Testify before your false god
        built of owned wood
        burnt to glowing ashes on
          pulpits like eggshells


    forgive all transgressions
  for to give
       merit to
     an inch to the game
                
                          will mean the end.

Frenchie. there's a lot that i'll probably never tell you. either in fear that it will drive you away, in spite of the numerous times that you've told me you won't leave or run because the chance of something scaring you off is slim. or simply because it slips my mind. trauma, am i right? you say a lot, and i mean this in the best way.  you can talk, and you can tell me as many things as you want, and i'll never properly believe them because i've learned that words are ****. then again all we have are words, smiles, and through-the-phone, air-blown, crush-induced kisses that bring back memories, and yet rewrites them as something entirely new and, of course, much much better. something ours. i hope it's never given to another person, this sweet kiss of life, the final kiss of death, an angel brings me to heaven, enter whatever aesthetically pleasing line you want but it will never be as good as, "and so the lion fell for the lamb." haha. it's 11:16 pm, August 9th. and i'm laying in bed. for reasons i'll try to explain in a second, i'm tearing up, as i have been for a while. i think i first started tearing up the first time we called, which isn't so much a bad thing as it is a surprising thing. because it was a sad happy cry. it's similar to breaking a piece of jewelry that you really enjoyed, but then buying something much better. you loved that plastic, feeble, oversized, first love bracelet, but now you have a moonstone or (enter favorite gem) filled, perfectly fitted, wifey-made promise ring. you'll keep the bracelet somewhere, forget about it, find it again, and again, and again. discovering it under blankets, and pillows, and promises that we've tossed around ourselves. it will peek from inside my black coffee, in the dirt i praise, in the trees, in the music we'll listen to together. in the color brown, Frenchie, that's where you'll see, i'll see, we will see, that piece of plastic. dark brown, the colors of his eyes. my favorite color for the longest time. i don't want it to mean him, so it doesn't. but that's where it comes from. i'll find it, we'll find it, up until you get tired of seeing it, of seeing me see it, and take my hand, begging to throw it out. but, my to be discovered favorite gem filled, wifey-made perfectly fitted promise ring, it might take a while, with me quietly begging for your help, to get rid of him. not because i want to wear it, but because i horde emotions the way i horde stuffed animals. it's a labrinth to find the bracelet, we have no map and somehow we have to get from this forever smile to the closed-off corners of my mind, where even i, as it's supposed owner, struggle to collect, and comprehend, and conquer my horrid thoughts. but Frenchie, we laughed. and it was the first time in so long that i've been able to laugh with someone like that, and not worry, and not expect, and not be afraid. except, since we're here it's already obvious, that ended up making me afraid anyways. Random, but there's this song in my head right now. "make me behave like an animal." Sir Chloe's Animal, everything by Sir Chloe is absolutely incredible. but, let's continue. you may not believe me when i say this, but i'm scared out of my mind so entirely that every second between our conversations is an hour added to my inevitable future breakdown. how weak, and pathetic, and disgusting, i know. i have told you so many times that i can't like people, that it's so hard for me to connect to someone new, and yet it's day three and i'm imagining that i'll be happy if only you'd hold me, as if that's what you want to do, as if that will heal me, as if that should happen. as if i'm taking things slow the way i want to, and yet don't want to. if i could properly explain in words, i'd tell you with lengthy descriptions, both vastly and vaguely, calmly and excitedly, slowly and quickly covering deep hidden and obvious and in-between meaning, proving how desperately i want to be with you, be yours and you be mine, and how, ****, how i hope you don't **** me up. because all i can think when we talk is "****." you breathe, and, between each of your heartbeats, i figure out that i like you more, and more, and ****! the way your face looks so angelic when you sleep makes me just think "god, she's going to really hurt me. she's gonna **** me up, and chances are i'll thank her for it." to be hurt by you? that would be a blessing, and yet i'm shaking. what a interesting concept. i'm sure this is proof that i'm ****** up already. i keep bringing up the time. three days, Frenchie. Three. and that's it. that is literally it. that's all we've been. so explain, please, why the first few words you said had me ranting to my friends. please, tell me, how within a day, everytime your name popped up on my screen i would giggle like a child. please, explain to me, why everytime i talk about you, my cheeks hurt so much from smiling. i'm crazy, absolutely crazy, and i know my friends have to be thinking so too, because it's been. three. *******. days. but why? as in, why is that so bad? three days, what's so wrong with that? why does liking someone have to have a time? let me explain something that i've been thinking about. two years, on and off, thirteen breakups. that was Justin and I. roughly six months after the final one, i met you. "cause everytime you hurt me, the less that i cry." i'm way too good at goodbye's. i never particularly got that song the way i do now. had we stayed apart the first to the maybe fifth time we broke up, i would have took longer to heal. but it was time thirteen, so it was all expected, hurtful of course, but expected and so, it was almost boring. almost. it would have been if it didn't rip my heart out. i rebounded. hard. many times. many people. zero regrets. but this connection to you, sometimes i catch myself fearing i'm picking up where Justin and I left off. which, yes, is really toxic. but then i remind myself, this is how a good portion of relationships start. if i like you, i'll act like it. if i want to be with you, regardless if we just met, i should act like that. right? right, that's what normal people do. but we already explained i'm not normal. i'm ****** up, and i overthink. i'm ******* up. so ******* up that i can't hold eyecontact with you because i was "trained" not to, because i'm not used to, because it makes me nervous, because i hate the way my eyes look and i believe that you shouldn't have to look at something so disgusting. god here we go, i'm talking about him again. blaming him with my "trained not to" rather than blaming myself for letting it  happen. i let myself feel like that, i let myself bow down. that's on me, that was my weakness. admittedly so, yes. i'm scared of looking in your eyes. maybe out of submission. or maybe i'm afraid of seeing what i once saw in his. but truth be told, i think i'm scared of looking into anyone's. maybe i'm once again overthinking things and it's just regular anxiety. "regular