They say your eyes are windows to your soul
Well I got blackout curtains
My feelings will not get out
I got soundproof walls
This is the end of it
No more peeping toms
Or ears pressed to doors
No one will ever know
What hides inside of me
Me secrets and my past
Are mine and mine alone now
Those who know will know
But those who know nothing
Will be left in the dark
With the bright exterior I will display

“every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates"— marquis de sade (philosophy in the boudoir)
in murky region of my mind flickers shanty town of wickedness and all who burn betray me are tortured murdered buried on outskirts of this moot province not entirely devoted to revenge shadows dart lascivious exchanges shadow economy back alley shenanigans soundproof rooms filled with hunger for beautiful women sole source of my arousal female lust japanese silk braided ropes bowls hoses drop-clothes vibrating toys anticipating mischievous acts town’s folk love esteem me applaud my fiercest turpitude fathers offer their daughters mothers perfume girls with wild flowers in their hair whispering accommodating instructions ultimately i decline their generous offerings opting instead for steadfast soul confidante accomplice closer in age she knows how to mommy my genitals get me off and i the same for her churning simmering caldron of desires dazzling aromas through center of town runs sacred blue river constantly replenishing innocence upon dust filth criminality also many enchanting bridges connecting dark side to bright side in elegant rundown art museum hang several of my paintings next to jackson ******* ad reinhardt anselm kiefer gerhard richter albert pinkham ryder francisco goya susan rothenberg and public library shelves brim with volumes of my writings next to james joyce william faulkner sophocles sylvia plath rainer maria rilke milan kundera franz kafka gabriel garcia marquez thomas bernhard patrick suskind  pablo neruda oriana fallaci annie proulx lydia davis during mornings everyone busies themselves making things practicing yoga swimming cooking friends gather for lunch munch comically gossip about previous night’s dramas in afternoon go back to their interests at sunset all citizenry come together look to west watch fiery orange globe sink beyond purple mountains wonder reflect sniff their fingers as night falls on little village each goes about deciding what to wear then meet for cocktails in local taverns and commotion begins

He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

She may be our metronome mother
But when was rhythm first discovered?
Did ancient nomads hear it in the sounds of walking?
Did they like how it sounded over them talking?
Did they view the melody
As a felony?
And start to sway their hips
To the crack of whips?
Maybe that wasn't good enough
Maybe we needed more stuff
So we started crossing swords
To create more violent chords
That interested us more

Violence has a catchy hook
That can't be found in a book
But started with a ***** look
Until our brain begins to cook
And we learn to love the beat
As the harmony depletes
We take concert seats
At a darkness feast

There's an iambic pentameter
In the middle eastern theater
That sounds all too familiar
The troubling treble
Of mothers screaming
While superpowers meddle
And innocence is leaving
The reaper is reaping
To a situation heating
Empathy fleeting
Fascist seating
Rhythm beating

Our soundproof homes
Create acoustic cones
That our cries can't escape
Taking the container's shape
Filling our mind
Until we're blind
And only see political teams
Instead of childhood dreams

We fall into a rhythm
Based on deadly decisions
With lethal precision
Like surgical incisions
That don't make us healthy
But support the wealthy
Who whistle a different tune
That will **** us all soon
And as the world crumbles
Their bellies still rumble
Creating a disruptive bass
Their music we must face
With an impossible grace
Or else we'll be replaced

I hear instruments of percussion
Causing concussions
Deflecting discussions
Making us harmfully dance
So we'll have a fair chance
Which seems wrong at first glance
But it's actually a pragmatic trance
Provided by Mister Rhythm
Who carries misery with him

I see you.
Hiding behind your flesh
Raw and red and utterly human
Hidden
Afraid
I am hidden too.
Looking through glass windows
Reaching out to touch cold panes
And never reaching past them
Because to do so I would have to break them
Reveal so much
Reveal pain
Or maybe beauty
But who can say?
Mixed together in my conflicting, confusing mind
Pain and beauty and lover and passion and anger
In soundproof walls
Would it be too much?
Silence broken, revealing the truth
My truth
I see your truth, partially
But what does it feel like?
Mine is fast and unrelenting. Warm and cold.
Loving,
But lonely.
Will anyone ever know the worlds I create?
The lives
The hearts
The stories
And will I ever know yours?
Because I am stuck inside cold Windows
And though I love it,
I love the sun too.

