it feels like i lose blood each time
like the pastor's daughter once told me
(a wide-eyed ******)
that each man we give our hearts to
keeps a piece in their pocket
and that if we give too much
we'll have nothing left.
and maybe that was just christian *******
trying to make me fear the loss of my virginity
more than death
so that when i was *****
when i was 20
i was silent
and ashamed
and the blood i lost
came from between my legs,
not my chest.

but my heart is different after this last one,
so maybe she was right after all
and after him
every time someone kinder
is intimate with me
i feel like my hands are covered in gore
and when he takes them
they slip
muddy his shirt
his hands.
and that's something i'd never want
to inflict -  

i grew up being told
my sins
were covered
in blood
as i grow older
i am convinced
it's true.

everyone sings about
talks about
preaches about
having a ***** past
no one tells you what to do
with a ***** coin
of a future
that erodes in your pocket
silently
but heavily

hey so
whoever is in control
of the universe
it'd be nice
if i could stop falling in love with people

kthanx.

i stole a typewriter
from the side of the road
actually
maybe it was free...
anyway,
i kind of think i saved it...
he's from the 1980's,
a little old for me
but we have this strange
romance
going on
he writes so
pretty

i am a wild, tearing black hole without you
stumbling over words
listlessly letting the ceiling absorb me.

with you i am whole,
but so full of hate
that i feel it rising up
springing from my tongue
filling in my eyes
blackening my cheeks.

there is no win-win for me.
destruction and burning agony either way.
i do not understand
why i need you so...
you who ***** so much more
than just my body.

want to run back to the frozen frame in late may
shadow on the solid ground with a red tentative foot trying to move forward.
silent frame
quaking inside
tumultuous, skitter-scatter thoughts that always made me doubt my sanity.

want to run back and hold me
want to run back and tell me that to err is human
to doubt is to begin to see the wrong that is happening all around you
to scream is to know
that you are in it
and to know that you are in it
is the first step in getting out

want to run back to that freeze frame
hurt him
hurt him till his face is a blur
so i don't have to see it in my now quiet, late-night thoughts
any longer.

wish his face were gone.
see myself ruining it over
and over
i don't want to be a murderer
but what you did to me
placed such hatred in my heart
that the light cannot comprehend
the darkness that lies dormant.

black coffee and asprin for breakfast
and i'm still shooting blanks
pouring it over my face, scalding
dripping down my *******
black coach bags
staring back at you
your hungry mouth
reaching for mine
regardless

i don't like
being sticky
because things get attached to me
too easily
and i get a sad little feeling
watching them spin down the drain...
but i think you got stuck there
you keep trying
to crawl back up
i don't know what to do with you
i'm not sticky anymore
you cannot
stay with me

hello,
my name is failure
third on the left
you might remember me from last year
yeah, i think we've met.
i'm not much different from the kid
sitting next to me
i am cat that never liked to swim
thrown in a faceless sea.
you smile at me when i answer questions
but frown when i fall asleep
you file me into a box
that you like to keep
most of my poems are about failing
or at least attempting to
i am forever intent on drowning...
but that's the one thing i can't do.

you made this.

so revel in your creation, doctor frankenstein,
it was not i who chose to come into being.

you forced me into creation,
and now you must live with my screams in the night
my burnt wrists
and the haunt of a smile that lingers in my eyes -

you did this,
not
me.

in this life we're allowed some gnashing of the teeth
but i'll be the first to admit
that these three months there's been far too much
and that the red stains in the shower
are just streaks of lipstick
running down my palms
as much as i wish
they were something more perverse

as much as i pull at my hair,
let hot water
scald my *******
measure out each strand
only to cut it
making sure
anything you touched
is crucified

as much as i try to claw
my own skin off
in the shower
let it dissipate
down the drain
as much as i gasp,
scream
anguish
let the hot water
cry for me
as i have nothing left
to rip,
tear,
gnash

as much as i wish
i'll be the first to admit
that i lust for the butcher,
tonight

that this water
is not hot enough
that my own hands
are not rough enough
that no cigarette lighter
stings enough
no knife
bleeds enough
and i lust
for the butcher
tonight

slippery
body-less.
mind weaving back and forth
making me see-sick.