anxiety," what an interesting statement that even I can't properly explain. and by the way, i never want to compare you to him, not even the good things. (just realized this entire thing is bipolar and has been written and rewritten to a point where the overdramatic stuff became simple conversation). but why not the good things? because i don't want you to be like him in any way, and i don't want to be with someone like him again. i realize that i will eventually, and might have already without properly realizing it, compared you to him. but, as i like to say, if i don't look at it, it isn't there. so we're not going to pay this any mind. there's so many things that i can say behind all of  this but my mind is going too fast, and it also just realized that most of this is literally so ******* stupid that i should shut up about, i was truly overreacting. maybe if i remember, i'll retype this until it sounds less crazy and obsessive. good thing i edit before i show, so yes i was planning on showing someone. but probably not a lot. only a few trusted people. but now that i read and reread i might just keep this to myself. not that it will matter if i explain, seeing as i might never show this to you, but it's nice to give this to a ghost of you, although it leaves my imagination running wild trying to figure out how you would respond. everytime i type something i want to rewrite it, and i have been rewriting it by the way, because there's no way in hell this captures a fraction of a fraction of the surface of how i'm hurting, even though i've been typing for almost two hours trying to find better words and longer sentences. this all sounds so meek and weak and pathetic in comparrison to the metaphoric erruptions and hurricanes and other natural disasters. haha. this doesn't feel natural. it's like i'm begging for attention, or manipulating you more. fun fact, he called me overdramatic, and manipulative, and tons of other things i won't get into, so i often use the words on myself. because it was and is accurate. i keep making myself out to be a victim and he said i always did that too, that i always victimized myself. he said it a lot. let me explain: i panic so much, i get sad over the smallest things. for example, he was mourning over the death of his mother and started yelling at me and wouldn't tell me that he loved me back, which i shouldn't have gotten mad over but i did. he told me "jesus, i can't even ******* miss my mom without having to make sure you're not having one of your episodes." of course i apologized, and tried to fix my issues myself when he got tired of me or in general and hung up. literally, believe me. i'm so ******* sensitive and it's annoying and i'm annoying, i'll never understand how i got the amazing friends that i do. Apollo knows that i don't deserve them. and please ******* please, i just want to stop crying because it hurts so bad. but after writing it down i feel so much  better. i stopped crying, this is part of my editting by the way, and i feel much better writing to you, ghost Frenchie. but really. it. hurts. so. bad. so bad to a point where my heart seemingly stops, i'm left breathless and NOT in the best of ways. and then said heart explodes. over. and over. and over. in milliseconds, again and again and again, all while the usual me laughs and tries to make my eyes look lively, you might get this but there's so many hours of the day where i hope no one can see the pain i'm in. because i literally have zero ******* clue how to explain the way that i feel. eeehhhh, how edgy. i'm sooooo misunderstood haha. when it hurts, my jaw clenches, i'm no longer in control of my breathing, my head hurts, my brain becomes helium and all i can think is "fuuuuuuck." but ****, as well, because. "i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips." i just want to touch you, and lay on top of you, legs around your waist, snuggled into your neck, breathing in your scent and finding shelter in it, listening to you sing whatever song you put in the background, the smell of **** and cigarettes and us. and beg you please, between each kiss, each time my hand finds yours. please, promise ring, please, please. please. learn how to love me. love me, please. heal me. please fix me. please make me okay. because i'm not. and i haven't been. and i don't know if i ever will and, ****, i swear i'm calm now. but knowing that, knowing that i will never be okay? that hurts worse. because it's proof that i'm aware i'm nowhere near good enough for you. i added on to Justin's issues. I don't want to add on to yours. "But J, remember, I told you that making sure you're okay is giving me something to take off of my life." but you need to focus on you, i can't just take all of your attention. i know that seems like i'm wanting you to tell me "i want you to have it," but that is literally the way i feel, please don't tell me that. i want you to drink water, and eat, and call me. god i feel awful for not calling you today, holy absolute wow. Frenchie, you're hurting on your own without my added everything. You deal with so much, you've dealt with so much, from your birth to the girls and boys of your past, and **** it. ****. we're talking and i should make the most of it, but i really just want to make you okay. i lied to you, y'know. you asked me about my best quality. i told you that i gave good advice, but truth is i probably don't. i think that my best quality is that i make jokes out of everything, i try to make people laugh all the time. that's not always a good thing. last time i texted, i said something about holding you and giving you a watermelon to make you happy. that might have ****** you off. truth is, i doubt there's something only seen as good in me. there's always a second face to everything that i am, i'm a two faced, four faced- no no. twenty faced *****, and not even like a bad ***** i mean like. little ***** baby type faces. and i know for a **** fact that your life has been worse than mine, Frenchie, my issues are literally nothing compared to yours. so, once again, i can't let you add my issues to your own, and yet here i am pouring myself out and begging ghost you to fix me. i mean what you don't read can't hurt you, but something tells me that i want to give it to you. everytime i think about showing you this, i cringe. because jesus three days, man, and i'm writing this absolute *******? and yet i can't just stop. i can't just leave. i'm too selfish for either of those. i have **** to say, and call it growth but i'm gonna ******' say it! y'know? someone's gonna read it eventually. half of me hopes that they send it to you without my permission, but the fact that i'm writing this out proves that it's more than half of me that hopes. and yet the thought of you reading this makes me wanna swallow rat poison. i can't just let you free, y'know? give you the chance to run without wanting to grab you by your legs, pull you back, breakdown and just ******' scream that you're mine, MINE MINE MINE, until you feel sorry for my hoarse voice from crying, scared because now you know, now you ******' know, Frenchie. the opening to run, the ability, it's here, it always has been. but you won't take it, you won't, will you? will