I've got my head in the clouds
How is that a bad thing?
My thoughts are so far from the ground
And maybe they'll touch my dreams

I could stare at the sky
Put neon graffiti on the lazy moon
I could put a symphony with a sunrise
And I still don't think that'd be as beautiful as waaah I'm rambling over a truth

Maybe my hair could be nested in by eagles
Or my tears could fill up clouds for rain
Or all of this could come crashing down because I'm over eager
And I'll end up tasting the sandpapery wine of pain


So maybe having my head in the clouds,
Isn't exactly a prefect thing
But if it's where I belong
Then I'll next a new set of wings

I was a child, then.
When a stormy sea
filled the air with hope,
and salt.
And there were hills to climb,
to sit with you
at the very top,
in silent darkness.
Where we held our breath
and lied to ourselves,
about what was wrong
or right.

The years passed us by.
On that hill beside the ocean,
where we consummated
our long-awaited desires,
and I felt sparkles
on your lips;
The same hill under which
I found my reflection
in a muddy pool of water.
The grass beside it was so fine,
and so green.

A park bench at the top
of a sunset hike through
the native valley,
in full bloom—wildflowers
reflected our openness.
Sandpapery stubble
on your cheeks
matched the texture
between my thighs,
which I kept only for you
and nobody else.

The day I knew you would
never be back,
the empty voicemail box,
the repetition in rising
each morning, without you.

My blood feels like it's begun to dissolve
And my heart's been impaled by my rib cage
I swear to god, you breathed fire down my throat
The last time our lips touched
Because my lungs are full of smoke,
And not from my Marlboro 27s
You've done more damage than my six years of smoking.
And I'm not bitter,
No,
I'm the coffee you sip before it cools
And the steam warned you it would scald your mouth
You ignored it
And now you'll be reminded by that sandpapery feeling
That it leaves on your tongue.
And you will do the same thing next week
While you sit in rush hour traffic
And your car's heat doesn't work
You try to get warm
And I will be your double espresso
That betrays your mouth again
And will make you jittery and nervous
For half your eight hour shift
And when you finally crash from your overdose of me,
While you're adjusting to a bed that's too big for you now
You'll rub the burnt patch across the roof of your mouth
And I will be that sandpapery feeling
That you can never seem to get rid of.

I had a dream
Where I sat in a
Gloomy room
And ate candy
Every different
Kind of candy I
Had ever had and
Some I had never
Seen before

This dream seemed
To stretch for days
Like most do
That strange
Taffy like distortion
Of time in the brain

When I woke up
My tongue was
Sandpapery and
I had a long
Hair tied around
My uvula while
The other end
Hung over my
Bottom lip

The candy must
Have tasted so sweet
Because the hair was
One of hers

calls from dark cars, the fear that grips my stomach when I walk the shortcut, the movements behind me always
throw my heart around rough and sandpapery. I am tired of being

embarrassed, having to explain myself, having to ask for forgiveness from others because my body warrants these men’s shark bites, these fins in the water

circling, making everyone around me feel uncomfortable. If I could take a knife and cut out pieces of me to hand to every menace in the night who slowed down to stare at my moving body,

I would give those pieces to them, blooded, dripping, raw with human soul and expression because I am
not his “girl” and I am not “babe” and I am not “****” and I am not whistles from the alley
and I am not drunken breath on lips,
I am afraid

to bear a girl one day, and have her carry the weight of undoubted beauty, of sparkling eyes, of lips that sing and announce and scream. but I know her shoulders will be strong
and her middle fingers will grow to be made of steel

Getting out of bed is a feat some days
I just want to sleep some days
To get away. From the noise of the world

The guilt
The expectations
The intrusive memories of pain & blame that whisper loudly through my shame

The painstaking loudness is consuming and immense
It drains me of my lifeforce, my freeness, my subsistence

But I tread through the dark whirling water
I swim opposite the fierce tidal current, trying not to falter
If I let myself sink it will be too difficult to clear the heavy sandpapery water from my lungs

I see the light in brief gasps of red as I tread the voices in my head

Dysfunctional. Defective. Dead. like a battery
But I’m still Living. Operating. Performing.

Performing for most, a glimmer of a smile and a happy anecdote

But not all, not all of the Someones

I found the ones who breathe air into my tired lungs
The ones who offer me refuge on their lifeboats of truth
So that I may rest my weary body when I am too tired and it's too foggy

I heal, I recharge, I feel steady on their barge
Only then do I return to the waters
On my own
Maintaining
Building up
Becoming more resilient with each wave

A small. Soft. Sad little ball.
Turning your eyes up to meet mine,
the only movement you make.
Too frail.

Your sandpapery nose
Breathes a ghostly breath.
Your last icy kiss.
Too frail.

Little restless tail lays still,
Yearning to twitch with excitement not pain.
It’s your last day I think.
Too frail.

The vet said it’s rare.
The body that housed you
Is letting you down.
It’s too soon for this.
Too Young.

I love you so much.
My heart.
In pain.
It’s my last chance to hold you.
Sleep well.