every grade i've ever received
branded into my skin
birth defects my mother left me.
every huge C on my forehead
every tiny A, hiding under my arms
every moderate B on my stomach.

panic.
panic.
have to be better
have to be greater
have to be smarter
funnier
happier
prettier
better.
have to be better.
have to be better to save daddy.

work harder.

panic.

singing your guts out on stage...
musical throw up that people like to get splashed with
gushing
rushing
pounding in your chest
standing straighter than you ever have before
four
hundred people standing to their feet to applaud the glorious beast
that just burst forth
from your
lungs

if you don't have family
you don't have anything
i don't have
anything

i didn't place the blame on you
gently
like a folded
napkin
i dropped it on you
like a boulder
why can't you just
take it
for once

today i stole
a glory-of-the-snow
from someone's
front yard
put it to my nose
smelled...
mcdonald's fries
instead of nectar
(oh well)
the rain
on its petals
wet my lips
and i
spat out
a glistening
poem.

cry all your make up off
before nine am
just because
you remembered
your littlest brother's
face.
nice job,
brain.

little rock clinging to long grass.
holding each other on the couch,
seeking solace.

rain pattering outside
wet mineral air drifting through the porch screen.

how can we compensate
for the evil we both committed?
how to remedy
the craters that we have conjoined
in our chests?

searching for the truth in the ache
pondering the wonder of the gaping facade that lies ahead
crying on the couch.
holding
hoping
crying

small raindrops hitting my cheeks instead of tears
leaning against you in the spring night time...

solace.

virginity lost,
virginity found.

solace.

lost all ambition
by 8 o'clock in the morning
my condition
is getting worse
and by condition
i mean the fact
that i've realized
that this isn't where i want to be

i can't make decisions
i sit and wish someone else would make them.
eventually they do and i just follow along
playing a part i was gently dropped into.

no more.

no matter how gentle the drop i'm still doing something i don't want
no means no
your will frightens me
you think what you do to me is worth it because you are satisfied
forgetting the living person that you perform your acts on.

*******, devin.
i'm sorry you feel sad
i'm sorry you don't do well in school
i'm sorry you spend your entire day playing a game that gets you no where
but when it comes to the question of my lips
my waist
my neck
my hipbones...
you are not permitted a say in the matter
no matter how "worth it" you think it is
they are mine to command
mine to keep if i so choose
*******,
****
you.

i love it when you sing to me
straight melodies
floating two hours
to my attention-seeking limbs.

charmed lines traveling through digital thoroughfare
lighting up my bedroom
with our ALL CAPITAL LOVE AFFAIR
i'm okay with it

i'm past the point of wanting to be moral
i want to enjoy all the decadent sins that have danced on my t.v.
for decades
sampling the plump fruits and and round desserts
bubbling with juice and flavor.

all my life i've been told i would regret their taste
i would regret the moment it melted in my mouth
turning to ash
but it goes down smooth
and with rich taste
no trace
of ash or decay

morality is the illusion,
not sin.

today
you said
no,
red doesn't love me
she feels sorry for me
i'm like a
*******
puppy
and i
looked at you
wondering if you'd read my mind
or my poems
but came to the conclusion
that you hadn't
even though you'd hit the nail on the head
twice
you missed the part
that meant something
if you had read my mind
or my poems
you would know
that i do love you
in a strange
sort of way
i love you
like i love my baby brother
like i love a puppy
like i love forrest gump
like i love
anything
that i have ever loved
that is how
i love you

i have always believed in signs.

me finally giving you your jacket back

the day before this happened

lets me know

that it was meant to be

somehow

that makes me feel

better

if anything

ever could.

there are a lot of people in the world that you don't need
and that don't need you
but i have never been good at figuring out who those people are.
i let all of them stay
and pull me, drag me, **** me
back and forth and up and down until suddenly
they are telling me they love me
and i am saying it back
because there's nothing else that can be done.

my head and my heart know that i don't truly love them like they love me
and that in the end i will stop replying to messages
and make up excuses for months
and months
and months
until they just stop trying
and that i will end up hurting them more by allowing them to love me and then leaving
but i cannot close myself off to them.
i have declared myself public property
everyone gets a piece of me
to place their country's flag
divide me up like a chocolate bar
eat me in one melted bite.

