No.
Babe, you have to let me go. It’s okay.
No. Stop saying that.
Baby, I-
It’s too late. You’re already on top of me, grabbing my other wrist and pinning me down, your dark eyes beating into mind.
Baby, please let go of me, you’re squeezing too tight, you’re hurting me.
Your grip grows even stronger, and I feel the panic rising in my chest again.
Then you jolt out of it. Your head hurts. You need to lay down.
This time, I don’t let you lay on me. This time, I simply watch you lay there.
You reach out for me
I flinch
Concern flickers in your eyes, babygirl what’s wrong? You haven’t flinched around me in months.
It’s nothing.
It’s something, talk to me. What did I do?
You… um.. you pinned me down. You h-held my wrists. You wouldn’t let me go…
You laugh.
I wouldn’t do that, unless you were trying to leave me
Baby, I’m leaving the state in two days.
Your eyes turn cold. You yank my hair, pulling my head back.
You what?
I don’t answer.
You WHAT?
I-I’m leaving in two-
You yank my hair again, harder this time, before letting me go.
Your head hurts.
Really bad, really, really, bad.
Lay down baby, it’s okay.
I kiss your forehead tenderly
You’re okay.
My last day there was the worst.
By far, the worst.
Laying down, we’re past the stage of denial over me leaving.
I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m so horribly sad to leave you behind.
You’re depressed. You don’t want to be here anymore. You don’t see yourself living without me.
You’re the only thing ******* keeping me here anymore, you say bitterly.
You’re gonna have to be strong for me when I leave, my love. I know you can.
Just die with me, you plead, it’ll be quick. I can choke you to death and **** myself. We’ll never have to be apart again.
We don’t even know what’s on the other side. What if it’s nothing? What if we don’t find each other?
You insist. You beg. You plead. You cry. Until you finally give up convincing me, your hand creeping up towards my neck.
Let me go.
Baby, let me go
Your hand is around my neck. Tightening. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. There are black spots clouding my vision, like when you stand up too fast after sitting for too long, except they’re everywhere
Please, babe, please just…
Shhhhh babygirl it’s okay, close your eyes, go to sleep
So I do. I close my eyes and you slowly remove your hand from my neck, kissing me tenderly on the forehead, before getting up and going to my window. You open the window and as you’re looking down at the two story drop, my eyelids flutter open.
I reach out for you as you go to climb out the window.
Baby, stop, I whisper weakly.
You’re supposed to be dead.
But I’m not. Just, come here, it’s okay, you don’t have to do this.
I stand slowly and come to you, grabbing your arm to pull you away from the window.
Now it’s your turn to demand that I let you go.
Just let me do this. I need to do this. Leave me alone.
No, you don’t, just come here.
Before I can even blink both of your hands are around my neck and squeezing, lifting me off the ground.
Leave me alone before I make you leave me alone.
Unable to breathe, I nod, and you drop me.
Gasping for breath, I see you going towards the window once again.
Please! Just use the front door. Just walk out the front door, if you go out the front door I swear to god I’ll leave you alone.
You turn towards me, reaching once again for my neck, and I grab your wrists.
You back me up, twisting out of my grip and grabbing onto my wrists.
You keep backing me up, until we’re almost to my closet. I stop and rest against the open door, and you ask coldly,
Why’d you stop backing up? Keep going. Since you don’t know how to leave me the **** alone.
I don’t have much of a choice. You push me into the closet, and turn me around so I’m no longer facing you, placing your arm around my neck in a choke hold and tightening your grip.
I hit your arm once, twice, three, four, five times, and you finally drop me.
Your head hurts.
I turn to face you, with fear in my eyes, cowering under you.
You look at me with confusion.
Why are we in a closet? What’s wrong? Why are you-
You reach out to touch me and I cower and flinch, shaking my head
Please don’t, please, please don’t touch me. Please. I’m sorry. Please.
I break down crying.
You realize what you’ve done.
And you sit in the closet. In your little corner, to punish yourself, as I cower in the corner.
Seconds blend into minutes as they pass by, until you rise from the closet, going to the door. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who I am. You keep calling me another girl’s name. I don’t know who it is.
Now it’s your turn to cower in the corner.
I can only imagine what’s going on in your head, as you’re crying out with fear and panic over the voices screaming in your head. I let you cry, clinging onto my legs.
It’s okay my love, you’re safe now, you’re not there anymore. Let it out. It’s okay.
My jeans are soaked now. I gently remove you from my legs and go to change my pants. Your face immediately switches to panic.
No, please, I don’t want to have ***. Please. I don’t want to.
Baby, relax. I’m not going to make you. I’m just changing out of these wet pants.
As I change out of my pants and into your oversized basketball shorts, your face changes.
Come here.
I look at you, confused.
Now.
I slowly walk over to the corner where you’re no longer cowering in. I crouch down next to you.
Closer.
You pull me onto your lap.
I gotta tell you something.
I lean over, your lips grazing my ear as you whisper,
I want you
You begin kissing my neck.
Kissing, touching, gently.
I almost didn’t notice anything was wrong. It wasn’t until you looked at me and asked,
What’s your name, girl?
That I realized you weren’t really here. I looked at you, dumbfounded, and you shrugged,
Okay, I guess that doesn’t matter. You’re **** as hell.
I pushed off of you, shaking my head.
I’m your girlfriend. Remember?
You shake your head.
I don’t date girls like you. Why don’t you just take that off?
You stand, walking towards me.
Just relax.
No!
I push you off me, and you laugh coldly.
Babygirl, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But I love it when they fight back.
You grab me by the neck, kissing me roughly, as your free hand pulls my shorts off.
I’m pushing you. I’m pushing you off of me but you’re too strong.
You grip my ******* tightly and begin pulling them down, but I grip them tighter and keep holding them up.
Stop. Please. Stop.
I use my most authoritative voice and you chuckle with amusement.
Guess we’re doing this the hard way then, hm?
You pick me up and set me on my back on the ground. I go to get up. You pin me back down by my throat, prying yourself between my legs.
You begin to touch me.
I flinch under your touch and keep pushing, keep pushing you off of me.
You pin my hands with both of yours.
You bring my hands together and hold them both with one of your hands.
Stop. Fighting.
You resume touching me.
My body betrays me as I squirm and leak.
You know you like that. Don’t you?
You enter me, and I cry out in pain as you use me for your pleasure.
Call me daddy
You demand, and I shake my head.
You grab me by the throat and begin going harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.
Again, you demand,
Say it.
The word escapes my lips and you grin with satisfaction.
I close my eyes.
I stop fighting.
I do anything I can to take a mental vacation somewhere far, far, away.
I’m not here. This isn’t happening. It’s not. It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s almost over.
You pull out suddenly, and look at me with horror.
No… no… no, no, no, no, no, no
You let go of my neck. Then my hands. You back up and stare at me as if I’m on fire.
Please tell me I didn’t just do what I think I just did.
I wish I could. I wish I could tell you that you didn’t just do what you think you just did, but you did.
Your head hurts.
So ******* bad.
You retreat to your corner in the closet, and I retreat to the corner opposite in the room. Now it’s my turn to cower in the corner.
The next morning, you’re helping me move my stuff out of my room, into your mom’s car. She’s taking me to the airport.
The ride to the airport is silent.
When we arrive, you open the door for me, and scoop me up bridal-style so I don’t get my shoes wet in the puddle you’re standing in.
I hug you tightly, holding back tears.
I kiss you gently, holding back words.
I love you.
I love you, too.
As I walk into the airport, leaving you standing in the rain, I realize:
The roses never came.

