forever waiting until i can open the envelope in front of me and find out where i wound up.
i feel winded, twisted in a way that if it happens again i'll crack
end up on the sidewalk trashed and swept into the street by everything happening always and i'm tired
no part of me is lost but i think it would be easier that way, pretending that i have any sort of reason to continue trudging on in whatever muck i stick myself in to
at the bottom of everything, the sewage drains
and it smells like burnt out candles in a drawer
in the river
wet.

i know that this isn't me
i know that these tight open eyes and lucid feelings aren't me
i want to be reminded that i am not alone in this world
but i do not want to communicate with anyone
i just want to watch
while i can appreciate how unemotional and reserved i'm feeling right now, i don't like the dull air and rounded edges around me
i no longer understand why i used to allow myself to feel this way every day

this has been the season of cold feet and closed mouth kisses with
people who let other people 
build their walls

and 
stumbling is a part of my daily life now
i taste like noon, i promise you, 
i wondered if you were always on a different plane

even if we’re sitting so close that our knees touch

if i had clear skin,
i'd be the most confident boy
now let's stop acting like sadness and self loathing is a competition
because trust me baby i've been playing this game for years
and there is no prize

maybe when i was younger,
i didn't pick fights,
but i'd always pick scabs
until my skin had tried to heal itself so many times that i could no longer hear it squealing
no matter how many times i scarred.
i was taught to fix things
no matter how broken or ugly they get
maybe that's why i'm here
155 miles away from my safe place
thinking it will work.
raising my heart in my palms above the crowd
just for it to be publicly dropped down my throat
into the bottom of my chest
i wasted gas money on this?
i didn't risk the skin on the back of my neck but i did risk the
sensitive touch of your fingers on my back
and when i fall, i fall flat
and these scabs on my knees are getting harder and harder to ignore

your fingers dig into my flesh and
peel back my skin
and expose me to the open air and it stings
and i know i need to forget you
but it hurts to heal.

i don't know whats more painful -
the feeling in my stomach that reminds me of rain pounding on the top of a car or the
way the road looks when the only light that is shining comes from this guilty look in my eyes
i feel sorry even though i ******* know i shouldn't
i should hang these thoughts like prayer flags across all the doorways in my body
i should paint my insides wall by wall,
the prettiest color you've ever seen
so that i can call this place where i've been living for so long
'home'

I am 18 miles from the starting point and my car is made of broken bones and yellow bruises.
The paint is flaking off in all the wrong places and my tongue still hurts when I try to twist it in the shape of you.
I've been trying to get the dirt out from under my fingernails for days now, but there's not a big enough vacuum for me to open all my doors and clean up my insides.
It hurts to miss an exit. It hurts to break too fast but it stings to break too slow. The radio doesn't work anymore and I'm stuck with static where my favorite noises used to be.
I am soaking in my own gasoline and I'm 3 sips of break fluid away from lighting a cigarette - you always thought I wanted to go out with a bang.

*** interrupts my mind and
brings me in closer to my tiny self
please stop touching me,
i won't act the same tomorrow morning no matter how hard i try

i am the one taking and taking and taking from myself,
do not ever blame anyone but me

this is depression
when you try to curl your legs so close to your chest that you can no longer hear yourself breathing
this is the moment when you either puke or pass out
i over think and regret every sudden movement i have ever made whether it brought me closer or farther to you.
folks, we're at the panic stage,
please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,
be careful,
hold tight,
and although i know i'm not responsible for the fight or flight feeling in my chest
i still feel like i could have prevented it by
******* pretending you meant everything you meant to me up until a year ago
six months ago
a week ago
****

this blood on my stomach makes it hard to go unnoticed

red splotches rising through the fabric of that shirt I borrowed from you and said I'd return but didn't

it smelled too much like you to let it go but now with these pools of embarrassment soaking in
I have a sinking feeling I'll have to wash you out of it
but maybe I'll get used to the absence of the stench of cheap alcohol and ****** cigarettes and maybe if I use enough bleach,
I'll never have to see you again