i wonder when there will be nothing left
to give.

casually observing my body from the outside
watching me fall apart
my face sliding off my cheeks
my abdomen rotting
my hands and feet lying listlessly against my bedcovers.

i have become a bystander
a slightly curious stranger
keeping an eye on the ****** on the street -
me
watching my antics
wondering at my behavior
cringing at the pathetic pleading that stretches from my eyes
to my toes
to his phone screen

i wonder how long she can carry on
before her head blurs in its motion
before her hands claw together
before she smolders out
a wait and see
sort of game
how long
can she
last
how fast
is too fast
how much
is too much
how long
before he leaves her alone again

broken arms
do you harm
do your worst i'm
heaven cursed
heaven cursed

on the bright side i
fall in line with
other faces
screaming dots
on the bright side i
find my place in
darkened corners
hiding spots

broken arms
do you harm
do your worst i'm
heaven cursed
heaven cursed
do your worst.

i have black makeup smeared around my eyelids
adding a nice value contrast
to the already present bags
and i know i look insane
and my sweatshirt sleeves are covered in teardrops
and my head ******* hurts

and coffee doesn't replace bloodcells
like i wish it would
coursing through my veins
perpetually awake
hiding from the nightmares
that have set up shop
behind my eyelids

and the moments leading up to success is pure torture
it's a lot of waiting
and quiet, violent, personal burning
effigies that i didn't even know existed
being sacrificed
coming to the slow realization
that i cannot exist as a cartoon character forever -

i must jump the page.

god is supposed to change things
make things better
if we ask
i have been asking
for a long time
nothing is better
but i'm still sure
you're up there
what are you thinking

i never felt like the world was small enough
or vulnerable enough
or alone enough
to reach out and pluck from its holder
like an ill-fitted candlestick
but now that God has become a wooden statue
now that God no longer seems to breathe
or even be there
at all
the world is something that i see as
contained
crowded
dull tasting
like soda that has gone flat
and without
resolve.

i could pick up the world now, hold it in my hand
look at it
laugh at the small people
take a bite out of it
like an apple;
the world doesn't frighten me.
doesn't inspire me.
doesn't hold me.
doesn't care about me.
the world is

empty

They filled you up
too much
now you have to cry
the constant
"Them".

i took
2600mg
of ibprofen
and my body feels numb
i wonder
how much more i can take
until the big lake in my chest
that is trying to escape out my eyes
will feel better

it feels good to sob.
the familiar tomb-embrace of my room
comforts me
but i want to take my heart out
with this knife i cut my arms with
and step on it until it is quiet.

someone make me feel better
anyone
please
.

definitely
my fault
this time
you call that
trying?

monster in my tummy
trying to get out
i am not
allowed

i focus so much on the fact that i almost died in this house
no matter how i strain against those memories
no matter how i shake
convulsively
completely out of control
the trauma
making my muscles
tremble
and i scream in my little,
beautiful,
warm,
snow encrusted cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for
trying to put a positive spin
on the fact that i lost the battle between a fresh start
and deadly memories
in this innocent house
that is undeserving
of the anguish
i brought with me
in boxes
that i never fully unpacked

and though my mind is diseased with the thought
when i am alone in the afternoons
that i almost died here
in this little shoebox room,
that some of the most horrific memories of my life
are here

i also
stayed
alive
here.
in this little cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for.

and every place i almost left
eternally
i somehow found the resolve to stay in.
and though through each house
may still slink reminders
that make me shake,
i must focus
and remember
my determination
to spread kindness
like this little house
with the warm floors
the quiet windows,
the gentle stream.

i slip back into my own skin after you leave
pull my scalp over my eyes
look for secrets i once held.

want to pull apart my scarred forearms but i let them be
let them continue to go white
and puckered:
little secrets in themselves.

should i have let you watch?
should i have let you observe my rebirth?
is it coming, after all,
now that i've blinded you?

these secrets i wrap and bind
and create myself.

