all i remember is that first sip,
the rest, of course, is a blur.
i don't remember tripping over thin air,
or being here but not being all there.
i tried to drink you away,
to forget the taste of your lips,
i craved more and more,
even though i wasn't supposed to be doing this.
i tried to dance you away,
to forget the weight of your bones,
i danced all night long,
it did nothing for me, though.
because i saw your face and heard your voice,
i thought of your body and thought of your noise.
we were perfectly imperfect,
and yet i took every drink,
every drug,
every song,
every opportunity,
to forget how much you mean to me.
i kissed a different set of lips,
and still tasted you,
i held a different body between my hips,
but still screamed like it was you.
i knew texting you was a bad idea but i still did it anyways,
and what you said next made everything in my body freeze.
"i'm sorry for everything,
i'm sorry i ever dated you.
i'm sorry for the bruises and broken bones,
i'm sorry i ever got attached to you."
that's when i finally craved the feeling,
of alcohol running in my veins.
it burned my throat a little,
but i relished in the pain.
i still remember the thought,
nothing that good could ever go bad,
the night was a blur,
and everyone around me was constantly sad.
i wondered why,
why do these things in life bring us all down,
i taught them of love,
and hoped you'd come around.
i told them our story,
and pretended i'd have you again,
i'm sorry for what we've been through,
but only sorry for everything at the end.
because the beginning was great,
i'm not a saint,
but i believed in you, in us and everything we've been through,
i believed in love and lust and complete trust,
i've been places,
you have too,
next time just promise,
you'll take me with you.

here’s the damnedest thing about “hopeless romantics”:

they’ll splinter their own bones into kindling
to build the fire that warms you,
as if putting a match to their insides
might cauterize the wounds
left behind by the greedy lovers and too-rough hands
that set their hearts to bleeding in the first place

you see, the poets spared no pains when they dubbed
the especially romantic “the hopeless”

they are hopelessly betrothed to the warfare,
the burning insanity
of a soul madly in love with love—
the way the heart rages against the brain.

I have a family
Extended members don't know
But then again
Neither do my parents

If they knew would they cry
Could I watch the tears streak down their cheeks as my practiced story is retold and
Sinks in

Would they tell friends,
Turn a blind eye to the misconceptions of my disease
Maybe protect me when my back is turned
Or would they weep
Crocodile tears
Then love again
Love again as they were before
But with new information

Do you think if I shouted my demons across the seven seas
Would pirates look at me in awe of my strength
In awe of my brittle bones that have stood strong without help
Would they look at themselves and remember the battles they've had with
Themselves
And believe in me when I don't

If I told my parents
Finally
As my therapist tells me to
Would they hold me
Even when I hate being touched
The way skin holds skin
How fat of mine is transferred with fat of yours
How I have always hated it
But it doesn't matter when affection comes before personal beliefs

It disgusts me
My body
I hope you know that
I hope you realise why I can't be touched
By family
Because you broke me bulimia

And cracks aren't healed with hugs.

tell me that dreadful story about the mayflies
& that burnt-out summer
we spent in the shadows of oak trees, our shoulders
raw & peeling.

everything had that sick patina of
“i loved you” in the sunslick light, where it was always
half-past some forgotten appointment.
no sense of urgency; no sighs;

no breath but what you’d give me.

i think it went something like this:
we go back to the lake with the tall grass & then i pull all the words right out of your open mouth. you’re not in love with me yet, but maybe you never were.

the fisherman on the next dock catches three carp and then a fourth, but by this time we’re already gone & i don’t see him teasing the hook from between their lips; don’t hear the wet
gasp of their fat bodies hitting the water.

okay, so let’s hear it your way.
the sky was hazy & so was your mind; maybe the heat
was getting to you. everything was sore & dark yellow,
so maybe i can’t blame you for squeezing a little too hard.

i take you down to the lake with the fish bones & i say something like
“i love you”, or maybe i make you say it first.
point is, i’m looking at you like i’m pulling teeth & someone
somewhere is hurting;

so maybe i can’t blame you for everything after.

you take me back to your grandmother’s garden & feed me heirloom tomatoes rolled in sugar; i kiss you with a dripping red mouth. the mosquito bites & blisters don’t bother us just yet, but that doesn’t mean you don’t draw blood.

you ask where it hurts & i say: here, here, here; so
quick i can hardly think, everything all sticky-sweet & unbearable.
you call me a liar, & i tell you to take anything, anything
you ever could’ve wanted, if you'd only just let it be me.

She was born in December
Outside
In the snow

She read one thousand pages
before her seventh birthday

She climbed forty trees in a fortnight

She quieted the unruly children with one look
all three hundred of them

She ran the fastest mile
She'd run over ten thousand miles before she died

Ate a whole cow once,
slept with 500 men

Never satisfied,
never satisfied.

She cured heartache,
She played the violin
Cello
Harpsichord
each note spun like Vivaldi

Always playing,
never satisfied.

She climbed Everest
"Not enough!"
she sighed

She raised three daughters
Fierce as hell, all three

And they raised seven daughters,
the fiercest of them all

She did it in stride
Never faltered
Never celebrated

She sung in the opera
in her spare time

Never satisfied,
never satisfied.