i guess i thought that i could learn how to drink away this lump in my throat

movies always taught me that when i turned 18, i would start shedding my skin and breaking down my walls but i didn't have any walls to tear down.
so i tried my hardest at age 18 to build them up, with the only things i had - boxes of matches
left over from burning down so many bridges

all because of some pieces of twisted metal,
i had to reteach myself how to drive.
and now i'm always 5 under the speed limit
i stop at every stop sign
no matter how angry i get

no one ever told me whether or not boxes of matches float
or why my neighborhood always looked so dark
and made me curl up like a dead spider

so now i stick my head in the freezer,
so i can get used to the feeling of my thoughts being so cold

now i kiss people just so we don't have to talk.

There are days
when I feel the glass
pressed against my face.

There are nights when I know
that I miss everyone more than they miss me,
and it changes the tide inside my stomach.

Sometimes, the moon is so big
and bright
that I can see my reflection.

i reached into myself today
tried to hide in music with short titles and short stories
only ate candy and sat on my bed criss cross apple sauce with a blanket only over my right knee
thought about learning the fiddle, or the saxophone
it's too hard to get up and get motivated when i'm skipping my classes every chance i get

I skipped the second half of school,
went home and grabbed a shovel.
As I was digging a hole big enough to bury my problems,
my friend texted me, said
Just watch two episodes of a show on Netflix,
then see how you feel afterwards.
Let me know if you feel any better.

I didn't text her back,
didn't tell her that 81 minutes of Beavis and Butthead
didn't quite do the job.
I didn't tell her that I googled "How to Love Yourself"
and I definitely didn't tell her that out of the 24 steps on WikiHow,
only one could save me.
Step number 5 was "Forgive yourself."
My first thought was,
How are you going to make that number 5?
23 other steps to being a passionate person who is truly grateful
do not compare to
forgiving yourself.
That's the hardest part.
My second thought was how.
How can I forgive myself,
when my dog greets me every morning
with bright eyes and puppy kisses
and I tell him to go away
and I push him off my lap
because he's taking up too much time?
How can I forgive myself
when step number 3 suggests keeping a diary,
and my first reaction is to look down at my legs because
my thighs are enough of a diary as it is.
These scars tell people more sad stories about me than they’d ever need to know.

Beavis and Butthead didn't do the job because there is no job
there's only volunteer work and benefits to claim.

my stomach is empty
like a cave
i do not want to write
my fingers get sweaty from grabbing at things
that aren't really there
it's easier to be something i'm not
and it's easier to hurt myself and lose myself in dark
rooms with yellow lighting
i am moldy
soft
wet
sorry

you slide down the back of my tongue and get caught in my throat
alcohol can't be the only thing to get you out of my mouth
i am sick, please sleep

i can't help but say
that i wish
he would find himself
falling into someone else's sheets

leave the thoughts of the boy with the skinned knees and skinny elbows
and bony collarbones
alone
because he will fly far
far away
and make a home
in a house
that is not your's

you are not the reason he is online

My language is a dance. When I am excited, the tempo speeds up into a tango; characterized by marked rhythms and postures and abrupt pauses. I am small, but my voice is loud. I will not slump my shoulders, but I will take three steps forward, and no steps back. I will be in your face and I will pronounce my words with my history and I will say "soda" instead of "pop". I will make you hear me.
I speak to myself quietly and talk about pink satin sheets when I'm just trying to talk about the way I feel when I see him walking with her. My feelings are not words, they are colors. I will throw rocks through my own windows just by talking about myself. My language is sliding my test paper a little further past my arm when I can tell that you need help. I will help. My language consists of eye contact and tiptoeing around the question. I spend a lot of my time cursing the name of God in front of Catholics, but I do not mean to. My language is how I was raised, following angry parents through hallways and repeating words that should not have been repeated. I stumble and trip over my words like tree roots when I read out loud to the class. My language is not unique because I trace my words over everything that has ever been said around me. When I'm sad, my language is a slow dance in a burning room because I'm repeating everything bad I've ever said about myself, I'm repeating everything bad I've ever said about myself. My language is my environment; it is not unique, it is just there. My catch phrases are built on bruises caused by being shoved into lockers, but this is not sixth grade anymore. People are not "*******"; they are human, and I am sorry. Language is built upon every bad thing that has ever happened, and every reaction to it.