I was never one for silence,
Those times I hear nothing but the earth
moving along with a wheezy breath
pushed wholeheartedly from my chest

I was never one for quiet,
the heaviness of unmoving lips
the weight of every moment held
on a tight, tense string

I was never one for stillness
I revel in the way chaos moves
with steadiness and deliberation,
she makes no mistake.

I’m in a soundproof room.
So are you.
I beat the walls
And scream
And cry
But you don’t hear me.
I can feel that
You’re shouting for me too.
I’m sorry I can’t save you.

The fortress is soundproof no more,
And the voices I had once blocked out,
Are creeping in, seeping in, towering over me,
They accuse me, they shout.

Peaceful silence marred by vengeful shrieks,
Blissful ignorance quelled by demanding questions,
Pristine air darkened by black tears,
And surrounded by all, I stand in the centre.

A spotlight of love-turned-ugly encircles me,
And for the first time, I feel insecure, alone.
I take my hand and place it on my chest,
Trying to feel, in vain, my heart of stone.

Silent  heart.
Pulselessness.
Vacant chest.
Airlessness.

Such a curse- this emotionless machine
that swells up on others’ despair!
The robotic pump that never breaks down,
That’s never needed any healing or repair.

I hear the frantic beats of all the hearts
I stomped upon, nonchalantly broke.
Then, smothered by the darkness of my own being,
I gasp and wheeze, I choke.

When will my veins distend with passion?
When will my heart spout unhindered blood,
And add into my lifeless existence-
Fire and pleasure, pain and love?

I’ll unlock now, these strong iron gates,
And stand outside into the hot, harsh light,
I’ve been huddled up in the dark all my life,
I’ll expose my soul now, to set my wrongs right.

And for the one-
Who’ll unfold, unfurl, enter, penetrate,
And my stony abrasiveness, slowly grate-
I’ll tear open my chest, and silently wait.

White.
Female.
Middle Class.
Heterosexual.
Agnostic.
Libertarian.

Yeah.
That's me.
That's that first layer,
thin as the paper you could
read it on.
Just a
Jane Doe,
a nameless, faceless
demographic.

But peeling back the layers,
ripping through page on page of a complicated novel,
digging
down
into
a
bottomless
hole
to
China,
unravelling
­the intricate
web of
stereotypestruthsliesassumptionsprejudice
and
there you will find
me,
a colorless genderless asexual
spirit whose frame
is crafted and molded
not with how the world
chooses to see me and
who "they" deem me to be;

no.

A guy that didn't know me well
once told me that I
spoke more urban than he
expected,
and I couldn't help but wonder why
someone from an urban area
couldn't speak like they were
from a city,
like somehow what he saw in my
whitefemaleheterosexualmiddleclassagnosticlibertarian
prolog­ue forbade me
from speaking in colloquials and
abbreviations.
Oh, I apologize,
I laughed later to my friend,
law students are supposed to speak
with an ostentatious vocabulary and
an heir of
(superfluous) arrogance.

I am rarely a prototype
of what it means to be
White,
of what it means to be
female;
middle-class* or not,
my parents insisted at age 8
that I begin to understand
the value of a dollar;
my sexuality indicates little
about my level of attraction
to the world around me;
agnostic is really just a term
I put because I'm still trying to
figure out whether I really
believe everything I was forced to
learn at Catholic school;
and isn't Libertarian just a fancy
word for I don't want to
choose liberal or conservative?

