Sometimes life presents challenges,
which at the time may seem small,
but instead, appear insurmountable.
Finding true love is one of the hardest
tasks that humankind, as a whole, faces.

Many see love as pure fantasy,
reciprocal, requited, and unconditional,
as true love is meant to be.
This kind of love brings contentment,
and internal peace, which can be unlike
any euphoria you have ever felt.

This love intoxicates and exhilarates.
It will lift you higher
than the tallest mountain,
and make you feel fuller
than the deepest ocean.
This love will make you feel whole,
and complete, with the
joining together of two lost,
lonely souls, once wondering adrift.
in an union that fulfills.

But, for a select few, this ideal of fantasy is
more of a reality filled with heartache.
That same reality can bring us to our knees,
and the pain alone can smother us,
to the point of not being able to breathe.
Then comes the constant cycle of hurt,
emptiness,  and anger, which draws us back
to the source which has caused such emotion.
It leaves us begging for the pain to stop;
sometimes making us yearn, to once again, be with
the one who has caused us to feel such turmoil.

It is an addiction unlike any other,
caused by the fear of being alone
and starting anew.
We now find ourselves
sacrificing our own self,
to maintain a sense of familiarity and safeness.
Not realizing, but instead blinded by memories,
that this reality is showing us that it
was just not meant to be.

It takes time to mend a broken heart;
time on our own,  to discover our true self-worth;
time to realize that love will find us again.
We will encounter a struggle, unlike another,
to overcome our fears of distrust and vulnerability.
Many lessons will be learnt, along the way.
But, with strength and perseverance,
all of the time spent healing,
will open our heart to a brand new beginning, one day.

First, we must realize, that deep within our own self
lies the ashes of our once brilliantly burning heart.
Only with time, will our pain become manageable.
Yet, we will always wear
the scars of a love gone bad,
as an embattled soldier wears his own, from a war lost.
But, choosing to not allow this to consume oneself,
is a true challenge, in itself.

In the end, deciding when we have had enough,
is what will allow the reopening of our heart.
We must learn, to not allow the pain to truly hide
the one thing that lies right in front of us – opportunity.
Sometimes this opportunity,
is a new love, that is more fitting than the last.
A new love, one that will ease
the loneliness that
envelopes us like a blanket;
a new start with someone who can
love, respect, cherish,
and adore us,
more than any ghost of our past.

We all have the power to turn
our reality into fantasy.
However, never lose sight,
that even true love is not perfect,
and neither are we.
We all make mistakes; we will disappoint.
Not all of us will possess the means, or desire,
to hurt another on purpose.

It is the search for a soul, that mirrors our own,
which will be the hardest struggle.
This struggle can be won with one true fact -
not all people are alike.
Once we open our mind, and our heart, to this,
all fears and inhibitions will melt away,
as the sun melts the snow, in early Spring.

With this sign of rebirth,
our new love will be unlike
all we have experienced before.
But, we must never allow our past
to dictate our present,
which will ultimately decide our future.
We must find that power within ourselves,
to overcome the reality,
by embracing, and enjoying,
the new adventure, and path,
we are about to undertake.


Vicki A. Zinn

February 2011

Like the winters long lost petals
as it will compose into dirt,
this new dandelion vessel
overcomes my hearts inert.
We're all scared of something
we lie awake wet with grey.
With healing backs reopening old wounds
the bandage from you, my first aid.

how many paths, how many loves
living and changing and ever climbing
learning and growing and springing over
like purple sunsets entering red mountains
each experience reopening your eyes, gaining
wisdom and freedom, ever increasing strength

Atlas holding Gaia, never ending strength
becoming charged and overcome with love    
encircled with history and caring, gaining
a repertoire of eternal connections, climbing
into dream fields surrounded by mountains
will this serenity ever be over?

though hopefully the uncertainty will be over
and that we will have strength
to conquer all the encountered mountains
created by each newly attained love
embrace avenues crossed and obstacles climbed
to have pleasure and confidence gained

though will paradise ever be gained
allowing forgetfulness of pain we're over
while still remembering friendships we climbed
every node you pass gives strength
for the next stage of love
giving elemental power to move mountains

our past shadows creating fresh mountains
to relive, to adore; understanding gained
so many different forms of love
meaningfully distinct, passed but never over,
each one providing new wonderful strength
to allow us unique nirvanas climbed

always strive for larger heights climbed
those hopes will be worth mountains
don't fear any loss of strength,
weakness endured is often willpower gained
hate and sorrow should never over-
come the treasureful bliss of love

*Don't be afraid of the climb to the top of the mountain
unbelievable strength will be gained,
all the adventures that are over will become unforgettable love

hand intertwined in mine
he whispered a secret
and it tickled my neck

I closed my eyes and giggled
as he led me down the hallway
reopening them, I saw Him
He stared at me and then at our hands, his hand

He walked right by us and never smiled
and in that moment I knew
He would never feel guilt for what He did
for the pain He had put me through
for using me

But that was the first time I realized it didn't matter
because His eyes were full of hurt
at the sight of me holding a different hand

maybe He hadn't only used me
maybe He had felt a slight bit of love for me
and it felt amazing to know It wasn't all a lie
that I hadn't wasted a year of my life
that there was some truth in our old disgusting relationship

We walked past and He never spoke
and that was alright
because I finally felt closure
and now I had the opposite of a lie - truth
and held my hand at that moment
never letting go

It's been years since my skin was flood ravished
with red rust river, flowing through my body like God's tears.
I savored the taste of it all; they were my
only pills after all.

lengthwise slices dried up and connect
like constellations in space making paths I never knew existed.
(and they were patches with many hues
                                    that I love seeing every day.)

blanket of violet night  sky covered me
(like never ending net to grab and hold me.)