This door between us,
I can feel you on the other side.
It pains to know this only hurdle between us,
Deadbolt, I’m locked outside.
I hate to hear your cries there,
I smile when I hear you laugh,
The times I wished I could break it down,
But this lifeless bolt to me won’t answer.
One fear I have, that you hold the key,
And you left me out.
Worst, you lost the key.

Your smile is an animal that
still haunts me on
Rainy Tuesday nights.
When I'm feeling more fifteen than I ever did
at fifteen.
When my deadbolt ribs
slide loose.
"So that's what you're really like."
******* too.

Some people are just
too weird to love
and I'm done looking
for kisses.

Ethereal. That's the squirming quality of that health-hazard house,
where a byproduct of divorce emulsion slept in a bare room on
a bare air mattress, vacuously lying around with the blinds down,
vicious AM radio mumbling through the walls. Homeschooling was more like
becoming housebroken, given that my social network consisted of thirty feral cats.
I suppose some boys require a deadbolt on their room's door.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.

The apathy cloud that crawled the house led to a
(the deadbolt was to lock me out of my room; not in)
prison break; I awkwardly assured myself that I would
never be anything if I was still Pinocchio, and pleaded
to go to liberal-dominated-non-Rush-Limbaugh-approved public schools.
I did; I got into university, I got a grant, I do research,
I got a job, I got a girl, I got a job, I got a girl...
I don't know how to leave my room now that I'm free.
I still hear the crackle of conversative talk radio.

'Cause we'll put a boot in your *** / It's the American way.

Like trembling flotsam I drift into every class,
every party, every... A poem can regurgitate a person who is all
covered in spit and acid and memories. I still know that house
better than I know my own breathing body. I'm just going to keep running;
like a yellowed refrigerator housing second-amendment-upbringing-coleslaw;
like an overheating computer; like I always do; statically, in stasis.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.

I can remember the words “Don’t leave me” spewing from my mouth as you grabbed your wallet. As I heard the jingle of your keys.
I was never the girl who asked someone to stay. Not till you.
I was always pushing and shoving people out the door. Slamming it shut on their fingers, hearing the crunch of their knuckles as I locked the deadbolt.
My forte was leaving people behind.
Living on the run.
Loving for fun.
My mother left my father because he drank too much. She said she loved him but she could still feel the ache in her tummy as he pushed the couch to it when the two pink, parallel lines showed up on that stick. And there I rest, in that same tummy. My fingernails barley formed. My heartbeat slow. Not a hair on my head.
The strongest thing she could do for us was lock the deadbolt behind him. When he took the money, and the car, and that case of beer that tore them apart.
See I’m not strong enough to lock the deadbolt behind you. I will always leave the lights on, the welcome mat outside my chest will always hide the key to my heart. You know just where to find it.
I can’t leave you behind.
Because you’re my first taste of love.
So bitter, so sweet.
You bring out my greatest adversaries.
Everything I hate about me.
The things I try so hard to push to my subconscious.
You lay them all out.
I was always prone to flight in times of strife.
But with you I want to fight.
And I will fight till my knuckles are ****** and my knees are bruised.
I’ll fight for you till I’m black and blue. And I will keep fighting.
You are every hope,every promise and every reason to keep going.
I will sail your uncharted waters and even when the tide is high, and the waves are pulling me under. I will swallow that water instead of drowning.