It's insulting to
ingest how much is
insinuated about
my depth in
the shallowest of pools.
My cheeks burn hot
with frustration as I
try to balance on a beam
cracking underneath the weight of
a world that is constantly begging me
to go back in the neatly
wrapped package from which
the world would prefer I
came.

I'm not someone
you can put in a *******
box and
label;
you can't contain my
shine behind
blackout blinds;
I will burst out of your bubble
and break your glass ceilings;
I will scream at the top of
my lungs in a soundproof room
until you HEAR me.

I'm not meant to be judged
by my cover,
and neither are you.

We are meant to be read.

I’ll take you on a journey,
Holding you by your hand,
I’m the first girl to hold it, right?
I’ll grasp your trembling fingers tight
And lead you into the unknown,
Whispering in your ear words
That you’d only fantasized about.
You’ll whisper back, that without
Me you can’t imagine living anymore,
And I’ll carefully twist my words,
So you won’t notice that I didn’t assure
You with the promise of being by your side forever.
Together we’ll walk towards that black hole,
Whose door I’ll have decorated with color,
And you, unsuspecting, will lean on me,
Will smile at me, will thank God you found me.
A minute more of contentment I’ll give you,
But that’ll be it.
And before you’ll even realize, I’ll push you in.
You’ll turn around.
You’ll be all alone.
Surrounded by pitch dark silence.
Trapped in the emptiness of betrayal.
Caged in your thoughts and second thoughts.
Entangled in the web of self-doubt.
Tossing and turning and hitting invisible walls.
No one to answer your cries and calls.
Kneeling on the abyss, filled only with anger
For the girl who pushed you into black infinity,
You’ll lie in there, helpless, still unsure
Whether you hate me, or you love me.
(Or do both).
While I’ll be gone, ****!
And my world is soundproof.
So, oblivious to your travails,
I’ll sit comfortably,
And will flip through the pages of my diary,
That records names of all those who had before you,
Fallen in the very same manner, for me.
And I’ll pen your name down, another one in the list.
Then I’ll think of that girl in my school bus
who’d once mocked me-
“No one will ever say I Love You to you”.
I’ll scoff at that decade-old memory,
Setting out on the search for a new casualty.

I had a closet that was soundproof growing up
I used to crawl inside and perch on top of a mound of clothes
There I dialed a random number once
And told them all my secrets
On an answering machine that never hung up
I swear I heard someone listening
The air was pregnant with
Rosebuds
The petals of
Ripe
Imagination
So I created poems and gave them to
the child
Who sat in the corner of the call
This is real
I said into the phone
And no one said it wasn’t
So I told them I was not afraid to die
And it was quiet
So I told whoever was listening that
I loved them
Because we barely take the time to stop and love
To stop and call
I’m still waiting for my brother’s voice
To appear over the phone
And ask me how im doing
The warmth between us has grown cold and there’s icebergs creeping
Up in the depth of my confusion
Someone once told me love was blind
But im still trying to find you in the darkness
Find you on our old mountain walks
in our
Endless talks
He gave me piggy back rides
Letting me carve my secrets into the bark on his back
Even though he couldn’t see them or read them ever again
He used to be a sail
Letting me blow endless winds
Until my tears created rivers and
I built a boat with him
And sailed across
To the other side
where my cheeks were dry
I’ve heard that 90 percent of human interaction is non-verbal
so
ill wonder where his fingers are
that aren’t dialing 314 9770
there must be shrapnel in his back that replaces the spine that once made him a man

so ill dial until my
fingers find the right combination
of a familiar voice
and then ill tell them all my secrets
until moss grows on top of us
and we’re old
much higher up
on a mountain somewhere
looking back from where we came from.
From his little bedroom painted light blue
Converted from a closet with a round window
It was his little sea cabin in the house
Still holding all of our secrets.