And tonight violent water drizzles over my limped body;
incoherent shards slides over—kissing
my tattered paper skin—once again.
                                                —Red river flows in the drain
                                                   along with everything.

this red fencing is the only remedy
            —a surgery I always *need.

hearing you call my name again
strangely feels like
*home

The departure of the swallows took place on                                
My birthday this year, winter began.
They’re beautiful birds aren’t they Chris. Grasp the hand slowly.
Oh and it’s mild weather we’re having isn’t it?
Just splendid for a chance to wander through the forest.

Every man’s got a field to plow but where will I harvest              
When my niche ran south just to sit amongst the rats
And converse through the evening about Ivan’s insecurities.
Edward, grasp me quick and sever me from society.
Sip from the spring, grab a loaf and run cause
I’ve grown reckless and thrown off my yoke.                              
This young man is naturally far ahead of time,
That’s from the nurture of his hard of hearing mother Catherine.  
Where do I rest where do I eat, the dust in my mind
Is subjected to a sweeping repeat without being collected.
A slow rise, I hate taking off the covers but this night I walked
Without them yea I was nocturnal negation of Shadrach.
And boy you’ve taken far too long to deliver the paper!
My coffee’s been hot for half an hour and cold for two.
(Tap on the window) Excuse me which way is Beersheba?          
Now I know you know so please just bare with me and listen.
Yea yea Jason get out of here I know those tricks, I’ll
Get there some day and when I do it’ll all be worth it
Don’t you dear try to break my ankles. Hey drop the razor
Little boy you can’t shave yet and November is approaching.
Nothings equal to this and everything I’ve ever know
Makes perfect sense now, the explanation is certainly
The longest. Where have I been all my life,
Were you hiding under the desk waiting for an atomic
Bomb to drop, no I was just sitting in the subway counting
Change when the little black girl came up to me and
Asked me for two dollars so I gave her four and somehow
Five turned back to nine, the paper transported, my split
Identity got sewn back together and the cosmos is on my side.

Oh extra large I know what you’re talkin about.
Out there I walked through walls let me circumvent
Iron and brick with a gaseous coronary torrent.
I’ll eat my own heart out with one gentle bite
And smash that lime against the wall at your words.
I grow tired…
I need to get out of here I need to get out of here.
Through the yellow hallways around the corner open the green door.
I want to be on the top bunk so I can see the son rise,
After all that’s me don’t you know, genetically Japanese.
Get down from there!
Like a monkey? Okay!
I am the greyhound come to eat the wolf, just let me out.
These feathers are not clipped yet you can’t do this
(As long as I know right from wrong I’ll be okay I’ll sing my song)
I’ve seen them do it on TV just follow through…
**** the wrong force broke, just gotta set this straight.
What the hell are you doing kid?
I don’t know ask him.
And then he said tighten the bolt it’s gonna fall apart.
Yea the center cannot hold.
Gophers are amazing creatures you know, it’s not easy to tunnel under ground.
But if you’re not a gopher don’t go down the hole,
You might get lost.
I took a trip up to Lake Placid last summer, my kids loved it.
I’ve been holding my breath for five days now.
What’s this muscular leprechaun doing in my way,
If I could get those keys off your belt I could probably **** you.
Try it and I’ll break your head.
That’s a good idea, maybe then the light
Will finally be turned out.
Try repelling all of the moisture from your cells
Well now I guess now I just need to wait for my pants to dry.

Opening my mouth for a female will corrupt me.
Okay stapler I hear you but this is serious now,
Almost time for Vinny to come south. I have no need
For ink anymore check the flesh tattoo it’ll spit out a seed.
Stick that tranquilizer in me, I will remain tranquil and awake,
While I stare at the wall and connect unseen signs with familiar phrases.
You’re dreaming kid, no I’m reopening the wells of my father.    
Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher,
Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, Benjamin.
Hey have you seen this kids coat?
It’s far away but you can find me where I wrote.

Sear me sear me I see it coming anyway
Wait wait wait, I take it all back.

Here I am baring my scars and there are people calling me brave and this is never what I wanted. I wanted to show you my scars because I feel like a fraud and I wanted to show you my scars so you would know how pathetic I really am but you don't understand, my scars are not battle wounds, they are not badges I've earned, I do not wear them proudly, my scars are representative of all the times I was too weak to fight those battles, my scars are surrenders and do not call me brave if I didn't even bother fighting. I wanted to show you my scars so you would stop telling me how strong I am because I am not strong, I am weak and I am still hiding from you because you think these scars are things I have overcome but these scars are the very things that haunt me and who are you to know what I am going through simply because I have told you? I am falling apart and these scars are reopening, I am falling apart at the seams and you are calling me a hero but heroes do not hate themselves like this. Here I am baring my scars and there are people calling me brave and this is never what I wanted.