you? no, i don't think so. because you've been through worse, because you want to convince me i'm not as bad as i make myself out to be, because you're not afraid, because "it takes a lot more than this" to scare you. don't you see? i'm manipulating you into liking me, Frenchie, i am. i know what to say, how to say it, i read people, i get under their skin, and then i play victim when they flee my spiders web. and i love it and hate myself, haha! ******* ****, please, ****, oh, please, like me. oh, Artemis. please. i want to try, and i will, but, seriously, don't. do not trust me. don't love me. don't like me. run. please. please. you shouldn't, i'm not good, i'm really not. and no one gets that. i'm the Jerry of the world, people are attracted because they feel sorry for me. that's my magnet's secret. pity. **** it. listen, i'm proud and upset at the fact that i'm doing this to you. i've admitted it, dearest Ghost Frenchie, and yet continue. because in the ways that i want to show you my crazy, use it as a "please help me" and keep you here, i do actually want to try for you. read that as many times as you want, I want this. I want to try, but this is my warning that maybe no one will read. this is an entire universe of new things and old things i haven't or thought i couldn't feel. i've thought about it, and i've almost done it, but i can't block you, save you, and leave it at that. because i actually want to try and be good enough. i had cried to my friends saying that you would hurt me, but i wonder if i'd end up being like your exes and just be more proof that you don't need that this world is ****** up. oh wow, there i go again with my manipulation. just. ****. i want to be with you, even though i don't deserve it, even though i have no right to, even though i know that you, lovely butterfly, have a life ahead of you. though small, i'm still a spider. this has been on my mind for so many hours that i've spent typing this, but i should have said so much more to you when you told me that you were having a bad night. you admitted that you were too stressed to even eat and that you didn't want to take it out on me, calling wouldn't be a good idea because you didn't want to snap at me. can i please just say that, good Aphrodite, the fact that you're humane enough to say that, to warn me, means so much. you don't want to take it out on me, you didn't know for sure if it would happen but you wouldn't even let it happen because? ****, because you're, ****,  you're a good person. you care about me already, and that's so ******* heartbreaking and heartlifting at the same time because, AH! ****, she LIKES me? likes, me? likes. me. Frenchie. likes. J? and at the same time. why? Frenchie seriously likes J? Haven't they warned her? i almost didn't text you, i almost just left you on open, just so you could come to me when you wanted to. i don't know why, but i responded. sort of like a puppy, y'know, that's just been yelled at. or, rather since you have cats, a kitten literally just purring and rubbing themselves along you even though they clawed your wall and you screamed. i was hesitant, but i knew that you'd try to be nice, i think? truly, i don't know my reasoning behind that, but you responded anyways. and maybe i'm wrong, but you sounded so soft and it made me smile. because you were trying, and it's dumb that i have to say that but, relationship wise, it's been so long since anyone has TRIED. when you leave me on opened or when you don't respond, my heart drops. which isn't to make you feel bad, because i know you're either frustrated, or busy, or it's a habit, but it scares me. because, again, three days??? and yet you leaving for a little just freaks me out. also, allow me to admit this. while we called, i have reasons for why i'd wake up everytime you moved. i was scared that i'd wake up and you'd be gone. not to be creepy, this is supposed to be romantic, but at least twice i remember waking up, and you were asleep, and i looked at you. god, you're literally so beautiful, Frenchie. you're literally so unbelievably gorgeous that the sun pales in comparison to your radiance. can i say more depressing, Justin related things? i shouldn't, because him being mentioned is literally making me look worse, but i never really feel up to talking about it with anyone besides, well, you. talking about exes with you, it's just, comforting. you telling me you were having a bad night gave me these wretched flashbacks and- oh, ****! this isn't meaning never tell me, like, please, please, always tell me, just, uh, let me explain cause, uh, ****, oh, Hades, it hurts. it's dreadful, really. he, uh,  he would get upset about something, or really anything that he could think of, and uhm. just, haha, stop talking. for uh, for literal hours.. and hours. and hours. out of nowhere. i wouldn't know why, so i'd blame myself and then i'd spam him, thinking that would make him want to answer and begin my whole, "please, don't leave, please, Justin, please, i'm sorry, i love you, don't leave, you're supposed to be my daddy, please, you're supposed to be mine," skit. i mean, see? proof. he couldn't deal with his own issues because i needed attention and reassurance. all. the. ******. time. i won't give excuses, he really just needed space. but space felt like a break, which sometimes he made for. but, right, for me, Justin was famous for his "just leave me alone's" and then the "i don't want this anymore" or "i'm really tired of you" haha. or it was the whole, "you're just not what i need in my life." or i mean "there's someone else" or, of course, haha, the, uh, last one, my personal favorite "we're just not compatible." like, oh, really? i mean, yesterday you hit me and told me that i was a ****, like? we're not? we? we aren't? compatible? wow, like, really? so, no future together? like, uh, oh! c'mon Mistah J!  ouch that hurt to say, but please laugh because haha, TRAUMA, am I right? but, wait? does that count as trauma? hm, i mean some of it was traumatic, right? wait hang on, yes. wait. being beat- ? well, not beat! i mean, like, i could still, y'know, move-? jesus **** what is wrong with me. i don't want to call it traumatic cause victimizing. haha, ****- but uh anyway. i'd be left trying to off myself in some petty way. because i felt like if he couldn't love me, if he, Justin Ryder, the long-legged **** who knew me better than anyone, couldn't love me, honestly, who would? "But, J like. you have friends!" yeah, i do, and i did then, too. but these lovely, amazing friends didn't come to mind the way they sometimes do now. sometimes. i mean, why do i feel like it has to be romantic for "i love you" to count. i say "i love you" to my friends all the time, honestly, because they need to hear it and i've lost so many people without telling them, y'know? but anyhow, right, no one came to mind. just him, and his lack of love for me. i mean, he was God. he was MY God. he was my world, everything, my reason to breathe, the reason i existed. i loved him. more than i've ever loved someone in my entire life. and, i mean, that's why i let him come back so many times, with open arms and apologies from me that should have slithered from his own serpent lips, the