manufactured walls
Crafted  by power tripped minds
isolate  earthly gardens
any life to feel like an outsider
vehicles fit for five
clutter a neighborhoods gutter
yet  streets stay soundproof.
Its filled by the nights air
while i sit under freckled sky's
Gazing the Old stars
They consulates living proof
of how loneliness must be an illusion,
for we have more then enough hands to hold.
its a snake eyes roll
to keep warm without a friends smile
its a mine of fools gold
to bury all collected connections.
remedy your mistakes
by listening to the wise
presching under hair white as doves
they've felt the loud trembles of the earth.
But still i walk through beaten battlefields
some say angels help us fly
through double-decor destruction
i just think there's no where else to go.
do we just sit to watch all the colors, grooves and shapes collide?
constantly we   fight for a righteous breath
just to end up in the same place
We are awarded by victorious lies
but still i look upon all the trees
sprouting from the earths core
branches of solitude
idea-less leaves
and ask myself
how can the simplest thing
grant life to the dieing eyes.

i scream
my face a gruesome contortion
as i cry for help.
i scream until my breath
leaves my body.
only then do i realize:
my screams were locked
deep down in a soundproof box
where nobody could hear
but me

thoughts come crashing out of sound

my fingertips just jotting down

the words and all the feelings too

with depths as vast as the ocean blue

the lyrics flee my mouth and mind

as quickly as this watch tells time

each second ticks to match my pen

etching this paper from end to end

we’re emptying the flowing cup

of tears and smiles, it’s not enough

to cleanse me of those dying days

of barking dogs and kids at play

forever shadows in my brain

they’re never to be real again

but nothing will change for me

for i will never be set free

until words fall from outer space

into this soundproof plastic case

where they can scream but won’t be heard

for nothing is quite more absurd

than silences that shriek aloud

and chatter mouths who can’t be found

only fools attempt to understand

and that is why we walk this land

My father tells me what should be my first memory of hearing:
A car scuttles up the gravel hill in front of the home I loved.
I drop my chalk and run to the end of the driveway,
as if I am chasing the exhaust of fumes sputtering out the tail pipe,
wondering what on earth is that strain of air
since I was not given sound from birth.

At my testing, the audiologist put me in a soundproof booth:
The ocean has forgotten to pull its stitches together for the life of it.
I want to scream that I feel like I am drowning
as the waves tormented me into debilitation,
kicking for a gasp of air, just anything to break the current.
I cannot keep myself afloat.

My friend’s voice is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard:
Her laugh makes me want to jump in euphoric joy, like she’s dosed me with ecstasy.
I can see her smile and it speaks all the words I don't need to hear.
When she repeats a story for the third time, I do not mind
that she trusts me with her voice and her whimsical light
since she is the only one patient enough to put up with my aggravating nuisances.

That night at the David Gray concert, my God what a beautiful night:
I am so familiarized with the stretching of violin strings and guitar plucks,
Gray’s hypnotic vocals roaring into my heart with the bass thumping
into my disabled ears, rendered quite useless until I have tasted such delightful surprise
with so many of my favorite noises encasing me into their world,
that I have forgotten my own disability.

It peeves me when I am with others:
The muffling of girls whispering once the lights are out;
my stepfather keeping the TV volume low and does not provide caption while the movie rolls;
how I answer the question with the wrong response and receive confused glares.
I am a lonesome tree in the woods
with no one around to see my inevitable fall as the fire plagues on.

A technical transition last July:
Misery trenched my mind as everything rang louder-
the shuffling of my hair against my ears bothered me very much so;
I heard women talking from three tables over at the pizza place.
First given nothing, now having too much,
I am not appreciative of all the sounds in the frantic tussle of daily life.

A forest begins to chill at four o clock:
The leaves flutter on the terrain in a dance no one knows,
the sun warms me in a song with lyrics I can’t comprehend.
I am relishing what is given to me, that even though I am broken,
I still realize that I would much rather be deaf
than to ever go blind.

You said
"I'm not hollow simply scarce and soundproof. Double jointed at the valves and cured of retched emotions."