You'll have to forgive my lack of rhyme, honestly there hasn't been much on my mind but by digging into my past i'm positive ill find something worth putting into rhyme
So i'm gonna guess and say that, dear reader, you're new to poetry and you may wonder what writing these strange thoughts down will do for me, you see poets tend to reopen old wounds, you may think its crazy but its as normal to us as lunch at noon
So intentionally scabbing ourselves is par for the course,
so why, oh why is the pain we feel still like a brillo pad, very coarse?
well basically although  to you were insane, but to us expressing our feelings and pain, is our claim to fame

I hate how much I think about you
The way my world fades to black
Where happiness is but a memory
and reality is simply aftermath

You probably think me crazy
For this pathetic lingering on
I know the fire has died because..
All its warmth is gone.

I know there is no way
To reignite the hearth
But I stare into it anyway
Remembering every word

The ones you chose to say
That made me feel vivid and alive
The ones you chose to say
and leave butterflies inside

The ones you chose to say..
To see tears swell my eyes
The very words you chose
To tell me goodbye.

It’s almost 6, and the night is fighting with the last rays of sun,
Its armor and sword are both stronger the glow of sun, Stars comes out like your eyes, breathing down my neck,
Sitting across the Chinese restaurant in, with a cigarette dangling in your fingers blazing as harshly as bitumen laying on road as your skin on my skin was last night
You have been constantly eying me like I am breast of the freshly cut chicken,
I take slow sips of my beer, opening and reopening my fortune cookie, but it’s already been cracked and my fate has been sealed,
I pity the planets and us, we all are stuck in our orbits, and we always talk about the corruption in Russia and about pirates in Somalia,
We take detour of this city, and only this one, driving circles around the Wal-Mart, buying coffee beans and condoms,
I quiet my raging mind, which writes essays about the Greek gods and Atlantis; it fights with the night, but night plays word-games,
It twists its words into lyrics of lovers and pours them in my mouth, and twists its fingers in my ******
Its, almost 8, there are two bottles on the table, emptied like my heart, your ash tray full like your lungs with smoke and lust
Its 8, and sky is cobalt with streaks of lighter shades passing through like the Helicopters on Independence Day and I take this as my sign, and leave 20 dollar bill and a letter which screams “I’m gone”,

Bustling street and a Vegas sky welcomes my heart to the possibility of finding Atlantis.

betrayal is the beginnings of pure agony and heartbreak. betrayal is the feeling of loneliness inside your stomach, clawing and ripping, letting the acid into your blood stream. it burns. and aches. betrayal is the sensation felt when a dagger is placed ever so delicately against your  back and then proceeds to be rammed into your spine, paralyzing you with misery. these daggers shoot at your closed wounds, reopening them, re-exposing them to the cruelty of the world. betrayal is the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your trachea, restricting your breathing and forcing you to just sit back and take it, and let it happen, because there's nothing you can do about it except take the excruciating pain and close your eyes. time cannot heal betrayal. time cannot replace the damaged inflicted by betrayal. regardless of forgiving, betrayal is permanent.

It was once
A never-ending-everlasting
forever-staying-never-breaking
never-sna­pping-never-changing
thick as maple syrup fresh from the tree
long enough to tie up the galaxies together
TWICE
this was the hope I had.

I threw it around you
the seventh time we met,
and I tied one end to your left ankle
and the other end to the space in my heart that I had
saved just for you
I didn't know I was saving it for you.

Because I had no idea
that I would end up caring this much.
That I would write poems about you until three in the morning
and turn those poems into songs
only to forget the melody.

That you would be the reason
for my curled up legs sitting in the corner
and the floor a sea.
My floor is still a sea.

And no one warned me
that you would be the root of this
black tree that is thriving inside my head
despite the dull axe that thumps all day long
yet produces
only bruises
no scratches
I have enough of those,
because apparently the consequence of love
is pain.

And I know a lot about pain.
My hands will be red and blistered for an eternity
from the rope burns you gave me, because
every time you strayed,
I would tug
and then you'd stay.
But your pulls got harder
and your left ankle stronger...
so did mine.
I learned to stop picking at fresh wounds
to let them callous instead
my hands are as thick as a bear
and I've got you to thank for that.

I thought
that you would never stray again
after that nasty big cut you got on your forehead
from wandering too far
you crept up the edge of the cliff
inch by inch
but you crept too far.
You returned with that cut and
swore you'd stay yet
now your wound is reopening
and your big toes are already off the cliff
and this rope I tied around you
this once massive rope
this once massive hope
is now
a stringy little thread.

My hands are shaking and
my wrists are bleeding
but I'm still holding on.
Because my real hope
is anchored to something
much stronger than the both of us.