When the thieves broke in,
They broke my mother’s heart,
They broke my naiveté,
They broke my maternal lineage,

By making her closet bare,
She stood barely recognizing it,
Stared at her safe,
Her
Bulletproof
Fireproof    
Apocalypse proof
Safe
Code c r a c k e d,
Deadbolt door eerily open.

“It’s just jewelry,” she muttered,
        [Passed down from one generation to the next,
        Dating back to an invaded India,
        Surviving six hundred soldiers,
        Smuggled within folds of saris through seas,
        Stories etched in souvenir gold].

“At least we’re all safe,” she stated with conviction.
        [Yet I couldn’t help but feel,
        A physical furthering,
        From my immigrant ancestors,
        Who passed along secrets with every pendant,
        Who whispered hopes in every ornate hairpin,
        Who stored their aspirations in every accumulation:
        Real riches knit with poetic prospers from the past].

How funny
To imagine the thieves
Pricing a priceless object --
Ironically making it worthless
Because the burglary left behind
The heritage.

When he entered the room, she was naked. She sat stripped of her mythology and the bare curves of her hips made his hands shake. He hid them in his pockets like seizures in winter and told himself it was just the morning coffee.

"Jesus Christ..." His jaw slacked and tightened and he waited for a response; something witty like, odd time to pray or not quite, but maybe his cousin or oh, honey, he moved out years ago, but we still get his mail.
But soon waiting gave way to waiting, as waiting is wont to, and things became uncomfortable. Her deadbolt eyes. She blinked in slow motion, no lash out of place, and he felt foolish.

See, he never expected her to be a woman, and he almost said as much, had the look on her face not shut him up beautifully. Besides, at this point he was pretty certain that cities definitely don't speak--not English anyway--and even then, his concrete dialect was, at best, as atrocious as cracked pavement. He lisped with too much wind and not enough asphalt.

He looked around for somewhere to sit but the only chair wasn't even really a chair, it was a stool with a questionable third leg that sat over-turned and tucked in the far corner and he found himself at an impasse. Retrieving it would not only involve taking his hands from their linen hideaways, but she hadn't even offered him a seat and he didn't want to be rude; he being a man of manners with the cotillion lessons to prove it. On the other hand, there was a more-than-decent chance that his knees would buckle at any moment. He cleared his throat.

"May I?" he motioned and crept around her with a weird, dainty tip-toe. He would later reflect on and regret this odd step choice because it was undeniably ladylike, unlike this lady whose face seemed carved from marble and gave nothing away; she just cast her eyes slightly downward. He uprighted the chair that wasn't really a chair and checked the sturdiness of the questionable leg and shrugged in questionable approval and dragged it back to where he was and returned his hands to where they were and felt, aside from the girly walk, that went surprisingly well.

So it was in silence that he was left to sit. Sit and think. Think about small things, trivial ****. He thought about the small stain on his pants and hoped to God it was toothpaste. He thought about the itch in the dead center of his back where he can never scratch without looking like he has a severe case of cerebral palsy. He thought about his pockets, full of trembling leaves that fluttered with spare change winds and hung delicately from his autumn tree arms. He thought about bigger things too, like how if two people on exact opposite ends of the earth simultaneously each dropped a piece of bread, for a brief moment the whole world was just a really big sandwich. But mostly he thought about the difference between hard and mean.

Hard is the bottomless tumblers of American dream fathers, breathing scotch like fire and promises that were only ever half-way held true. But mean... Mean is a different kind of machine entirely. Mean, he realized, is one solid kick in the nuts past hard. Hard is when your ice cream drops mid-lick and falls in the cinematic drama of a-hundred-and-twenty frames per second to the unforgiving pavement, and even though there is a split seconds chance to reach out and catch it, you don't because, let's face it, sticky hands are gross. But mean is the little junior sonofabitch dog that comes a-waddling on in, laps up your deliciously sweet sidewalk treat and stares you right in the face while he does it. Mean makes you realize the sticky fingers would have been worth it. And before he could decide which category this Angel City would fit in, she stood, with a slight smile curling at the corner of her mouth and one hand behind her back. She slinked over to him with snake ankles and reached out and ran her fingers along his jawline and hooked his chin upward and kissed him.

It wasn't the delicate, thin-lipped kiss of embarrassed virgins and ex-stripper-turned-born-again-Christians. It also wasn't the Californication kiss filled with carnal tongue that he might have expected had the idea that she was going to do anything but intimidate the utter **** out of him even crossed his mind. It was somewhere between the two. Between shelter and apocalypse.  Viperous with a tinge of motherly protection (which, actually, gave him some confusing feelings). When she pulled away he felt the slight clink of metal against his teeth.

A bullet. Round and smooth, he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and watched his fingerprint peel off and mark the lead skin with little, oily mazes. He looked up to her, unsure of what to say or what to make of whatever the hell just went down. She stared silently because, you know, that's her thing and he felt he had to say something because, you know, manners.

"I thought we said no gifts." He laughed. She didn't. He felt like an idiot immediately. Then, like the other half heart of a best friend necklace, she drew from her back a snub-nosed revolver. Her thumb flicked with outlaw elegance and the empty chamber rolled open.