But your sensory was superb
Your touch lingered in all of it's lacking purities
It mapped out the freckles lining my lips
A map you traced too often upon the bodies of far too many what's her faces hips

Yet you always came back to devour more

Understanding your underlying intentions became irrelevant and obscured
To count the conflicting answers
which were fed in heaps of sugar lined words
would drown me in irrationality and bitter conformity

And when your ghost is the only thing left to banter to as you smile upon the great unknowns
I'll smother the context of my emotions beneath the cages of my ribs
And walk towards the bare, unhinged moon with no remorse left to speak of
Leaving only salted words for you to inhale into your lungs

(C) Tiffanie Doro

lost in red
delusional labyrinths,
her bulbous eyes depict an
undiscovered fear
       within.

walls built
to be impenetrable,
soundproof, stand
permanently - forming
a psychotic structure
preventing communication,
     the trans-
             la  tion
of drows rutsegse guothhst
(words, gestures, thoughts)

and she pushes with anorexic
     fingers against
             the cinder
          blocks, as the
   at    mos     fear
           cringes
         around
           h e r...

does escape exist?

say cowboy.
say hot dog.
say ice cream.
say baseball.
see, the step into the sound booth is an awkward height,
about 6 inches off the ground,
and i find myself raised on a pedestal,
sealed in for you to inspect,
watching you and an audiologist
through a glass window,
watching you decide my future
as you face away from me
so i cannot read your lips
and you cannot see me shouting stop.

say airplane,
say sidewalk,
say you might hear static in your right ear
but i know i will only hear a tone,
an electronic beep going on and on and on

say conducive hearing loss say sensoneurial damage say surgery say it might be permanent this time,
like it hasn't been permanent for the last ten years,
say there's a new technique say we can fix this,
say negative impact on social life, say poor classroom performance,
say we just want what's best for you,
say try hearing aids try CIs try cued speech,
say you need to be fixed.

it's been a decade since i first entered that sound booth,
noises not echoing off these walls that take a little more from me with every test.
it's been a decade since my hearing slipped away and
i am done mourning it but i don't think you are.

persistence is a valuable trait but stop trying,
stop putting me under with an x on my right cheek so the surgeons know how to lay me out on the operating table,
stop refusing to turn on the captions because i need the practice,
stop talking to me without tapping me first,
stop screaming at me when i mishear.

i am done mourning my hearing and i don't know if i ever grieved in the first place but you are still stuck in the stage of denial,
hoping against hope for some ******* miracle.
i don't want a miracle, i don't want anything god can give me because i am not lacking, i am whole, i already am the miracle you were looking for and i don't need to be fixed.

but you don’t believe that, do you?

so the audiologist can open the heavy soundproof door but i am still trapped inside this box,
the walls swallowing my words as you decide my future for me because
no one wants to listen to those who cannot hear.

say stop sign,
say hairbrush,
say push the button when you hear the beep
and i hold it down with my thumb,
gripping the clicker like the handle of a gun
until you tell me to let go.
but i hear deserts stretching away from me,
flat sci-fi dreamscapes where there is only one sound and i can hear it too.

say tinnitus,
say psychosomatic because you don't believe that i might hear infinity where you tell me i shouldn't.
say hole in the eardrum say the surgery might have accelerated the deterioration,
say we can try again but
i gave up ten years ago and i think you should too,
and i'm here in this sound booth screaming for you to stop
but you will not look at me,
will not even attempt communication.

no one wants to listen
to those who cannot hear.