All that I wanted is past,
and all that I hated will last.

I wanted.

During the day it was a ballet dancer,
light and free in the wind,
the sun puffing out her skirts
as she becomes one with the grass
and the tree's,
scraping her knee's with the weak care
of youth.

I wish that this was the whole truth.

At night it was a different story,
one which reeks of gory
skeletons in the closet.
A strangled safe with no deposit
key,
if I opened it,
would anyone listen to me?

I wanted to run downstairs and make them stop,
I wanted to throw a metaphorical rock
and lock the fighting away.
I wanted to stand in the door and sway
with the force with which I yelled "shut up".
Loud enough to make them see the **** up,
which their memories no longer admit,
but which mine allows to stick and sit to
the inside of my skull, the heavy thump
of their words, never to dull.

I wanted to make them hear what they couldn't see,
what they were going to make me turn out
to be.
See the weights which they were making me bear,
the chains which they were forcing me to wear
shackled to the bed on which I'd lie,
and sob, and wish the nightmare to die,
along with the monsters under my bed.
Which were slowly creeping into my head.
So I'd lay there and stare, at the sins of the grins
which they forced me to wear
in the daytime,
which is only a hairsbreadth away
from the stark truth of night.
My teddies knew more than the average of frights.

I wished them to be happy again,
but when they were happy, I have no idea
when.
I have no idea, if they were truly happy then.

It appears to be a myth of my construction,
a foreshadowing of my destruction.
A tale which doesn't include remote controls
thrown across rooms,
doesn't allude to bedrooms strewn with
the memories of a once happy tomb,
once glittering baubles of laughter
cast aside, shattered and scattered
with the cruel hate of ignorance.

Left for young hands to sew back together
with lack of skill made up by care,
their fingers tenderly caressing the tear which
they would soon learn to label their own self
harm,
in a bid to create a calm in the eye of the
storm.

The wound, well worn, was warm with constant reopening.
The little girl left to pray for hope again.

She ignored the strength the beast possessed,
she couldn't care less, she decided,
and so gently chided it to sit back down for tea
and tell her, once again her favourite bed time story.
It's yelling was dulled down by her own voice
humming within her ears,
of the song which was theirs,
and the grooves in the chairs where
she'd sit on his lap.
She learnt to ignore the harsh slap
of her mum down the hall.

The little girl curls up in a ball, a
peaceful smile on her face; full
of love, forgiveness and grace.
Inside her a war rages on, it's steady
beat masked by the song she still hums
and drums into her head.
The little girl lays down in bed.

At least in a while she may sleep,
her memories may fade, but they're
ones she must keep.

Of reopening the same wound

Again and again until

It bleeds enough to satisfy my

Hungry heart in other words,

Never satisfied that’s why I’m a big fan of

Reopening the same wound

Again and again until

You’ll sit with me in sun and see me as I am

Yours as I always was until

I am enough for you to accept

As your own flesh and blood

I keep coming back because

I’m a big fan

Of not giving up

On you

the sharp sting of shame, barbed, serrated and twisting,
will be dulled by the long passing of time i will soon forget...
but this is no comfort or consolation for me tonight,
as i am reminded of other days i would rather not have lived.

The creature touched my temple
I felt my brain melt and bubble
I felt it dribble out of my ears and down my neck
burning down my spine
The creature made seven neat slits on the sides my upper chest
it had a habit of reopening wounds and slicing up old scars
With long fingers, the creature cut my ribs and picked them off my sternum
it slid out each spilt bone one at a time
it did it slowly, to make sure I could feel my unsupported flesh slap against my defenceless organs, enveloping them, suffocating them
seconds seemed to break down into a million fractions
the creature would only slide my ribs back and rejoin them once it sensed my heart stutter near to a stop.

As the creature retreated, my liquid brain solidified
what was left in my skull, ached and felt toxic
my legs shook and wobbled a few steps
my chest heaved, reopening my lungs, greedily taking in air as I lent against the cold wall
"Please mind the gap between the train and the platform."

Monday morning, I am hoping these unlucky days are coming to an end if not then I hope the fates will grant me a reprieve.  A little over a week until Christmas and I am not ready; I am not accustomed to waiting until the eleventh hour to start and finish shopping but unfortunately situations from the last two-weeks have dictated this plight.  So many things happening internally and externally, I am losing track of time and the opportunities for social engagement.  The emotional scars keep reopening, the drizzle of crimson nightmares providing the scent of allure to my demons; my fears and frustrations clanging upon the anvil in my head.  

The winter solstice is approaching; it will be night soon and the sun is frightened.

In the light of invisible moon,
Standing at an edge of tropical ocean
In reflections of the silver light
Just as this water reflects the face
So as your face reflects the heart.

Many shimmering images dance
Reopening the door of latched strings
With each splashing and dashing wave hitting
A host,of golden daffodils,beside the lake
Beneath the trees,in the breeze fluttering
        
There stands a fine tree- lonesome
In the north on a barren height
In slumber,Ice and snowstorm
Wrap it in sheets of white.

It dreams about a palmtree
Far in the east, alone,
Staring, in sorrow and silence,
At a blazing wall of stone.