"Let's play a game."
It was all she said. He didn't pay attention to whether she spoke in impeccable English or if the words were lit in the electric neon of Sunset Boulevard. It didn't matter and he didn't care. He didn't even notice when he took the gun and slid the round in until after he spun the chamber and slung it shut. When she lifted his arm without touching him and he felt like he was her marionette. When the snub nose found it's way to his mouth, he was certain of it. The feeling of the metal barrel against his bare teeth made his skin crawl and his stomach turn, yet even still he grinned.

He grinned because he saw his hand and his hand grinned because it wasn't shaking, not anymore.

He grinned and cocked the hammer back.

Hands that look sunburned
at first blush
count the silent ticks of a cognitive clock
grasping and releasing in stilted syncopation:
one-two-three-five (must avoid the four)
Did I remember to lock the front door?  Out
of bed—again—freezing feet tumble
down
     into slippers
awaiting the circular inevitability.  Again, again.  

Pad, pad, pad:
light shuffling accompanies the one-two-three-five
pounding in the head; that mind ricocheted with worry—
worry about the front door, the evil intentions of four,
insidious germs and subsequent scrubbing-scrubbing-scrubbing
in bleach and Comet.  Pad,

pad, pad to the front door.
It’s one hundred and thirty four steps, so take a baby-shuffle:
still avoiding the four.
Cold, unyielding brass ****.  Locked.

Deadbolt? Check.  Creeping black.
Chain lock?  Check.  Crawling germs.  Oh, god.

Pad, pad, pad to the kitchen.
Clorox-fume greetings in the sparkling sink
from twenty-three minutes before.  Never twenty-four.
Clorox on the cracked fingers, blistering
out that imperceptible blackness I know it’s there
blackness choking, bleeding in the bleach.

Scrub brushes, pumice, and fingernail files
wear down the nubs where the blackness may hide.
“Shh” the steaming water soothes
as it stings, scalds.  “Shh.”  Burn it all out;
conclusion so comforting.  So predictably round.

This is the last time I can do this tonight.  Pad, pad, pad
back to the bedroom.  Downey quilt beckons in lover tones,
pleading pillows nudge against that head, that infernal head
still panicking amongst the softness:
*Did I remember to lock the front door?

Some people would say that I am a fantasist, an idealist or a romanticist. They would be right.
But its not innocent; I've seen love in all its powers; its glory, its sacrifice, its understanding, its passion, its beauty, its happily ever afters, its successes, and also in its suffering, its misery, its hardship, its jealousy, its insecurity, its possession, its cruelty and most of all its longing. Love is illogical. The amount of love you have for yourself, will attract that same love from someone else. Its hard work or its easy. Its equilibrium or its imbalance.

Everyone in your life in whatever form of relationship holds this love for you, and you for them. You become a mirror image for whatever you desire in life from others. What you lack, you hope they will fill the void, making you whole. Or sometimes where you lack, they take a look around, sniff the air and make themselves cosy in the cavern of your longing. Sometimes just sometimes, you find the jigsaw puzzle piece to fit the void.

This is what I believe about love.

Love is sacrificing yourself for another, but not all of you until you are deplete of reason, choice or circumstance.
Love is making the effort. Actions speak louder than words.
Love is giving til you want to punch yourself in the face, because it seems too much, and then getting over it because you learnt from it afterwards.
Love is breaking past that barrier, taking down those walls, even if its brick by tiresome brick.
Love is travelling 4 hours to see someone to make them smile, to let them know that you care.
Love is attuning your inner spirit. Taking pride in yourself. Taking care of yourself.
Love is loving yourself.
Love is cartwheels, fairytales, hand-me-down stories and a rollercoaster ride.
Love is 22 cut out love hearts, each with a 'I love you because....' hanging from your living room ceiling.
Love is listening. Really listening to one another, and talking like adults.
Love is loving someone, way after they have gone and made their own lives away from you, just because.
Love is letting someone go, for the last time, giving up and slamming the deadbolt on that door, so they can, never, come, back.
Love is letting go of control, negotiation and acceptance.
Love is forgiveness. Internal, and external. Even if they are not there, even if they continue to try to destroy you. Understand, everyone has their own demons to deal with, and theirs aren't yours, you're purely a emotional punching bag. You accept that or you don't, your choice.
Love is understanding that you are not part of their life, unless they make you part of it, then you have a say, but you still might not get anywhere.
Love is saying sorry and meaning the **** out of it.
Love is giving a second chance.
Love is sitting up with someone in the midnight hours, holding them while they cry themselves out of their pain and living nightmares.
Love is believing in what you want, and respecting someone for what they want, despite your misgivings about it.
Love is being honest, in every which way.
Love is a cup of tea in the morning.
Love is your hand cupped on my cheek, so I know you're there.
Love is play fights, pillow wrestling, hide & seek and treasure hunts.
Love is laughing til you cry and your belly hurts.
Love is knowing when I have had enough, really don't want you here, nowhere ******* near me, and holding me anyway, because you know I really do, but can't help myself.
Love is creating trust. Breaking down boundaries and letting someone in.
Love is chinese whispers, bbqs, outdoor fairy lights and midnight fire pits.
Love is a mutual appreciation of the same music.
Love is mutual appreciation of each other. Mutual understanding.
Love is fighting for those you love, against the world if need be.
Love is giving, sometimes until you are spent and weary.
Love IS kind.
Love is acceptance.
Love is being a best friend, a role model, a partner in crime, and a creator of mutual dreams.
Love is wiping away the snot, the blood and the tears. Placing magic kisses on scrapes, scratches and bruises.
Love is believing.
Love is holding someone til they're ok with letting you go.
Love is packing up the car early in the morning with a tent and walking boots and driving off in the sunrise.
Love is teaching someone how to ride a bike, understand a question, try a rope swing or do roly polys down the hills
Love is letting them get it wrong, so they know how to get it right.
Love is giving your life to something you believe in.
Love is not giving a flying **** and jumping off the cliff. Recklessness abandonment.
Love is an adventure of mass proportions.
Love is unconditional - if you place conditions on love, you are limiting yourself in every avenue of your life. Place conditions on other things - respect, commitment and trust.
Love is passion; passion til it overflows into all avenues of your life, til it reaches your happy place, and puts a smile on your ****** goofy face.