reptile. they rained from mine, eagerly, harshly, on repeat, no questions asked. he hit me, i apologized. he made a mistake, i said "i'll never do it again." i blamed myself for a lot of things that he did to me, gave excuses for him, too. y'know, the cliche "you don't know him like i do." god, i mean, i was right about that. no one knows Justin Ryder the way that i do. i hope no one ever does. Frenchie, dearest promise ring i keep referring to for poetic purposes, you asked me if i was over him. i am. i don't want him back. but if he ever texted or called, i'd break down, lose myself, hysterical hurricane J. not because i miss him, just because of the **** that i went through with him, Frenchie. it's small, y'know, compared to what others have went through. but it really, i mean, REALLY, made a huge impression. i don't want him. i keep saying that, everytime i do it becomes less believable but please understand that it isn't him, it's what he did. but **** there i go putting the blame on him again. Frenchie, are you over her? see, the fact that someone came to your mind means that sometimes you question it. unless you really just thought to yourself, "who, am i over who J?" maybe i'll never know. but you should know this. desperately, quite desperately, i want to tell you that your smile makes me feel safe. and i haven't been able to feel so safe from such a small thing in months, almost a year. because how could i trust his smile, y'know? even before the very end, in the middle, in the first time, how could i ever trust his soul-stealing smile? especially when i saw him making it at whatever girl he chose next or, funny thing, even during our time together. i want to explain to you, Frenchie, that i know you need space, and that, even though i realize that, i'm so terrified of ******* up the way i did with him. when i'm upset, i need to be smothered. not everyone is like that, i have to cope with it. haha, wow what a *****, i have to cope with your ways of coping, god i annoy myself. but. regardless of the amount of friends i have who assure me that, "J it wasn't your fault, Justin was the issue, J you weren't the toxic one" i can't believe it. i refuse to think that it was just him. another lyric so a song i enjoy "it takes two to toxic," i keep thinking of songs, but i think you understand that, too, my adhd love. i should have, could have, done better as a person for him. not saying that i regret not, but the fact that i could and i didn't? maybe i should have shut up, maybe i should have said more. everything was beyond the severity of walking on eggshells, which he said often that he had to do around me because, i mean, i've explained that. it's just more proof, you see, that i was too sensitive, proof that i should have been tougher, said less, comforted more. but didn't he know how he made me feel? that i was trying, truly trying my hardest? didn't he know that i loved him so entirely that i gave up my best friends so he'd look at me. didn't he know? didn't he? honestly, how could he have not. i worshipped the literal ground he walked on, didn't i? did i? or am i exaggerating again? should i have ran? yes, no. yes. maybe, or maybe he should have? i don't know. **** me, this? this really, this isn't about him. but it is. because he made my head all ******, the time with him anyways, cause once again it was me, too, and everything is like, oh, ****, a minefield or something. and i don't want you to think that i'm not over him. because i am. him, as himself, i'm over. but the way he made me feel, the experience, the way he changed me? i don't know. did i change for the better or the worst? i wish you could have known me before, maybe you would be able to tell me if the me that i am that now is better. but maybe if i knew you before, my time with him never would have happened. but i hate myself for it. "it" as in everything from the time i got with him to now, every word i've now spent almost three hours revising and rewritting, i hate myself for. that's what's ******, i don't even hate him for it or this, i literally just hate myself. i sound like such a ******* idiot for all of this,  but i'm not, Frenchie. i'm not. well, hang on, i mean i am. i'm a literal ******* *******. haha. but this is how i'm trying to explain to you, and if you ever read this maybe you'll get it. but, i want to make you happy. me. i want to make you smile more and laugh like you did, like WE did. and i know that i got attached so ****** quickly so my whole "it's hard to love people" thing seems fake. but it isn't. i can't. i literally can't tell you how hard it is. and this right here, this is hard, too. because i'm fighting with the "oh, J!! this is different" side of me and the "**** her, *******, everyone is the same" side. i'm pretty sure i told you this, but i broke up with my last girlfriend because she actually gave a **** about me. and it made me want to puke. when i did, when i left, she told me that she was in love with me. and i ran to the bathroom. and proceeded to cry, getting rid of my lunch and dinner, and almost just ended it right there because i thought, "****. if someone can love me, can say those three sacred words, to me? TO ME? i must be hiding so much from them." i just want to scream. yknow? to the world, to my friends, my family, you, that "i'm ****** UP IM ****** UP IM ****** UP PLEASE LEAVE" but "oh, gods, don't leave." please, ******* ****, if you're not ready, if you don't want me, please, tell me. if i'm too much, especially after all of this, holy ******* ****, please, tell me. because i can't take it. i can't. tell me now, these three days in where i'm confessing i want to be with you, that you can't. because i wouldn't be able to handle it much longer than from here. oh, **** yeah, it's going to hurt so much. i kept saying that i didn't want to like you. but everything draws me in, dearest Edward, and it ******* *****. it. *****. because i'm beyond aware of possibilities of the failure. and, yet, i couldn't be happier. in the middle of my frequent breakdowns, i'm so entirely full of joy. my mother tells me that i'm glowing from how entirely, like, happy i am. you're miles away, Frenchie, and yet you make me happier than i've been in a long, long, LONG time, dancing and singing around my room like an absolute idiot because i'm thinking, y'know, MAYBE. MAYBE THIS IS THE ONE. "J MAYBE YOU CAN BE LOVED, AGAIN. MAYBE SHE'LL LOVE YOU, MAYBE YOU AREN'T AS BAD AS YOU MAKE YOURSELF OUT TO BE." and everything looks so ******* amazing with you in the picture. and, still, i always ask myself, is this too fast? am i still not ready, still taking things too fast, should i shut up, am i hiding too much, doesn't she get my bipolarness and bpd? you do right, you do? oh ******* ****- **** all that, those last few questions are entire other things, and it's now 2:07 in the morning and i'm ******' done. the end done, I won't write anything else. except this. Frenchie, I know you love being called that, but there's something so entirely personal about being called by your name. sometimes I catch myself slipping on typing. maybe it was a mistake to tell me your real name.
frenchie.
sydney
a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet

I am blinded by
Your love
And unable to
Sing our favorite song
Because you left me
Weeping
On the eggshells
We call a relationship.
Now I am sick
Mentally
Unable to grasp
Reality
Because you showed
Me the true meaning
Of a Dark Fantasy

The sky resembles the robin's eggshells
                                                      scattered across the ground,

a blue so seemingly infinite                     yet fragile,
cracks running between understanding and madness

       complementing each other

as divine truths in their own right
to conquer my mind,
to unhinge the doors,
making it unnecessary to pick rusted locks

      letting thoughts fly free,
                                       releasing love out into the horizon.

If frozen within caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,
      it will surely die,
                 but even so,
  I was willing to strangle it by holding on too tightly.

    
    Until I saw the sky and eggshells today


      Peppered clouds reflected on the water,
                                            paralleling speckles on the eggshells,
                                    remind me of the freckles on your face.

  We need to be wide-open-free,
                                                we need to fly,
         without focusing too ******* shells of yesterdays.

We need to unclench our fists,
unclench our tongues,
explore the vast blue peppered sky
                                                
                                                      on wings of letting go....

so that we can once again feel with purity,      
so that we can hold each other ever closer.







05.24.12

En point across eggshells
I tiptoe terrified around the point
Tireless trying to despatch any drama
I slip as I dance, Audible cracks

It’s been like this for a while now
Heart palpations, perpetually on edge
Panic attacks more frequent
Wait... they’re entirely new

Careful attempts to communicate
How I feel, frightened for firing the kiln
What will it be this time?
Interruption of calm converse circadian

Gaslighting? Guilt-Tripping?
Derailing? Tone-policing?
“I don’t deserve to be spoken to that way”
You say, as I crumble

Endless excuses and appalling accusations
You revolting repertoire maims me
Standing shattered, ******* fractured
fragmented as the eggshell environment I navigate

suspicious of my soul, I ponder the point
I take medication now, dose has doubled
The months you spent convincing me
a counsellor captioned me manipulative

Lies. Ladles of lies.
Thank god I know now
I had a plan in place
A time and space...

Delicately detailing
Now with unsullied sharpness
From alpha to omega
My swan song

Echoes of the water hymn
meander on empty boulevards -
I trod this sunken labyrinth on the sea.
I watch silk-clad cherubim
standing near the milky shards
as they join a haunted melody.

The girl sculpts lamenting statuettes
on the sunlit crown.
Countless hours within the tower
nesting angels in her lillywhite gown.

Ghosts of a shipwreck
pour into the starboard garden
and I paint their tears like pieces of an ocean.
They wander on the fore-deck
and sing as the eggshells harden.
I see to the dawn, filled with strange emotion.

She swims in the moonlight
as her body stills.
A winged flight in the fading night
while the chalice of golden wine overspills.

-1-
how often come the slowed beatings
of time

unleashed by knowing
these devilish ifs
whens and buts

of roads half-built
and half-burnt

yet water still flows beneath
these eggshells of circumstance
widening to the same sea of chance

-2-
when have
the dust of men
received ear
if not by word or doing

when have stars lost light
even as the multitude of years pass
the dead shine just as bright

-3-
grateful hearts receive no ill
as unjust souls receive no heart

the head and the tail
do not mourn the body
for how fat or lean it was

how sweetly the fruit tastes
and sorely it rots

Three early birds broke the flying record today,
Under a ball of yellow light and sky of white cobwebs,
Uphill, amidst a godforsaken town,
At the far end of the deserted residential area,
In front of our binned and bagged house,
On the peach tiles of our topsy-turvy garage,
Inside a scroungy cardboard box,
Between the wasted space and rotten nest made of broom,
Where they left their bodies mushy and misshapen,
Where a colony of red ants now celebrate for a carrion feast.
They flew higher than any in their kind could ever reach,
That they went straight to heaven,
Early for their embellished feathers and wings,
Early for their final cartilages,
Early for their full-grown beak and claws,
Early for their black, beady eyes,
Early for their last rites,
Yet for us to forecast the bad news,
Yet for us to get off of our plastic chairs of indifference,
Yet for us to drop our glasses of lemon juice and inattention,
Yet for us to fumble outdoor and crash the ceremony,
Yet for us to solve the mystery,
Of whether the ball of yellow light radiated enough to fry,
That the three early birds had to fly the coop to oasis;
Of whether our mother's frenzy gave a cold welcome,
That the three early birds had to say goodbye when she tossed the box out;
Of whether I am to blame for yesterday's miracle
Of finding their home attached to the open bottom of our air-conditioner,
Which turned into a tragedy of a falling baby out of excitement,
That the three early birds felt like it was time to join their fourth sibling once again.
Indeed, too early
For the three siblings endowed with a mother and a father,
For mankind is blessed enough to have such a thing as family,
Who claimed the three early ones before the garbage does,
Who could've been proud parents in the future,
For witnessing the becoming of their three youngs
Who came out too soon,
Who were traceless of eggshells,
Who never knew a father,
Who were ****** enough to even be abandoned by a mother,
Who never knew if she even came back for them,
Who broke the flying record.
Indeed, too early.
After days of packing up sentiments,
Donating valuables,
Throwing away memories,
And leaving behind possessions,
I thought, for a moment,
We could save something
But we couldn't.