A single fir-tree, lonely,
On a northern mountain height,
Sleeps in a white blanket,
Draped in snow and ice.
His dreams are of a palm-tree,
Who, far in eastern lands,
Weeps, all alone and silent,
Among the burning sands.

It's the thing you feel when he stares
The fluttering of wings that fills your head
Its the goodbye waiting to happen
The one you should have seen coming
Its the life that has no light
That you feel once he's gone

For all this is the way of love
Its tearing down your heart
While trying to mend
The single thing he broke
But that's not right
For he broke more than just one thing
He took the soul you had
Twisting it in two
Leaving it rotten in hell
He broke the heart you once healed
From a previous love
Not only reopening the old,
But making new scars, too
He broke your mind
Scarring your memories of everything you once held dear
Making the new ones in terror

The final thing he broke
The one that really counts
Is this body you hold dear
For he left reminders of his skin within yours
The way he touched
The way he kissed
To the way he stared
Now ever time you say your fine
Everyone will know its a lie
Because he made what he did to you visible
And you can't hide what's not inside

He destroyed me in four ways
First my mind
Second my heart
Third my soul

Fourth my body

i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.

Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?

Girls like her peak in High School
Always thin
Good at everything
Great at sports
Beautiful
Lots of friends
Outgoing
Confident

Girls like me?
A wallflower
I'm not alone
I have sort-of-friends
I'm a shadow in the back of the class
Always silent
Mid-season I'm failing
Getting grades up just enough
for the final report card to say I'm "smart"
Fool the colleges i do
Silently being the only one who doesn't understand
But the class is moving on without you
Crying because I'm "not good enough"
Below/Average at sports
Never good enough for the team
Stuck on the sidelines
Always watching
My life is a TV program
I laugh and watch
But never feeling a part of it
I'm just a spectator

Girls like her peak in college too
Even more beautiful then before
A boyfriend to match
And a petite body that looks great in everything
Flying through college
Instagram model

Girls like me?
Flunked my first year
Home i go
More clueless than ever
"I changed my major" i tell them
I put on the act
"I know what I'm doing"
It's all a lie
A mask I wear
Falling apart inside
Feeling despair
The tears come easy
They come fast
How long will this misery last?
Comparing, Comparing
It's a bigger high school now
Except no one gives a **** this time round
I did this to myself
Want to fix it
Is it too much to ask for a win?
Medication helps the focus
I am making a plan

I'm learning
I'm finding myself
It's okay to take my time
It's okay if I'm a little slow
So why do i feel like I'm just fooling myself?
Everyone has a different path
I haven't given up
I haven't stopped moving
So why i am walking the treadmill?
Moving but still in the exact same spot?

I'm jealous of girls like her
They got it all
Wish things were different
Wish i was given their hand
Cause fate has delt me a rough one

She gets the grassy meadow
I get the stormy mountain
She gets prince charming
I'm still waiting
She uses her wit to defeat the witch
I escape and run through books and other things that distract

What is wrong with me?
Why can't i be good at things?
Why is this so hard?
I wish things came easy.

We were friends
Me and her
And i hate the green monster
that leaves me with this jealous anger

Stay away
Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat
All they do is cause me harm
All the doubts and pain creeps back
I keep reopening the wound.
Those negative thoughts i though were gone?
Well they are buried in the back of my mind ready to resurface.

This is just the beginning of my story
I know this
I am destined for greater things
I know this
I will make it
I know this
I will graduate
I know this

Yet, Girls like her
Leave me with lies that echo...

Every time I look you in the eye, I see thunderclouds. Yes, your laugh is silver bells on a spring day and your smile could have caused Mona Lisa to grin all the way in, but they’re right. Your eyes are the behind the scenes and your body is a movie. I don’t enjoy watching movies.

2. I can’t keep up with the storyline. Chapters fifteen and sixteen were about homecomings, and now the main character’s digging his own grave again. You never explained to me how he went from dancing in the moonlight to rubbing ash on his head, just when I thought we were getting already to the ******.

3. The wounds are reopening. I thought you knew better than to pick at the stitches.

4. Your heart must be handcuffed to mine. I feel it every time you hurt, every time you pull, every time you cry out and ask God, “Why?” The only difference is that every inch you move away is a sucker punch in my gut. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain.

5. Do you know how many poems I’ve written about you? Try walking outside at night and count every street lamp from here to the opposite side of the sea. My words burn too, but they never seem to be bright enough for you to see. You’re still tripping in broad daylight.

6. I’m tired of standing behind you.

7. Hope is an anchor, but I’m starting to drown.

8. Sometimes I scream in frustration because the seeds are taking too long to grow. It’s so easy to forget that they will. It’s even easier to forget that I’m not the savior. But I try to be, so I’m putting down this yoke, little by little.

9. Seeds do grow and their trees make enough rings to tell stories to last generations.

10. I heard in a song that love alone is worth the fight. Maybe I’ll continue this battle long enough for you to see that we’ve already won this war, so that the next time I look at you in the eye, I’ll see the northern lights.