We see each other
I reach to you; you to me
The glass between us is soundproof
But I can still see your beautiful lips scream,
And I know that I am the reason why.
These clothes are too cumbersome;
I am dragged to the ground by the weight on my shoulders
I can feel the metal digging into flesh
I want to break down this wall
I would rather be anywhere but here
Where everything is gray
Where my mind is clouded in both misery and sedatives
I want to be free again
I want us
I have become a prisoner
And you could not stop it from happening
Fate cannot be changed
You bring your hand up to meet mine
Until you realize you have to hold your own hand.

this is the story of how i break free.

a bright white light
pours on my face
as i open my
eyes

i wake up
in a room
i hear faint voices
barely audible

i touch the
white walls and the soft
carpet floor

soundproof.

there are only
one thing here:
a recording turntable


this whispering sensation
continues
as i put the dial
on the vinyl

it buzzes
and cracks
and pops

then finally,
one whisper
emerges from the record

"im afraid to die"
"...my blood on such a *blank carpet"
this piercing voice
only sounds once


faces emerge
like blankets of
empty white void
made known to the world

"im afraid to die"
the intensity grows
i scream and wail
mourning the lost souls

i turn off
the tape
recorder
thinking it
would all go away

i only wanted
it to go away
but wait, why
am i the one always
running?

running from who i am
what i want
what i love
gone.

piercing waves of
screaming
just constant screaming
in the dead silence

im afraid to die

i look
to the tape recorder
it was off

it had always been like this
all the time
i soon realize
that one voice
was always my mind

(b.d.s.)

Just maybe the stars used this navy blanket as their catharsis;
did you think that your uncaring hands on my face
my arms
my torso
was the same?
Because the stars had a
choice
and the night sky was more soundproof than these walls-
though you didn't seem too concerned;
lashing words out like slaps
or was it the other way around?
(connecting the dots
with unscarred patches of skin left is easier said than done;
you made me hate the colour violet anyways.)
Fast forward to a few light years
where the same swings I'd enjoyed during my childhood
repurposed itself
as the rope I'd temporarily worn like a necklace;
(they weren't supposed to be that tight anyways
and silly me hadn't kicked the chair away far enough.)
Dazed eyes and mind all muddled up taking in my new surroundings-
unmarred white with my hands secured to the small bed;
hadn't I been so disoriented
I might've noticed that familiar shadow hurriedly slip from my room
just as the monitor
beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbe-
and
then
nothing.
The night I died
the stars shone on;
I'd like to believe their way of release
was easier than mine.
// there has to be more than this //

i have never known how to love halfway
split between the extremities of
gut-wrenching, soul-consuming, burn-the-world-down passion
and tired apathy
and i would either walk to the ends of the world for you
or not even to the end of the street

maybe that's why i hated goldilocks
for continually reminding me that i've never been 'just right' for anybody
a bowl of cold porridge, a chair three sizes too big
someone you settle for but never really want

maybe, you argue, i should learn to stretch myself more evenly
but i seem to have a problem of only seeing things in black and white
(more often than not, i land on black)

the problem is, i spend most of life in retreat
face hidden behind hair, hands pulled under sleeves, soundproof headphones
shuffling down sidewalks to a soundtrack of alternative music on full blast

but when i give my heart away,
it is not release
like gently unlocking a tabernacle to let the blood breathe
it is artpoetrywar
ribcage torn open, red hands, stains on the bathroom floor
clawing out the fire in my chest
just to hand them the universe on a burnt-out matchstick

i can count on one hand the people i love beyond a doubt
and it takes the same fingers to count how many of them deserve more than my ashy soul
still, my body aches for the other ghosts in my life i want to care more about
so i guess i'm finally learning what my math teacher meant when she said two halves make a hole

R. Remedy my heart make it beat again.

A. A painful reminder of a past I wish I could forget.

I. Insecure thoughts taking me back to that place I know so well, I fell so safe hiding in my soundproof shell.                                      

N. Never again shall I fall for your sin your sugar coated lies your honey dipped temptation, you caged me in once but never again. I'll make my own sunshine, I'll start new again.