I'd rather sit in silence and swallow the lump of feelings in my throat than mention that you're 4 and a half hours late and this is my only day off in the past 2 months

i want to scream at you
tell you everything you've been doing wrong for the past 17 years
you're an awkward age in an awkward place but it's all your fault
get the **** up, get the **** up
do something


















but it's really hard to break a habit
without breaking the mirror

i'm not trying to achieve enlightenment i just want to know why it hurts so bad when i make eye contact with you
it doesn't hurt
it winds my stomach up like a yo-yo
and drops it to the ground without thinking twice
the way you blink makes me hurt
hurt
hur
t
this isn't fair it's not fair i have goals and you don't
i'm not skipping classes anymore i'm not
skipping

lines
anymore
i can't i can't
it isn't fair
i can't

Probably dumb, pondering
I'm so sorry that I rush when I hear the starting gun, I just couldn't let her get first place
Leave you behind in the dust
Because my feet are too heavy to not leave footprints

i apologized
with old pencils i found in the bottom of my bookbag
with the erasers missing
so i couldn't take it back

Moths that look like little girls hair bows,
I squashed you underneath that binder I used in high school band class.
It was you or me.

i have found my words again
31 miles from you, half asleep
drunk words of encouragement - you are everything between stuck zippers and pulled hair

you said i was your sunshine
so why do you no longer smile?
it feels like these scrawny arms don't get to hold you anymore

My uncle doesn't like my family.
Every call is a short click then a long black silence reminding me of the sea at night, just not as beautiful.

My aunt pretends not to notice,
So now her car is an ashtray and she works a lot.
Public displays of affection sans hand holding and soft kisses,
The cracks in her bottom lip could **** a man.

My aunt is strong, like a grandparent's house that I remember being pushed down the stairs in.

My uncle doesn't like my aunt's parents,
The grumpy Italian man with depression and aching knees and
The sweet little woman with short gray hair who doesn't remember me anymore.
"Who are all these children?", she whispers to my mother.

My aunt pretends not to notice,
And she is strong, she is strong, she is strong,
But I think she is losing herself to the ocean,
And it's not as beautiful as it sounds.

There are flowers
Drawn in the side of your face
With scars
And that pastel chalk that always finds ways to stain your fingers.
The dust in your palms is hard to wash off and
I'm sorry that the cracks in this sidewalk found their way
Into your heart
But dandelions still manage to slip through the concrete.
Your touch reminds me of stained glass and the feeling you get right before you fall asleep when the universe is at peace with itself.

i am glad
that i can pick off my skin
bit by bit
irk by irk and pleasure by pleasure and
feeling by feeling
and bit
by
bit
i am glad that sunburns don't hurt as much as they used to
and i'm glad that i don't have to tiptoe anymore

what do i know

thank you thank you thank you
you are fuzzy belly rubs and
unraveling spines
i am
picked scabs and
hard play-dough but
whatever we have right now is
my favorite flavor of
ice cream at
the pier in Illinois
where my mom grew up
thank you
thank you thank you thank you
my phone capitalizes the first letter at the beginning of every sentence
just like my brain capitalizes my first impression of everything
it was good
thank you thank you thank you

you make me want to write about
butterfly wings
but not just the ones we've found on the grounds on the rocks beneath our feet
you make me want to sing off key because
i can't sing on key
and i don't think you really mind

T
U
P
I
D
For it is the same every time; trapped in my mind with all fours on the ground, ***** to the wall,
I'm sorry I can't handle touching and feeling the way children can.

Dear you,
With the blood shot eyes that sometimes shine green, and the split ends and loose ends who can't hold onto a relationship -

Hi.