How are you still here?
Are you locked in a maze of my memories?
Trying franticly to escape and
screaming your way into consciousness

New pills but the same tunes
It’s been so long and yet some days

It feels like I’m still trapped

In the personal hell you constructed for me

You owned not only the key
Nor the concrete windowless walls
Nor the velvet-thick darkness surrounding me
as I begged for you to let your light in again
but you owned me too

You didn’t even need chains to keep me there
My heavy heart held me down more than any metal could
I can’t even say I escaped
Because you

let me go

Twice

Both times reopening the deadbolts to call me back
And obediently I came crawling in

And then you shoved me out again
This time without warning

The light burned my eyes and my skin
My hands bled as I scratched at the door
Tears choking all the words back to my stomach
And when I couldn’t feel anything anymore
I grabbed a knife

and carved a map into my skin
Desperately waiting for you to call me back again
But you didn’t

And I’d like to say that I’m ok now
That you no longer torture me
But I’m not.
And you still do.

Of course she helps
I swear someone sent an Angel
And I’m not worthy of her
But she still loves me
And I’m terrified that one day
my demons will tear through her wings
just like you tore through my heart
And though she helps mend it again

It will never be whole again

Because you stole a piece for your own sick collection.

i shouldn't have to clench my jaws when my feelings get hurt. my teeth are shattering at every fake smile i give when i have to look into your eyes and watch you look away. you touch my spine and you say 'have a good one'

i keep scraping my elbows for you.

band aids don't fix broken hearts. i peel them off but my wrists still bleed. i have a bad habit of scratching and scratching and reopening the cuts that you have made and trying to close them up trying to love myself.
how much of your life have you dedicated to leaving?

to the point where i rather have you than pass all my classes

you can't put a ring on it if my fingers are broken.
just because you like the idea of my hands doesn't mean your heart is attached also.
would you care if i broke my arms

i hope you rip your gloves again
i hope you cry over me

how are you doing without me?
how long do i have to be gone for you to finally miss me

i love and don't lie



you've become another story.

that day,
i wanted to break the glass in front you i wanted to scream in your face and beat your chest i was literally going crazy for you i walk out and i will never understand why you don't just understand that
'you can't break a girls heart and not expect her to go crazy about you'
why is time moving so slowly...

and i was wearing bandaids on my wrists and i peeled them off and put more on and peeled those off too and put gloves on and tore them and threw them away and put more gloves on and i couldn't stand and couldn't sit and couldn't keep working and couldn't...
the same song keeps replaying in my head.

i'm fine until i think about it. i hate you
you make me want to throw everything away

nice men don't cheat
and nice men don't lie

at nights i set my alarm to 3:30 to see if you will text back
it's 5:45
tuesday september 22, 8:30 a.m. i almost called you.
10:16
10:35
10:49
10:58
11:02
11:10
11:12
12:31
and then i lost track
i don't want to talk to you anymore


i haven't forgotten your birthday. i'm sorry for not memorizing your number.
i still have your pictures on my phone. i still get nauseous when i miss you
how could i let go of something so precious
i can still hear your accent.
i find myself saying the same things you used to tell me back when you still loved me the same song keeps replaying in my head
when i think of you my body hurts.



she only likes me cause we're not together
tell her i knew before you knew

sometimes i never want to see you again
i hurt you by leaving.



here's to pay your bills:


i'll forget about you one day. i promised i wouldn't

'text me when you make it home safely'



now i don't dress when i get home from work
now i sleep with my guitar
i wear my hair different

this is the closure we never had
from today on, every angel i will ever come to know will have a memory of you attached to it.

it takes two weeks for my wounds to heal. by the time i am done with this, it would have been two weeks. and this won't hurt anymore. and i will stop bleeding. and the cuts on my wrists will finally close. you were not a bandaid. you could never be a bandaid. i am sorry you couldn't close the same wounds you caused. i am sorry that it is hard to swallow. and i am sorry for apologizing for things you haven't done.
by the time you get this i would have listened to your voicemail 33 times
i do this for revenge
and i will never say goodbye


this poem is not incomplete. i just like to leave you uneasy. have a great life.


p.s. everything that i have written in here has been subject to what i felt at the moment. please do not think that i hate you.

p.s.s. it took me days to write this and i love you

p.s.s.s i wanted to get you a watch today

p.s.s.s.s you don't wear watches

p.s.s.s.s.s happy birthday



i love you

i love you

There is a certain absence that echoes when it rains
I can feel it, in the storm of my life
And I can feel your absence as much as the rains'
You, today, I knew you were looking for me
When the bus pulled up and our eyes met
And it was like this chasm between us
Was closing and reopening in turbulent uncertainty
And we smiled at each other but with such sorrow, too
We spoke and laughed and I could almost forget
How terribly imperfect things between us are
I forgive the you that I know no longer lingers
I ask you forgive yourself, achieve inner peace
If we could escape to other lives and exist together
recreating ourselves far from judging eyes, I would
I would ignore the scolding of my mother
And the wrath of my friends
They don't know you like I do, don't love you like I did
I don't know if I still love you, or if it is just twin souls
Connecting again in joyous reunion
But I was looking for you, too