Love with all your heart.
For no reason.
Forget the rest.

The clock struck mid-night London on the cheeks of her rosy smile. Glancing at Big Ben her high heels shined posh over the moon. Bold, intelligent and independent she stood at the corner of Westminster and Margret upon a shadow that faded her invisible to the alley of the ******* door. She wanted a walk on the wild….. so with crimson lips the brazen beauty blew a kiss that knocked deaths door three times firm.
Beauty: Hello sweetheart. Could you be a doll and crack the bolt. She playfully inquired.

Death’s Door: “****** off!” I’m tired and about to hit the rack!

Beauty: "Eee you cheeky monkey" Do not play coy! For you may be a Fit Bloke for most but I’m
Karen Wankerstien the sexiest women in England! Crack the bolt I say!!!

Death’s Door: Who?

Beauty: Don’t be a ******! I’m Karen Wankerstien, business women of the year and the toast of this year’s Queen Charlotte Ball! Crack the bolt I say!!

Death’s Door: Who?

Beauty: You Nitwit. You know me well. It’s me Karen!

Death’s Door: OOO  Hi Karen!!! You know I don’t recognize any of those fancy titles! For once you pass through these doors they all vanish. It’s best you live your life for the unseen beauty that never fades! “Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.” (proverbs 31).

Then crack goes the deadbolt!  Fluttering her spine with the momentary thrill that danced upon the sun-rise of her temporal fairy-tale identity.

At the end of the day, it could go either way
much like at the end of this song
Well I write for a while then I sink to a smile
when I think how you draw me along.

Well we came with a story, a beautiful poem,
unheard verses locked deep in our soul
and to way to discover what's locked in a lover
find the key that will fit the keyhole.

Must we all be inspired? Seems like that's how I'm wired
I've got something to share, but it seems
that I still blame myself for what sits on the shelf
unreleased from my closet of dreams.

From rejection to strife, anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door to my pride
it was then your sweet voice through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt from inside.

So now I can tell you just what's on my mind
I am corny and weird and unkind, sometimes
but I say what I feel 'cause i know what is real
and it sure beats what I left behind.

Thought the answer was finding the right key
for the words and the music to roll
but the Master unlocking life's sweet mystery
is the Love sown in each others soul.

Visions of ****
And burglary
Dance around in my head
As darkness creeps over me
And I turn on all the lights
In my empty apartment
When you're not here
I toss and turn
Through the night
Popping sleeping pills
Just to catch a wink
Daydreams turn into
Night terrors
As the dog barks
At every little noise
Making me aware
Of all the scary things
Outside my window
Someone knocks at my door
But I'm not expecting company
Even with the deadbolt
I don't feel safe
In this big empty bed of mine
As I sleep alone

Recoil from the unclaimed toil
Back-lashing at your Now
events past Elbow forward
muscle through the supernatural blue night's bustle
to you, to you, to you

The zizz of machines
the eager Hums of moonbeams
and train steam
upload pesky echo's live stream
To you, to you, to you.

Discharge the memory burdens
The tomb stones inside
you lug up the flights
to last door's deadbolt on the right
Then Subdivide my pride to tiny bits
Super-collide dustified then broom aside in clouds
,of specks held in new dawn sun beams,
probing through lace curtains and velvet drape seems:
the atom of time, caught in full stride
Coming
to you, to you

Our deep core sample of memory
in forgotten ice.
Why, for what? Why? For what?
Why infinity times why plus why.
It's simple.
I died.
Between that death and my final breath, I reside.  
Living ghost ever ready an endless Snide
Comment hurtling from another time  
to you

I built these walls to protect myself.
Encase myself in steel to keep intruders out.
I ripped my heart out, pickled it and put it on a shelf.
Zipped my mouth and lobotomized myself to exsponge doubt.

I encase my house in a steel cage, bottle up my sadness, fury, rage.
My room sealed shut, locked with a deadbolt.
Strapped into my bed just me and my colt.
45 that is hallucinating and yet peacefully bliss.
A knock on the door.... What the **** is this.

Who's is this knocking on my door. I sealed myself in this world, never see anyone, anymore.
I peek through the window, can't believe my eyes.
In the wall lies a huges gaping hole, dynamite explosion marks her introduction.
Chainsawed bars from where the sparks flew, instantly I knew it was her kiss that broke through.
Her hug was the key that opened the door to me.
Smiling at me is what set me free.