That broken eggshell,
smaller than the thumb that rests in my palm.
In a place where baby's breath grew,
quiet as linen sheets, peaceful as psalms.
Remember when skin scraped as child fell.
I knew that street, those callused feet
all too well.

I felt my soul was sealed up in that rotting tomb,
and now where had it gone?
With the ceramic pieces littered from her ghostly womb.
Hazy summer days I spent wrong.
Never thought, love passed on so soon.

I let it crinkle beneath the leather of my shoe
walk so gently on eggshells when I'm with you.
Have you any idea what you do?
hand me your tender moments, and gentle kisses
so few.

While I trace my fingers along my own body
until I am numb once more,
you are softly smiling
in the shade of an old cypress tree
creeping up her front door.

Dear Shyla
I keep the suicide note that you've forgotten you wrote our mother folded up in a small wooden box in the corner of my bedroom
It's there so that on my worst days
When I've run out of friends who will listen
I can remind myself that other people feel this too
And after all we've been through apart sometimes our depressions and our mistakes are the only way I can remember we're related

Dear mom
I've hidden a diary you kept while struggling through your ill-fated relationship with my father
In it there are weight loss goals
Vows of marital celibacy
Existential questions
But mostly just a whole lot of why's leading you to answers you wanted to hear
While all of the things you needed to say you left in the blank spaces between the lines on the pages you never made it to
Your favorite thing to say after the divorce was that you were grateful to no longer have to walk on eggshells to protect his feelings
It has been twelve years and you still can't admit the feelings you were trying to protect were your own
And your feet still hurt

Dad
I have an envelope of pictures of you and I
From when both of us were oh so much younger
In each of them you are smiling at me
And in every one of them I am smiling back at you
I don't remember most of them I was quite very young
And for quite very different reasons I can imagine you would have a hard time remembering them as well
When I flip through the envelope I'm left sitting criss cross applesauce on a tore up linoleum floor
Staring at the scales of justice
Weighing the honest love of a drunk
Against the stoic rejection of the sober man you've become
And I am ashamed with how often I choose love

I am the keeper of this family's pain
Somebody has to
Someone has to admit it's real
One of us has to stare at the elephants in the room and see them
To know how each of us actually feels

Dear family
We are nothing more than four misfitted human beings
Tied together with tin can and twine telephones
By an astronomer, who in an effort to console himself,
Confused a congregation of lonely stars for a constellation
And eventually that is going to have to be enough
For each of us to love ourselves
To carry our own pain
I can not keep carrying all of this for each of you
I have my own pain
Which on most days is more than enough
I assure you
On most days
It is more than one man should

sometimes it creeps into the bones in my knees and it gives me artist's arthritis
i massage myself with the dull point of a pencil,
listening to the soothing sound of my thoughts coming to life

and sometimes an idea will crawl into my ear and lay its eggs there
if my passion is warm enough, they are incubated on the inside of my skull and crack open without warning

and to clear my head of the leftover eggshells, i have to play minesweeper for days on end

wond'ring when my days will end
and if my poetry will still be breathing

A few minutes ago my mind was much less blown than it is now.

We sat around the table, played risk, and ate McChickens.
But then as the craziness settled,
My dad said there was something we needed to discuss.
I thought he was gonna say I was slacking
And need to clean the house more often.
But then in an instant I saw this was much more serious.

He pulled up a chair,
Faced his kids,
And did everything he could to hold back the tears.

Our eyes only met for a spilt second.
But before he broke the gaze
I saw insecurity and pain.
I saw more brokenness
In my father than ever before.

As he tried to speak
It seemed like the necessary words
Had not yet been created.

He was unable to hold back the tears.
They decided to drip slowly.
He pressed his palms against his chest
As if he was trying to force out his last breath.
I swore in that moment he was having a heart attack.
But it wasn't a heart attack,
Just unending fear bottled up inside.

He started by saying,
"You have been walking on eggshells your entire life.
Everyone knows except you, my children.
There is another,
Your big brother."

When he was 18, he had a girlfriend.
Because of her, he's no longer a ******.
I have always believed
That my mother was the first.
But my brother, Justin, is proof that I was deceived.

After he was born,
It was decided that
My Dad wouldn't be allowed to see him.
The mother banished the father
And left the son fatherless.

She packed up and moved away.
My dad wasn't able to speak to them ever again.

Now that he's an adult,
He may be able to reach out to him.
I might have a big brother again.

My dad was afraid that this would
Somehow make me hate him.
He was overwhelmed with joy
When I said I absolutely forgave him.

Once he got those words out,
I almost saw the chains fall.
I watched him become free.
He was released.

This boy is twenty-three.
I didn't even know he existed,
And I'm not sure if he knows of me.

I wonder what he's like.
Does he smile often?
I wonder if he'd like me.
Is he happy?

I walked on my hands
a while after you left.
Not knowing
what the ground felt like
underneath my feet,
they needed a break.
I've always walked on eggshells.

My palms are bruised
so still I sit-
trying to prove myself to you.

Am I not worthy still?
Seems my mind is fixated
on proving this simple notion.

You hated most things about me,
so I started to despise myself.

Clothes unworn
would hang in my closet
and I would wish
that they would swallow me whole
on the way to your home
but you would've choked
on the effort of comfort.
You would've gone numb
at my self-expression.

I morphed myself into her-
into them
into the bubble
you were drowning in.  
So I became a victim too.
I knew how to swim
but I needed my hands to walk with
and they were too sore
from trying to bend over backwards
while keeping balance.

I still haven't made sense-
not about what has become of us.

The wound is still there
and I would like to expose you to it.
Show you the holes inside my heart
that you punctured one year at a time.

Life without you feels void.
Life without you feels better.
Life without feels like me-
so why am I still crying?

He likes the hoop in my nose
and the dying of my hair-
he loves the fact I'm a mess,
and everything you were never fond of.
He loves the parts of me you forgot were there.