The girl who hates herself
Sitting in the bathtub with bruises on her thighs-cut marks on her hips
And stitches on her wrist

It's been 24 hours science she took that blade to her wrist
So effortlessly, like she's practiced the dangers of the game
To know just how deep to dig
To stop her beautiful heart

It's a cliche story, but tragic nonetheless
The story of a restless teenager that forgives the unspeakable
But can never forgive herself
Forgive herself for the weight she's put on
Can't forgive herself, for he's scarred her lips
When he kissed her, he created a disease.
A poison. Passed to his victim.
Self hatred is what she breathes
Always under the sea.
Wishes to join Deaths journey of pain

But her mother, her mothers heart breaks
Why is her little girl so full of hate?
Comfort, beg, don't do it again
I love you, I love you
Her father
Her father thinks she's ******
He doesn't understand the selfishness of
His beautiful, abusive daughter

She cries,her tears so bitter
Please, please, the liquid red dripping
Filling the tub, clouded water
Mom, mommy, I want you to save me
Dad, daddy, why don't you love me?
She wants to be dead, she feels it again
The overwhelming tiredness, sadness
And it's too much
Reopening the stitches
It's too much

Sometimes I crave to write just to feel my keyboard brush against my fingertips
I agree with their word of choice with the press of a comma
A small betrayal when they rewrite our secrets

But I crave that deep ache that turns my bones brittle
That heartbreak plea for more when the space bar sings

"No more," My tongue pleas

But the stories are tangling around my body like a noose
the stitches in my skin are reopening with the press of a button
and at last, I feel free.

_________

"What have you done."

Pressing save with a confidence the tongue will always lack.

"Something you should've."

Recovery is like a closed wound
That keeps reopening.
Sometimes it doesn't hurt
Sometimes it stops aching
Sometimes it blends into the skin in such a way
That you forget it's there.

Other days
It itches and stings
And you keep picking
Until you rip the scab off completely
The blood covers you
You become trapped by this illness
You are smothered.

Eating disorders are open wounds
That heal over time
But the mark leaves a scar
That is there forever.

So I cannot say I was bulimic
And frankly, I wasn't a very good one
But I am a bulimic
At peace one day
In raging battle zones the next.

The important part
Is that the shot never fires
The enemy never wins
The wound never stays
Open.

Where was it I left off? Oh yes, the rebellion of a slave to its master

I Believed my deceitful heart knew the way, but the way to disaster

As the days visited me and went, the colder I grew, and the more beauty fled

I scratched, I punched, I kicked, I hit the doors to try to break them open... and continuously I bled...

My eyes grew white and blind... so I could not see the destruction I was causing to myself and around me...

I was so certain that this hall was the hall where my life would unfold, where I'd find everything I could ever need...

Skin chipped away, muscles scrapped slowly down to the bitter bone...  I refused to have anything heal

I made a blood pool mess of pride at the entrance... along with a few puddles of a broken deal...

My God did not leave me though... He was there... but within spirit... but I denied it...I didn't care about my loss of purity

"Do you not have trust?" A young blonde servant whispered, kneeling to my level of insecurity...

"Why continue to make your self suffer when you can rise again?"

"And what reason would I have to rise? My desired fellowship will never amend..."

I intended to be rude to show her kindness and words were not welcome here

"You sound as if our Master is unfair... You doubt him.. you doubt his decisions, His choices, it's that clear..."

"You must be in His favor... To be so hopeful and life filled... Do you even have the slightest taste of suffering?"

Her knees laid in my pool of blood, her blue jeweled eyes stared into mine, my mind constantly puzzling

Closing those sapphires, and reopening them brought forth a vision of her past or tormenting love and tears

" Foolish girl... You're selfish to believe you are alone in this feeling... I was ONCE lock in your cell... Trapped by fear"

"And there are more down another hall who would know that pain all too well... Please... arise and come with me..."

"Why?.... What's the point when I have already fallen and failed and there is no possible better beauty..."

"They can answer your doubts and questions since they have had the same shoes..."

".... but I'm too blinded to even see my self... all I see is strangely you.." I tried to look down... but pain wouldn't allow me to move

"Then I guess you have no choice but to trust me... Do you think you can treat your wounds if you can't even see your own body?"

Anger irrupted inside of me... Only because I know this Blonde was right. So with her guiding hand, I rose to my feet

My soul screaming and shouting... Begging to rebell... but how could I? My body was dying and in defeat...

One warm white skinned arm wrapped around my brittle waist to guide me to the other side of the castle

A trail of blood footprints followed behind me... As I felt the connection between my flesh and the beaten door hassled

Trying to carefully slip away... I could feel the strength in her arm... there was no escape

So off me and this Blonde went... Leaving behind the hall that I want and also, or so I thought, the Hall God had planned and shaped...