This
Is the first time you got
Dirt
Under your fingernails
This is
The first time your dad
Didn't come home
This is the first time
Your little sister got
Drunk
And told you about her
Nightmares
This is the first time you stood
On the top of a mountain and
Screamed
At everything
That ever wasn't anything
This is the first time you stepped out of your pants
And into another person's
Body
This is the first time.
Maybe all of your parents' fighting was just a test.
Whether you passed or not depends on how
Late
You went to bed, listening
Or how
Empty
The palms of your hands looked when you
Held them against hers because
You were taught that you should
Hold it all.
Music is hard to dance to when you've been
Taught to stuff your
Fingers so far into your
Ears that you can't even feel
Your own heartbeat.

You were taught to hate the color yellow and have two left feet.

i was always convinced that i could do it better
faster
harder
stronger
but i couldn't and i stopped trying because i'm lazy.
i bark at dogs i don't like
but i won't bite
so i think it's okay.
i've never been good at pool so please stop pushing me into the corners
and the holes in the wall
and now i'm stuck
with this feeling in my gut
called
Growing Up
and if this life is a journey
and this journey is a ship
then you can just call me
sea sick

toby, i'm sorry
i'm so sorry
i didn't mean to feel your bones crushed between my fingers
i didn't mean to hurt you
not like this, anyway

God ******, Molly
God ******
I sailed out to sea with you because
You were afraid of exploring the world alone
And that
Is when I learned that I couldn't swim
And you let me drown

I don't know how much guilt you've felt in the last year but
It was pretty ******* ****** sitting at the bottom of the ocean
Waiting and hoping that you would save me

Of course you didn't.

I still don't know if I've been saved because sometimes the bubbles that come out of my mouth only float up.

never
ever
ever
give anybody
a kiss goodbye
because they will cut open your chest
and dismantle your heartstrings
and take them from you

they will play crossword puzzles with your veins.

i am trying my hardest
to throw away my feelings for you
but they are sticking to my feet like mud
caking the sides of my new white shoes

echos bounce off of the
brown wooden walls
in this room;
i am stuck.
a constant ringing -
reminder of a time
that once was.
i survive through
dates carved on
bridges in front of
waterfalls.
you avoid eye contact -
and i notice.
we are swastikas
and *** leaves
drawn in permanent marker
on the
insides of
desks.
we are phone numbers
scrawled on
bathroom walls -
do not call me for a good time.
we are cigarette burns -
               on purpose.

I AM NOT THE ******* SUN
I AM
broken glass on sidewalks where kids play
i am
****** up puzzle pieces where the picture is splitting from the cardboard back
i am
white socks with black bottoms because of all the ******* i've been put through
i am
sa
d
i am sad
i am sad
but i don't want to be
i'm sick of being thrown away
i am not past any expiration date
i am not just some ******* KID
who wants to hold your hand
just because you feel bad for me
and that i like you
god ****** god ****** god ******
i'm not going to ******* sit here
and be treated like absolute ****
just because i like someone
just because
i want to be in a relationship i want to be in love
but at the same time,
i don't believe in love anymore and that hurts me more than any gun could
god,
it hurts me more than anything could

You said we were like the Sun and the Moon.
And I agreed, as long as I got to be the Moon
But soon I realized that,
with you as the Sun,
I didn't get to see you too often.
I got sick of your company only becoming
time spent passing each other throughout the day.
I got tired of other people falling in love with how beautiful you were;
I was young,
jealous.
People never fell in love with me.

you are
frustration because i
always want the last word but
i don't
i want to leave you hanging there
i want you
around my finger
wrapped
around my thumb
hanging
waiting
why aren't you here
wait
i am drowning in these ****** feelings
why can't you just
talk

Sometimes, I forget about the other you.
He slips through the gaps between your teeth,
and his voice creaks from your throat,
the same way my feet creak down
the wooden stairs
in the early
cracks of dawn.

His fingerprints become yours,
and it doesn't hurt anymore.

I am ******.
The hum of the car competes for my attention
With the half volume playlist that I made for you
But you are not here.

Sand sticks to my feet and legs,
But I don't think he knows that.
The back of my calves rub against the cloth seats in the back of his car,
And I feel guilty.