This love reminds me
I should forgive you.
But when the pain in my heart flinches
and his words poke at the scars
I know why I shouldn't.

How your love tore me into bits
and now every time his love comes my way I flinch.
I'm supposed to be getting better-
but the thought of you still won't let me.
Even in the aftermath you still control what's left.
I sulk in the thoughts of you-
becoming bereaved.

It is newborn ducklings and chicks that struggle to climb out their broken eggshells.
It is daffodils that bloom in the spring to greet the warming sun.

It is juicy ears of corn that signal the start of heat and happiness.
It is your puckered cheeks as you down another glass of cool lemonade and search desperately for shade.

It is Pac-Man and the taste of macaroni and cheese that whisk back to your childhood.
But it is also the taxicab that offers you the shot to begin again, ten thousand miles away from home.

It is the Beatles and their submarine, promising a life of ease and all you need.
It is the sparkle of champagne as you toast to the New Year.

It is the color of mornings and rebirth and second chances
So I guess it’s only natural that it happens to rhyme with “Hello.”

she told me to write about
the happiest I’ve ever felt;
the happiest moment in my entire life,
and there is never such a circumstance
in it’s singularity that can be defined,
but in a string of circumstances
a definite divinity can be seen
through the cracks;
sobriety, the comfort of sobriety
makes me feel not quite as content
as the comfort of intoxication,
but the fact I can find refuge
in both is enough to make me,
the way the legs of my bedside table
are cut uneven and the way it
dances when I write,
the knuckle of my *******
kissing a hot coffee cup
in weariness, it makes me,
clichés and the cologne of
grass after rain
petrichor and nasal stained
memories make me,
smokers coughs and phlegmy
clearings, mental crosswalks
with hands and I still walk
with my mouth,
that makes me,
the sky,
and the ground,
mailboxes with the flag down,
telephone poles with expired
promotion posters,
faux homelessness
in small towns,
leaves changing,
trees dying and
coming back to life,
how the wind feeds
conservation,
weeds growing in pavement,
dandelion stains on new jeans
or new jeans staining dandelions,
snowfall,
struggling to pick eggshells out of
yolk bowls,
*** and cigarettes and they dont
go well together
for me at least,
abandoned barns,
barns in use,
the sound of tires on
gravel driveways,
the strength
or lack there of
to smoke when I’m sick,
it makes me,
the look of others when
I allow my dog to kiss my mouth,
the top fret of a guitar,
it’s low and reminds me of
a child’s cough,
wearing my fathers
stained white tee’s
under 80 dollar plaid sweaters,
it makes me happy,
all of this and more make me happy,
but I still can’t touch mirrors
and listen to the way I breathe before bed,
and thats why I sleep with a fan on.

Today the upside down butterfly
It landed on me
The blue brick wall
It fell beneath my feet
I walked it to the underground tunnel
Where the black eyes
Looked into me like the kaleidoscope
Hanging from my ceiling above my bed
They took my eyes
And not knowing of their sadness
I fell into the carpet
I sunk into the floor
Four whole hours
I watched the children run away
I watched without watching
I loved without loving
And I fell without falling
The sound of crackling eggshells
reminded me of what I could not see
The way he touched my melting lips
Simple ecstasy
All something I could not see
I forgot of the black eyes
And the butterfly
It landed where I could not see
Could not hear
Could not feel
But as I walked through my own thoughts
I could think
I could do anything
I was me

She was full of life with a hunger for adventure.

Everyday she traveled to the ends of the earth to bring you back all of the happiness that you needed to sooth your racing soul.

But no matter how treacherous the journey, she always persisted, she would never let you down.

But as each day passed, each journey got harder and each time she returned, more exhausted than before and the happiness and joy that she wanted to share with you was never good enough - no matter how hard she tried.

Each song that she showed you, you said wasn’t your taste

Each accomplishment she was proud of, you were less than impressed

Each smile was never quite bright enough

Stomach not flat enough, hair not soft enough, kisses not sweet enough, each blink not quick enough, each breath not shallow enough.

Her mind was never sharp enough to keep up with your greatness.

Because you were royalty, the ruler or all, controller of time. But that is only how you saw yourself. The rest saw you as a crazed puppeteer trying to control the uncontrollable.

Which is quite the feat,
but you cracked the code.

Tell me,
How do you control the uncontrollable?

You break what isn’t meant to be broken until the point of being unfixable. But you fix them and break them like a record on repeat.

Showing them that you are the only one who can fix it, but like god you can take it away

So the girls who dreamt about falling in love walk on eggshells each day as to not **** it up.

To spare themselves from the verbal berating of
“i’m the only one who will ever care”
and the
“no one will ever love you like i do”
and the best of them all
“no matter how hard you try, you are and will never be good enough.”

When a lie is told too many times you believe it to be true.

Forever the ball and chain on the ankle keeping them grounded when the winds of someone new would come by.

Because who wants a girl who is damaged?

The instructions are shredded and in a language I don’t understand.

People come and they go, fixing and tweaking, leaving and taking parts along the way.

Forever a mismatch, an unmatched sock that you just throw out.

But someone, somewhere will help her understand her unreadable instructions

You texted me
that you wanted
to say goodbye.

Yet, I’ve been
saying goodbye
to you for the
past 21 days.

At night when
I’m alone and
can’t sleep.
When I wake up
and remember again.
Whenever anyone
asks about you.
When moving out
of my room because
it was built for two
and just reminds me of you.
When I’ve had
a good day and
want someone to
share it with.

We spent 17
hours saying goodbye.
We sat in my room
with an elephant
until there wasn’t
enough room so we
walked  on eggshells
around the lake,
played at the park
with clouds over our
heads watching lightening
dance in the distance.
Went to the pub and
cheered to a year full
of great memories.



After all of that
I still have to
say goodbye
to you.