Hopeless I stare, whowhatwhenwhere?!
Feelings arise deep from in there.
She found the jar, brought it to me empty.
Smug devilish smile, for some reason began to tempt me.
I ask "What did you do with what defined me"
She replied "Inplace of mine is where it shall be".
And we traded, easily I see, I'm still pondering how in the hell she got the key.
Key to my heart what leads to me, who are you? How can this be.

She: I am your desire whoever you wish me to be.
Me: you are perfect as you are, as long as you stay with me. I have no mind to think with so nothing can ruin us.
And in an instant she pulled it from thin air, without a care.
She: use this to please and entertain me for you are great, a caged king to be. You have been hurt by others this I can see.
But I hold the key, I belong to you, and you belong to me.

And with that she set me free, the ******* that I have set to be. Something to encage and enslave me. To such a low point and hoplessness for which light you cannot see. I am now whole and happy as can be.

The first time we had ***
(Or made love as you like to put it)
I choked you

And if you really want to make love then you need to
close the door on me and use a triple deadbolt
I am incapable of making love

I am hot water on the burner on the stove bubbling over
and if you don’t want to get burned you need to put a lid on me

I wrapped my hands around your neck while I was on top of you
and I watched as your face changed colour
and your mouth opened and closed like a fish flopping on deck
but there was no air to breathe

And it was really making me excited until I realized that you liked it
so next time I held your throat with one hand and
bit your chest so hard you started to bleed in a few places
and for some reason you got off on that too

But when I asked you to spank me I got four tiny slaps
and then you held your hands around my neck gently
and told me that you couldn’t bear to hurt me because you loved me

So I guess that goes to show
You will get no love from me

i'm sure she's a terrorist

she drives a stick shift

and wears sensible shoes

and everything she does
arouses my suspicion

she's up there now
in her cluttered apartment
yapping about her congressman
and the debt ceiling

i hear her every sunday
yelling at her tv set
giving attitude to
all those panelists
on the political programs

and someone told me she
sneaks off to the mall
in plaid sneakers
and has four computers
and hides her cats
in shoe boxes
whenever the property manager
comes around

and she always has a smile
for the property manager

i'm on to her and
i have a plan
that involves deadbolt locks
surveillance video
and a bugging device

she's up there now going on
about the governor

give me a break

at least he isn't driving
a stick shift

Dusty shadows,
Darkened windows,
Watching cars go by
In the dead of night.
Deadbolt locked
To haunting thoughts,
Staring off to space,
With an expressionless face.
None of what's inside shows,
Even though an inner storm blows.
Just watching the rain
Slide down the window pane.
Dreary, wet, and cold,
Waiting for someone to hold.
Searching for the warm light
That will bring back life.

im in the hallway just a searchin for some conversation
to find a line so i can tie along and get a head
no need to ever be concerned about my reputation
half the time ill just forget all of the things i said

im in the stairwell just considering some contemplation
a little thinking, see if i can straighten out my neck
im on the top flight waiting for an explanation
but i always find another stair to climb instead

im in the attic just relying on my intuition
i feel around up in the cobwebs with the things unseen
i see a light so i believe that its what ive been missin
then realize its just another television screen

now I'm laying in the bedroom
broken pictures on the walls
im locking down the deadbolt
im not taking any calls

oxymoron overdose
deadbolt atriums
intersected playlists
the unluckiest clothespin

a mailbox full of compliments
wallowing asterisks
carpeted portraits and
unearthed apologies

it all stemmed from backseat rattling complexity

lighthouse morphine
seventeen somber ached explosions
sipping acrylic reveries
cleverly blossomed illusions

thigh stumbling permission
clumsy german metaphors
thirsty chapter jigsaw keys
worried cities newfound screams

vision confusion and pity bottles
poisoned school affection
oh christ, darling
a deaf chorus

thoughtless phantom
seed eyed stranger
road scarred sighs
***** locked moths
velvet butterflies

a sweeter sleeping spine

growing began expression

storms lack protection
yesterday placed comfort in salvation

the vast presence of a strong man's island mother

hazel vacations
a shattered soldier

trembling girls in sorry gardens, limbs in full bloom

naive humming mirrors

children having mistook living

trees half known

whispered smiles and mattress lullabies

cigarette stories firework insecurities

books begging

floor stopping feeling

One has a population of 1,700,00

The other 2,000 locals,
swelling to 10,000
come the summer people,
the likes of him,
and noisy day trippers,
neither like

both born and bred on their respective islands

he locks his car always,
when and where ever
where ever is

mostly,
she leaves her keys
in the ignition
especially when
she leaves
the car running
on the street,
when doing quick errands

both are life long islanders,
that from time to time come
avisiting each other's home plate

at night,
he just locks the doors
but once,
no deadbolt,
a sign he is cool
on her countrified territory

her house door has a lock,
but no one knows the
key's exact whereabouts
going on,
as long as she can remember,
which is most of
her twenty years total

he lives in a tall apartment building
on a finger shape island that probably has
10,000 tourists arriving daily

she from an irregular shaped isle,
twenty five miles as the osprey flies,
and they do,
hers, nestled tween two forks,
and ferry's connecting you to the
"off island" till about 1:00am running,
after that, well, find a beach...