i get stuck on ideas and things that happen to me
i write about them over and over
trying to understand them
i am sorry for the repetition,
and grateful for the few that have stuck around.
thank you for staying with me.

the way he says "i love you" makes me weak
his gravelly, city-boy accent trickling through a phone i've dropped more times than i can count.

it survived two heartbreaks and lived just long enough to have the most beautiful words
the most beautiful voice
pour out of it
whiting out the ugly sentences that i allowed it to harbor
for years.

chipped and scratched and kind of slow but now full of some of the most wonderful memories i will ever experience
despite it being given by a boy who ***** so much more than my body
in this boy it is redeemed - i am redeemed.

is something good going to happen now?

so simple, so delicate, so quiet a thought
it makes me cry, because i never thought it would.

take that small handful of light
that you found
on your afternoon walk
put it up in a corner
to brighten it
for a bit
hope that it will make you smile
every once in a while
when you feel wrong

i have decided to have a dream
in which i run away
drive for a very long time
in the summer heat
listen to bad music
blare at me
on cracked roads
until i arrive
at the sea
where i will jump in
and let it hug me
until i no longer
breathe

the book of love is transcendental
unreadable
blurred pages and scarred notes
frightened edges and scrambled sentences
on phone screens.

the book of love has music in it
songs and playlists we listen to
when the people we love don't talk

the book of love is long and boring
all the upset, angry words we've heard before.

the book of love is tired
of being read aloud.

i wonder if all my friends
can see me slowly dying
in front of them

but it seems the more despondent i get
the louder i am
in public
i am trying to drown out
the depression
but it likes to pounce
when i am alone
but i can't stand being around people
all the time
but
but
but
i am too tired
for any of this

albatross shot,
dressed,
hung around my neck:
you placed it
tenderly.

palms toward heaven, nailed down
your lips kiss like the metal bites.

crown of thorns -
falsely placed
driven into my flesh
where a laurel
once bloomed
golden,
trembling,
sacred.

i carry you with me
in the scars along my forearms
and the thighs you once worshiped
i bring you to every hill
feel your weight at every incline,
the albatross
you brought me:
dead weight
beating against my chest.

my second coming is half-through,
and i'm beginning to emerge
i stay up late,
sew my ***** back together.
let the nightmares pry my eyelids open
i soak in the fear
i draw wisdom from the grief -
while my laurel
regrows.

clutching for knives
in the dark of the kitchen
"what are you doing?"
"nothing."

never used
a serrated edge
it works
too well

open a problem i can solve on my computer screen
bury myself in the pixels:
a comforting ignorance
comforting silence
in the dark, humming room;
mouses clicking quietly.

i'm not destroyed.
i'm a little sad to lose my pivotal focus
but glad that i was able to be distracted
from a two week old heartbreak
by a smiling, goofy boy.

i will be quiet,
and i will learn
and everyone
will get shut off
for a little while
while i sleep
between these textured layers

gently

everything leaves a heady
sickly sweet
aftertaste in my mouth
like whatever i ate
didn't want to go down
lord
help me
breathe

sometimes i wonder about you
if you're still where i left you
like my room at home that i leave for months at a time
are you still in the same places
waiting for me to come back
sleep in your bed
lie in your arms
cut myself in your bathroom
burn my wrists on your couch?

i look at the pieces i can still see
and wonder about talking
how you do talk to a ******?
like you talk to anyone?
i should know
of anyone
i was with you
for so
long
before i decided
that i was worth more
than a **** that i didn't even want.

fat girls have it rough.
girls have it rough.
we feel less than human
so unlovable
that even if a man rapes us over and over
but says that he loves you
it's okay
because
he loves you.

clearly
he ***** me
in
love
the purist
form
of love -

lust.

love is just an excuse
to get what we truly want.

why do the words
"he lost the home
he grew up in
forever
and could not
cope"
jump off the page
and smack me in the face
...maybe because
all that sentence is missing
is an s
or two

you're failing
you're failing
you're failing
says the desk
the paper
the pen
you're failing
says the professor
how's class going
says dad
fine.
great.
good.
fantastic
i reply

i like these
sleeping pills
they actually force me
to close my eyes
i wonder why
i can't ever sleep
really
i am
very
tired
of everything