i am more than the words he spits in
my face when he is too angry to care
how heavy and hurtful they might be




i am entirely too silent and breathing
smoke into my innocent lungs that i did
not choose to inhale in the first place




i am alone in a classroom filled with
twenty-eight other students because i
can't bear the thought of rejection




i am the youngest sibling watching her
oldest brother fall to pieces on the
back porch while her mother screams




i am the only daughter listening to her
youngest brother say he doesn't care
about his family enough to live closer




i am not worth the spare change in
your wallet or an unsealed letter missing
a stamp and return address to home




i am not worth the torn edges of my
unused history book or scarred knuckes
from holding my own hand too hard




i am hardly worth the free time you
have while you're doing your homework
and think it's okay to text me lies




i am quieter nowadays because you
told me one time when i wasn't speaking
anymore that i meant something to you




i am the girl who wants olive skin and
brighter eyes and a golden crown of hair
that might make you think you love me




i am sitting at a table full of people who
say they love me but don't know anything
about me except what i decide to tell them




i am often alone on holidays because i
tend to lose interest in things that
represent temporary smiles and affection




i am telling all these lies with my bitten
fingernails and backwards hiccups but
there might be a little truth in it all




i am no longer talking myself out of
falling for you because i've convinced
myself that you might be worth it

from holding on so **** tight

Cursing in an empty room
Praying in a full one
Heart in my stomach
I'm keeping it inside

Bite on my tongue
Anger on the brain
Hatred in my knuckes
A frown on my face

Quiet in the dark
Chest swells in the day
Impatient eyes
Days of doubt

Weakness in my legs
A dream at arms length
Regret at my heels
Sorrow in my soul

can't even remember what
i was learning,
   this old japanese teacher really
motivated an exercise ethic,
although his older pupils weren't
exactly: pristine artefacts...
oh sure, i can show you a trick
of twisting an arm
with the focus of crossed thumbs
pressing against an opponent's
knuckes...
      and we used to pretend
to be sitting, while standing up...
quasi-sumo...
  then came a bicycle craze,
probably the only sport i ever
had the capacity to enjoy...
apart from the current:
                        boxing the liver,
the whole: mind-over-matter
                                    experiment...
and god, i love the guy,
    who?
                                   joe roran...
but whenever he gives his
advice, his ultimatum: solution
about taking up martial arts?
    i sort of cringe...
                the original teacher,
***., sure, he was great,
     but when he fell ill and was
absent from one of the classes,
              and his pupils took over...
for some reason i didn't have it
in me to hark out a: HA while
doing pointless hand-chopping
and whatever, other gesture that we
did while doing our marching
orders...
                what has vocals to do with
a moving body disguised in
impeding phantoms worthy
   of settling affairs of receiving a bruise?
a plum just beneath the eye?
     i don't know what's
    right about being kicked in the *****...
by a pupil of the "grand" sensei...
   not when you're, what,
   14... and the pupil is way past 2-
                     on the scale of "timing"...
no wonder...
   started writing poetry,
grew a ******* instead of keeping
   the sack and non-disphoric modus
operandi...
              now i get to box my liver
and i'm "supposed"
   to feel an alignment toward
a moral "obligation" of: hedonism with
a pinch of shame?
       hell...
           i'd have loved to have
        continued learning martial arts...
but getting kicked in the *****
           is... slightly stretching the imagination
as to why i didn't abide by
                          an ambition...
           as ever, solo, on a bicycle...
either that or swimming...
      but even attaining a ******-status
of being allowed entry into the garden
i was subsequently kicked out...
   and my! with what a mighty gesture...
all that i was left with was
                             a tarnished name...
                    no wonder i have a death-wish...
scraps and leeches...
               yet at precisely that point:
i learned how to laugh...
       because giving a ****, at that point:
became all too, meaningless.