she, in a house,
outback,
behind the
country-package-store-deli
where the
most expensive gas on the island
for sale to touring folk
on the island's main gig highway

that store where
only the localest of locals
come in for
to buy their beer,
and the lost tourist,
looking for free directions
pays for them with expensive gasoline

he has one job

she has three

when not waitressing at Sweet Tomato,
she's planting flowers for the landscapers,
or working the counter at said store

she was prom queen

he did not go to his prom some 45 years ago

Two islands, two people,
one ancient, even borderline old,
one a student studying
modern farm management,
with the future openness of youth,
who won't take down college loans,
the other,
edging closer to his distinct extinction

but they talk for hours,
and he tips her more
than the cost of his meal
and the bottle of Pinot Grigio,
which loosened his tongue,
on a Friday eve
having traveled almost
four ungourmet hours,
to get to the island
he borrows from her,
in the summer time

and two days later,
one is encapsulating
the memory of the meet,
on an island of poetry

and he thinks he will go back
to conversation continue,
but that first meet
well, no repeat,
so he leaves
it's taste
here

for you to share

I don't have the voice for spoken word
It shakes and it s-s-stammers
And I'm not too sure if it's too high or too low
But it's missing something

There's a power that wont pass these lips
And a commanding tone that can't quite rally its troops

This is no smooth, jazz inspired tongue
This tongue has been bitten
There's a metallic feeling of blood and it's pooling into deadweights
So, on this tongue lies a thousand pounds of blood stronger than feeling

And I can't quite get it out
When these words are weighed down,
These feelings sink back into my chest and the metallic taste passes these lips and forms a deadbolt

I don't have the voice for spoken word
It shakes and it s-s-stutters
And I'm not quite sure if it's just an extension of myself
Where the feeling stays inside and the blood collects
And there's always something missing

Taking a stroll down Monopoly Boulevard.
I think I’ll pick up some “meat.”
I say hello to my local butcher ,
Mr. McDonald!
For a discounted receipt.

I’m so claustrophobic wearing 9 layers,
Of a grimy coat called hypocrisy.
Sweating out grease, it’s good for the skin,
As well as a Christian Democracy.

I pass a line of white picket fences, with crucifixes,
And my old friend Mary,
With eyes that judge piercing through the window,
At anyone willing to vary.

I pass the old couple rocking,
Sipping their synthetic tea,
And I see kids soaked in acid rain,
And society’s debris.

I get home, lock all my windows,
Deadbolt on the door.
Lay my gun under my pillow,
And get ready for another war.

At the end of the day, it could go either way
much like at the end of this song
Well I write for a while then I sink to a smile
when I think how you draw me along.

Well we came with a story, a beautiful poem,
unheard verses locked deep in our soul
and to way to discover what's locked in a lover
find the key that will fit the keyhole.

Must we all be inspired? Seems like that's how I'm wired
I've got something to share, but it seems
that I still blame myself for what sits on the shelf
unreleased from my closet of dreams.

From rejection to strife, anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door to my pride
it was then your sweet voice through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt from inside.

So now I can tell you just what's on my mind
I am corny and weird and unkind, sometimes
but I say what I feel 'cause i know what is real
and it sure beats what I left behind.

Thought the answer was finding the right key
for the words and the music to roll
but the Master unlocking life's sweet mystery
is the Love sown in each others soul.

i do not feel safe
on the fifth floor
with all the windows locked
and two turns of the deadbolt
don't forget the chair under the door

i do not feel safe
walking home from the grocery store
in this horribly gentrified neighborhood
at 4pm on a sunny
saturday afternoon

i do not feel safe
handing over my clothes to someone else
i know they have to be washed
i've gone too long already
but i bite my lip until my belongings are
back in my line of sight

i do not feel safe
alone in zoom office hours
with my camera off
how can i be hurt through a screen?
but it never reassures me

i do not feel safe
when the electrician comes to fix
the circuit
i called it an electric circle
he does not look at me that way
the way that makes me sit in the
backseat of my own mind
but i cringe when he looks at me
at all

they call it hypervigilance
vigilance
from latin vigilare
"be watchful"
i am watchful, watchful, watchful
maybe that's why i cant fall asleep.

I wish I could sink my teeth in,
Become lockjawed,
Deadbolt,
A parasite,
Anything known to stay
Beyond its welcome.
I will carve my name on your heart
With a blade
Rather than write it in lead,
So you cannot simply erase me.
You'll never find my fingerprints
But you can be **** sure
I'll leave a scar.
I will teach myself to be permanent
Even if it means being painful.

Why are you running away?
Is it so hard to be kind?
Why can't you, I always stay.
Whatever, never mind

I can't ever ask for this
But where can I find pants?
I'm always without power
Giving you a hundredth chance

And more, well, who cares
You take just what you need
It matters not what's just or fair
Please hurt me without heed

Priority minority
Without my approach, you're blind
My love for you, it's always free
For me, the requested is fine

Now here you are, here's someone new
What will you want from me?
I can do anything at all
But simply let you be

I have to say, you'd like to know
Lifelong friends only for me
You can be mean, you can just go
A deadbolt bond without a key

And don't forget my loneliness
Don't think I'm just some guy
Don't think it's you that I won't miss
Don't think I ever say bye

Never had a single pair of pants
Never got to be annoyed
Never felt that I was being missed
And still I can't employ

Any method of anger, of judging you
For doing other things
For never even coming back
You don't really bring

Take it all away from me
It seems to work alright
Your box is full, but then there's mine
It's really rather light

And what is it, with this new one?
No, no, it isn't so
How can I not be the only one
Who's asking about woes?