Don't ask me about faith or love or doing what's right because when I was 13 years old the trees told me
that no matter how stable your foundation is it will break someday.
To this day I tend to stay away from strong, tall trees and instead find shade under shaky, frail ones cowering on the side of the forest. I'm sorry for not loving you in a more prideful way. I don't have enough time to write out all of my regrets so instead I will love you with a quivering touch and an apologetic stomach.
My fear?
ASK ME ABOUT MY FEAR.
I KNOW OF ALL KINDS
THE TRIVIAL, THE NERVOUS AND THE INNOCENT
I KNOW OF THE SMALL FIRE BUILT INDIDE YOUR CHEST THAT IS STOKED NOT BY A GUST OF WIND BUT MY THE SOUND OF A FRIENDLY BOYS VOICE
ASK ME ABOUT MY FEAR AND I WILL GUIDE YOU TO AN OVERGROWN FIELD WHERE THE THIN GRASS IS A TAUNTING DEPICTION OF WHAT I WANT TO BE
LOOK AT THE INDENTS IN THE DIRT MADE FROM MY KNEES
LOOK AT THE LEAVES LYING ON THEIR BACKS AND I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO REPENT LIKE THE WOOD THAT BEGS FOR MERCY IN A BURNING BUILDING
I WILL SHOW YOU ******* OFF WHATEVER STRENGTH YOU HAVE LEFT AND HOW TO BREATHE AS IF IT IS AN ACCIDENT
I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO BE LOVED AS IF YOU ARE THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF A PLANE CRASH AND LEAVE YOU WONDERING HOW IT COULD HAVE TURNED OUT DIFFERENTLY. I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO FIND SOMETHING YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU LOST.
I will show you how your feet scream when they enter a hospital and how they sing when they walk out.
Here is my testament , here is what dropped out of the sky when I reached up with empty hands and bleeding courage
I threw my ears on a broken star with a strong arm and a weak heart just to listen to the commentary of whatever god everyone claims to exist
I will tell you about the day heaven seems to be soundproof
What could a 15 year old know about faith
What could I know about demons and angels and how they excite and disappoint you
How could I know about how a newborn baby disguised in a blanket clutching it's mothers arm, in what seems small forever
What could I know about 8 empty bottles of cheap wine and a child with too many bruises and a hole in his pocket that won't let him hold all that he wants to keep
This is not how you love someone, this is how you miss them
And how instead of listening to your head and heart you listen to his
This is how you run faster than the rivers to be held in his arms
This is a reminder that when they ask for nothing they become everything
This is how you start beginning,
And how to prepare to come to an end.

A fret a frown
A cold set of souls
Five. If I wanted to be specific
A prayer a wish
a sink with everything but a clean dish
Your nonsense rules
The hate You all Preject-
So Far from wrong
So hateful beyond anyones worse dreams
Creaky disgust stained wood floors-
Unprotective walls -
Soundproof Is NOt existant
I hear what you all say
So Far from wrong

Broken Hinges
Encouragement so unsuccessful
It Lingers in all the corners -
God. This F A M I L Y
I promise you, IT is anything but That
I Am their Doormat -

So far From Wrong,
Every Second spent in this house
every breathe taken in this house
was a second too long
and is a gasp for air

Even a Bulldoser couldnt fix this .
Nothing In the world could ever
Make this family right.

My life is boring. There is nothing particularly interesting about me. I have no special talents or abilities. Exciting things don’t happen to me. I live in Florida in a city you’ve probably never heard of.
And this is my story.
Let’s fast forward for the time being to my junior year of high school. Heck, let’s skip right to my first kiss. Underwhelming romantic, it took place in a soundproof piano room in the school’s independent music study area.  I ditched some school ceremony to rendezvous with him. We both sat on the wooden bench in silence. I was aching for him to kiss me, but he was playing hard to get.
“I’m not going to kiss you unless you tell me you want me to.”
“Why are you doing this? You know I want you to.”
“But I want you to say it.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
And he did. It was awkward, but I didn’t realize at the time. I was too busy reveling in the moment. I’d made a bet with myself at the beginning of the year – that this year – my sixteenth pathetic year here on planet earth would be the one that I got my first kiss. I had succeeded. I was elated.