Blue as sapphire
groaning, shaking,
rumbling like thunder
burning my thigh tops
through the blanket.
The screen is dull,
flickering, buffering —

force shut down
the sound of Windows
reopening, singing —

log in again, eight taps
on the sticky keyboard,
reopen the YouTube tab
begin another vine compilation.
The screen is dull,
flickering, buffering —

force shut down
the sound of Windows
reopening, singing —

log in again,
sadistic taps on the keyboard,
open Dragon Age,
watch the title screen
flicker, buffer, freeze —

force shut down
the sound of Windows,
loud, lodging in my head —

log in again, first four furious,
the following: apologetic,
reopen Dragon Age,
slay an ogre,
freeze, sword raised
prepared for the final blow —

force shut down
Windows singing,
its melody, four beats long,
like a taunt or a tease —
log in, frantic eight taps, enter,
open Dragon Age.
I didn’t get the chance to save.

Thunder booms
Lightning streaks
A storm inside my soul for weeks.
Tender wounds
No one sees
Reopening with painful ease
I heard your name
I miss your face
Its cold here, in this lonely place
They see me walk
They say your name
Whispers stinging 'such a shame'

I.* there is no thicker undergrowth than feeling. first to go is reason, everything
    else levitates into something graver than say, one foot deep  in the grave
     and the other somewhere off-tangent like an offbeat adagio zigzagging
      into slammed slalom.

II. the crush of oregano against mortar, and the clasping of a hand. carbon monoxide
      fades into air as youth takes on momentousness. take for instance this once soft
    hand like a breath of cotton in a precipitate noon: once whirling in claustrophobic
      space, this slight inch of feelingfulness is dazed into the span of *Maya windhovering
       somewhere unseen like paramours *******.

III. from the window you can feel the bluster of falsetto disintegrate at its slouched peak,
       and from where you hear it, a dance thwarts itself like a cigarette ember
       convulsing mid-air – that slow, repugnant twitch: that is you, when you first
        broke your silence in thick shrouds of disgust over strobe-lighted simian jaw.

IV. what else is there but to take this sour ocean in front of me and decode something
       the blue always means mellow but the froth of white something the tragic caprice
        of tropic: some nights, they remind me of bodies careening repeatedly; some days
                    they just are, like you, just are, like a riot and only sound, or sleep and only
          reticence, something short of wonder and terse with reply.

V. there is a cluster of harmonies flowering in my mind when the sensurround of din
        starts conflagrations in the ornate dark of ear. my limbs snake in the garden
        of plank, my shin bitten in sharp reiterations – my mind crossing the equinox
         looking for shade, or possible, a parasol underneath the crimson of rain.
           say this is the sky, this dense space when I motion both hands into a length
       not an inch could ever devour. suddenly a boy made out of a man, flustered
        in jangled arpeggios and unapologetic thought like a letter of debt opened,
         paying no heed the mind and only what the body dictates: a smash on the
    escritoire or vigorously scratching scalp, reopening scabs and watching
                old blood ooze dry like a lightweight webbed impression
  of       a    dreamy legato.

VI. the night deepens with the warmth of its black upholstery – we do not know
      when to stop and bid for home. last to go is will of force and first to arrive
     in the bleakness like a recalcitrant thought often straying outside with the
       strut of a yuppie, fervor of old haunt. i conjure an image over the cold chair,
    its steel framework thighs untouched, its four decrepit legs the foundation
       of something that refuses to admit its weakness. the very base of what would
   catch the anchorage of my gravity, the very heart of all, and the flattened back
      with a vandal that says “Soleil was here.” the liver shattering in the trance
                    of everything.

VII. night is stupor. i am the lilt of words from a rambunctious machine.         there seems to be an afterthought that separates
                       a concept of vastness and the tactility of narrow ether.
        a word is uttered in extremis - something heaven eschews
                with its bright, arrogant face.

she was thinking again
about the seams in her legs
the stitches
and weeping.
it terrified her
the blood gushing out
torn skin
the flavor of pain
her eyes were locked open
and she stared at the seams
tears pouring from her sewed-open eyes
she sits on her pile of ashes
her blood mixing
making a muddy paste
that crusts on her eyelashes
her bruised cuts growing on her flesh
opening
and reopening
maggots gnawing on her body
eating the remnants of flesh
and she stares.

I think it's time to say goodbye
To Hello Poetry completely
It's made me laugh and made my cry
But it hurts me more, secretly

It's my 200th poem and it is the time
To stop writing to a void
To stop rereading poems of love
When I have another choice

My heart keeps hurting with every poem
That reminds me of you and I
So instead of reopening unhealing wounds
I decided to say goodbye

*Goodbye

Do not be afraid to write
poetry,
do not be afraid to let parts
of your soul take form
in word and verse
and do not be afraid to crush the mountains
of doubt from the ones you love
and show them that what you have
to say is worthwhile and permanent
and show them that you are not afraid
of your scars and your thoughts
and your mistakes
and do not be afraid of the pain
of reopening old wounds
and letting the gush splash across
the page in witty diatribes
that make you feel a little better
about the fact that you let a relationship
nearly **** you
and do not be afraid to line up all the painful
memories and conversations you'll never be able to have
and one by one
write them into poetry
and get them out of your soul
where they've been rotting
and turning you inside out.