I wonder and I wonder more
How can it be this way?
I wonder if I do deserve this
Why aren't you running away?

the key went
in the lock
easily enough
with no resistance
in the cylinder
nor any loose pins
catching inside
yet try as i might
it would not turn
all three keys
were the same
identical in height
of teeth and
depth of notch
i could not have
picked the wrong one
still the deadbolt
was unmoved and
would not let me
into my own home

We were outside, chilled to the bone, clinging to each other for warmth. There was none to be found. Shivering profusely, even if we wanted to stand, our limbs would fail us. Pulling each other closer, trying with all our might to find a stitch of warmth left in either of us, even though we both knew that there was none. The cold North Wind had come in and snatched the last of the warmth within our bodies. Like the beast it was, it swooped in with its icicle crusted fingers, burying deep down into us, searching every corner: heart, soul. With every breath, it entered our bodies. Claws scraping down our throats, deep into our lungs, spreading to the blood, the heart, where it clung, like a babe to their mother’s chest. Chaining and shackling itself with dead bolt upon deadbolt.

Looking into each other’s eyes, we see the spark that so readily burned before start to frost over. We pull away, since no warmth is to be found, but alone, is so much worse. At arm’s length we stare at the once radiant creature that now cringes and huddles away as if it were a discarded toy a toddler has outgrown and mangled. Perfect reflections we are, as if a projection was placed in the others soul.

We are still alive, is what we see in the other, life, but no warmth, quivering too severely to live it. The North Wind blows harder, whipping our tattered and torn clothes around us. We pull each other closer, but this time different, a smile is shared, but not duplicated by the other, where question and pain is engraved too deeply from the frigid North Wind; different in that the other envelopes around, cocooning themselves over the other, sacrificing themselves, hiding the other in their arms and soul, the last attempt.

Taking another deep breath, the North Wind howls around, trying to burrow itself through to the other soul encased beneath. No warmth is to be found, but a tiny gray spark still burns. Protected from the North Wind’s talons, it is able to smolder, to get a grip on the deadbolts the North Wind has so strongly placed upon the heart. The frost steams and tries to pool away as the spark turns to a flame and tickles the underbelly of the chains: warming, living.

Growing the flame clings to the chains; they try to escape but turning into a torch, the flame dances and licks at them in earnest. Underneath the chains, underneath the frost, scars, fresh and bleeding reveal themselves. The body starts to still. Up above and around it, coldness, shivering and unable to move, gripping it starts to slip, starts to lose hold. Shrieking triumph, the North Wind picks up strength, but is stopped. Burned it is as it enters the throat, trying to climb down to the soul, burned by the blossoming flame.  But the smell of the fresh wounds, the fresh blood, draws it again, unable to resist such a taunt, making it deeper into the body, only to be repelled again. Over and over it tries. Over and over it fails.

Cold and shivering, the other grasps tightly to the once radiant creature that stark body protected the last bit of flame that danced within them, nurturing theirs to burn bright. Not giving up, the North Wind keeps howling about them. Diligently it seeps deeper into the other, trying to get a solid grip, only to be expelled as the spark grows.

At arm’s length, they stare at the radiant creature that now sits full of purpose, full of life across from them. Perfect reflections we are, as if a projection was placed in the others soul. The wounds cry blood, but are protected, slowly cauterized by the flame. No more does the North Winds talons claw, but more itch and ****, still there, but not controlling.

We are outside, warmed by the other, clinging to each other in awe. Stilled by peace, we stand, holding to each other for balance, unsure if our limbs will hold us. Even though we falter, and almost topple from the North Winds push, we take a tentative step. The cold North Winds silenced. Like the beast it is, it is defeated, not without leaving scars, not without leaving tender wounds buried deep down into us, its reminder etched as a reminder in every corner: heart, soul.

We hold onto each other, no longer clinging, but steadying. There if the other may falter, if the other may fall. There to rekindle the flame, if the North Wind tries to extinguish it again.



The cuts will heal, but the scars never leave. They open and reopen, crying tears of blood. Once again they will heal, but even healed, they throb. The pain numbed but never lost.

I am a fortress.
Fervently I fidget with my deadbolt
"Lock that door shut. You'll be safe in here."

Outside a forest stretches
Wind navigating its branches
My hair is matted
Damp
The wind has forgotten it
"No one can find me here. I am safe."

Moss grows between my toes
Embedded under my finger nails
From my attempts to evict it each night.

Who am I hiding from?

The sun reaches one small dusty corner
"Stay away," I snarl, snapping the blinds shut
"The sun is not your friend."

Days pass.
I grow pale
Half moons cradle my eyes

The sun is outside my door
Pacing
Whispers to the wind- "if only she knew we loved her."

Winter arrives.
I collect icicles because they seem familiar
They cut my palms as they melt
I let the moss grow over the wounds

The sun and the wind return
I'm too weak to run from them.

The wind sighs,
"If only she knew she needs us to grow."

I am a heap of bone now. And sinew.
The moss creeps over my eyelids

My breath slows

I return to the forest floor.

If only I had known I was not alone.