I have to go
to all the places
we’ve made memories,
taking the paths
we took
like pushing
the ancestor
rock down
a mountain.

For 45 days
I couldn’t stop
saying goodbye
to you until you
said it to me.

Instead of living
in your goodbye,
I can live for
someone else’s
hello or mine
every night to
the moon.

how much longer until my
corpse
is too broken
for all the kings' horses and
all the kings' men
to put my body
back together
again?

Another argument
Another day walking on eggshells
Another night of being alone
Another beating
Another lesson on what a ******* I am
Another punishment for not buying the right brand of ***** you like
More black eyes
More cuts and bruises from fighting you off
More afternoons being thrown on the floor and kicked
Being knocked out unconscious because I didn't feel like having *** with you
Being called a ***** every five minutes
Being covered in freshly brewed coffee
so you could hear me scream in agony
Another tooth knocked out
Another day of my life being threatened
Another night lying next to a monster
wishing I was dead

My love is focused stares across a crowded room, extended fingertips, longing.
My love is inopportune places at inopportune times.
My love is counting down the minutes until work is over.
My love is picturing his clothes in a ball on my bedroom floor,
my love is his clothes on me.
My love is wanting to open Christmas presents early, but worth waiting for.
My love is drunken nights sobbing on the bathroom floor, men are allowed to rely on their women.
Sometimes my love is a pumpkin spice latte, seasonal.
My love is jumping off a plane and opening a parachute, jumping off a bridge and feeling the bungee chord; thrilling, seemingly dangerous but I'm always protected.
My love is falling down seven times, standing up eight.
My love is my steadfast faith in what I can't see.
My love is renovating a burnt down city. Finding beauty in ashy remains.
My love is 4 AM night terrors, soft whispers, fingers through my hair.
My love is lust wrapped in a pretty package.
My love is fire, whether it keeps me warm or destroys everything in its wake depends on the day.
My love is "**** that guy baby, he doesn't matter, you're not alone, I love you, you're beautiful." My love judges people he doesn't know so my wrists stay porcelain, not Crimson.
My love hates my music but listens anyway, hates my glasses but looks at me anyway, hates my singing but sings with me anyway.
My love is a bullfight on eggshells. We know nothing of subtlety.
My love is a diamond in the rough, he's the diamond, I'm the rough.
My love is ******* up everyday and wearing his patience thin.
My love is holding the same hand, kissing the same lips, seeing the same eyes every day and never getting bored.

It is perfectly possible to be surrounded by people and still feel alone. It is perfectly possible to be surrounded by your best friends and feel like strangers. It's nobody's fault, sometimes the people you've known for ten years decide their part in your story is over and that's okay. It does you no good to hang on to people you no longer feel yourself around. Life is short and you shouldn't have to make yourself a lesser version of what you could be just to hold on to someone who doesn't want you anymore. People change and that's okay, you have to let these things go. It's not easy but you made a similar mistake before, you held onto someone who didn't care about you or your heart and you allowed them to proceed in stamping all over it. It took a long time to recover but when you finally let go of the terrible, horrible feelings weighing you down what happened? You allowed the most wonderful person to come into your life, you healed your soul and you haven't looked back since. This won't be easy, you love them and you never wanted to let them go like this but it's time to move on from all the bad feelings and just allow yourself to be. Be what? Anything you want. Change is certainly coming but it is a good change, you'll meet new people who are like minded and who value you. You won't have to step on eggshells anymore. You can finally be who you are meant to be and live the life you deserve to have. Let go. Forgive. Be free.

Why did you leave your bones
scattered? White
chalk on my floor.

When I awoke in the hazy mourning, doves
laughing at my stumbling.

I tore them from my windowsill,
I buried the evidence in feathers.

I locked the door,
to stalk, alone,
through eggshells,

Searching sticky membranes
for shy muses flaring sparks of
lessons learned.

Oh, how sweet,

the air,
in reminiscence,
tastes of morning dew.

On soft wings,
a slew of sound:
The melody of spring.

A mourning dove falls
in love with winter's animosity.

A song,
lonely and hollow,
echoes through white snow.

Pick up teeth from the carpet,
hide under eggshells in the bin,
cancel the appointment with the dentist.

Mop blood from the lino,
straggles of cloth sprawl in pink water,
scrub the memory with bleach.

Ask the girl at the counter
which foundation is best for a blemish,
get it home and sponge over bruises.

Catch the reflection crying
preen her til she’s quiet,
gag with flowers freshly arranged.

Smile on the school run
pretend the kids are happy,
(she thinks it's the reason she stays).

I know I should be happy, with things given to me of love
But I can’t help it when everything is lost and gone
They’d tell me, At least you held it while it was there,
And if it’s ripped and broken, that it’s not their fault
That they’d warned me that some things cannot be held so tightly
Or it’ll crack, then shatter, and what I carried on a pedestal wasn’t so mighty
These words on the book would smear if I weren’t so careful,
But even accidents happen as the days unfold
A drop of a tear, or a thumb print on the side
Showing the history of where and who I was
What I was doing at the time when our family lost our luck
Or luck would be what we’d call it, as we never cracked the eggshells we walked upon
They’d question me at the alter and tell me to confess
As I’d hold the broken thing that I loved too hard to my chest
To my heart, for it’s empty, and maybe I could fill it
But this glass cuts too deep if I were to try to fit it in there
It’s ice in my hands, it’s burning coals in my mind
It’s a feather to the sky; if I’d set it on a scale, it’d weigh almost nothing
But if I were to swim with it, it’d be an anchor
And when the judge asks me what I have broken,
I’d say I broke the unspoken promise and had stepped out of line
I had cracked the shell that was holding together this family of mine
I hadn’t known that the threads would tangle with my limbs,
As it dangled from the sky
So when I stole a part of the night, and a part of the rest
They’d see in my hands
A broken, glass egg that I couldn’t put back together again.