We spent our summer growing gardens in your back yard, where I'd watch you bleed poppy flower red and crimson rose. Butterflies dancing over tall grass... I'd catch them in my mouth and they'd make a home inside my stomach. I felt them flutter back and fourth by the sound of your voice; Grape leafs and peach trees... we waited years until stumps were skyscrapers. You fastened your noose around the highest one and dangled like a weeping willow, casting a shadow all over everything... blocking sunlight for months. I watched the whole thing change from an assortment of green and pink hues to a gray and brown plot. I cut into my ribs and picked the wings off of each butterfly that lived behind them just so that I wouldn't be reminded of the absence of your voice by the lack of their flight. I miss you.

Every day is static when you’re taking pills to not be manic
Dependency & loneliness- they go hand in hand

your voice is
snow crunching
beneath my feet
early februrary
and leafs
kart wheeling over
freshly cut grass
late october
your voice
is rain tip toeing
down my bedroom
window in spring
it's a gentle yawn
a tired "I love you"
a fresh *** of coffee
brewing at six
in the morning
your voice
is my xanax
instant comfort
i'll be okay,
as soon as i hear you

this morning i noticed
in my bathroom mirror,
five small bruises on my left hip,
each one a galaxy of its own:
purple freckles over
black space,
navy blue swirls
under yellow stars...
and i thought
how pleasant of a human
i'd be
if you would
paint them
with your finger tips
each night
so that they never fade..
so that i never have to face
a day without feeling like
i have shooting stars
and comets beneath my skin

Sweep up the debris from the back streets in my skull
There you can see the cracks in my foundation & how they got there
Bricks that shifted under the weight of my remorse
And windows shattered under the pressure of this guilt
Shingles blowing in the cold winds of rotting grief
I scraped up metal and dug it into my arm
Just to feel the warmth of thick blood on my skin
Then I threw it back all dented and crimson stained
And it stays under the dust of my regret
Love that dug its claws into my veins
I buried it in the dirt but it never disintegrated
It comes alive in my sleep most nights
And you might find its ashes in the alleys
But I just thought, hey maybe, if you lift the mess from this place
I can feel the sun penetrating the small spaces between these wearing bones
Sweep up the debris from the back streets in my skull
I'll lay in your bed all day and we'll work on finding a place for it all

she sleeps with every
gorgeous star in the night's
vast sky but she still feels
outshone by the bright smile
of the sun each morning

i wasn't a normal kid
and it wasn't easy to hide,

no pretty little princess night light
fastened to a peach wall
in a brick house

i watched the street lights flicker
through a gap in the blinds,
talking to you in my head
like,

"i hope your hands are still soft
i hope your teeth are still crooked
i hope you follow the street lights,
count your way to my house,
and sleep beside me
in my bed"

i left the window open
in the winter
cause i thought
you were the wind

the cold kept me up
and i liked it cause
i was afraid
of the pictures in my head
when sleep left me
powerless,
out of control

i never liked
losing control

one foot
in front of the other
...
always coaching
myself in my head
about things that
hardly mattered

12 years small,
afraid of mistakes
afraid of rejection
afraid of death
and friendship
and grief
and loving

falling asleep at school the next day
chipping my front tooth
on a ceramic desk,
and holding my breath

i never cried
in occupied spaces

i never asked for help

i never said,
"something's not right"
even though
those words lived
on the tip of my tongue
for years on end

they noticed the shadows under my eyes
but it was too late,
14 & poisoned
by loss and
guilt and
this growing fear
that made it
hard to speak
without my voice
breaking

no one knew
how to treat me
my mom didn't let me
lock doors
or wear long sleeves

when you hung yourself
the noose came after me

you were gone in minutes
i stayed gasping for air
and fighting
for years

i'm twenty-two now
and it's no miracle
i made it

i ******* scratched
at the roof of the coffin
you nailed me in
til my finger nails bled
and the wood split
just enough
for my lungs
to stop straining

you doomed me from
such a young age
i have trouble deciphering
where your death ends
and my personality begins

i am drenched in your blood
everything i touch is tainted
by the memory of your brother's
shaky voice through a landline receiver

i can't take a ******* shower,
open a letter,
tie my shoes,
brew a coffee,
say a word,
skip a class,
put on lipstick,
breathe
for ****'s sake
without the weight
of your blue, cold body
cracking my chest

they pulled me out of
a seventh grade class room
to say,
"they took him off life support"

and i didn't ask questions
and i knew what that meant
and i fought back tears,
swallowed them,
this dry lump
in my throat
and i never spoke
of you again

i was so small

how could you

"we got a dud
i think she's broken"
i imagined those lines
dancing through my mom's mind

and i blinked hard
i cut deep
i stayed home
i stayed asleep

i wasn't a normal kid,
it wasn't easy to hide

defined by death
answering to your crimes

you took your life
but you may as well have
taken mine

I am becoming this place on the repetitive view of hard wood floors and perfect coats of tan paint. I can't breathe in this place on the gentle scent of Vanilla Artificial Smile Lavender & Midnight I'm an Entitled Brat Blossom.

The moments of fresh air I am granted taste like expensive cigars & Polo cologne. I'm choking. The only rain drops that I catch are champagne as it bubbles over and splashes at my feet.

Sitting for the second I can get on a ***** set of steps, I am day dreaming of my ***** friends all nestled into the same basement smoking the same **** from the same dealer covering punk songs and talking politics like true anarchists. I beg with my manager... Please. It's been months since I've seen my family & you know if she cared at all I'd be headed straight home into the land of misfit teenagers.

I don’t fall in love with people’s words.
I fall in love with their lack of words.
I fall in love with those moments of pure frustration
when you clench your jaw and lower your head.
I fall in love with those moments of absolute awe
when you bite your lip and widen your eyes.
I fall in love with confusion and the way
you release it into nonsense that I have to decode.
I fall in love with embarrassment & your rosy, red skin as you fumble to think.
I fall in love with fear; the way you stare at a blank screen on your phone,
occasionally running your thumbs over it like a security blanket;
they won’t ask you questions if you look busy.
I fall in love with the different ways you learned to tie your shoes.
I love just watching how some people do knots and some do bows
and I like to imagine their mothers kneeling beside them
& guiding their fingers through the lace.
I love the way your face goes pale when something pains you.
I love the way you get silent when you think too much
and how your best friend sits beside you, and tries not to make it obvious.
I love the way you smoke your cigarette like it’s the last you’ll ever have
& the way you choke back tears.
But, even more, I love the face you make when you finally let them out.
I love the apathy in your voice when you don’t feel like following the crowd
& the way you’re so passive with suggestions but never admit you don’t want to be here.
I love the way you cover your own eyes with the palm of your hand
during the scary scenes, even though you can just close them.
I love the way your head bobs forward when you’re trying to stay awake
& the way you curl it into your shoulder when you give up & succumb to sleep.
I love the way you sigh when you’re disappointed
and the way you try to hide that smile
when you hear good news for the first time in a long time.
I love the way you fall into the beat of a song you like
and the way you block your ears to that **** you hate.
I love the way you stuff your hands in your pockets when you’re cold
and clench your stomach when you’re hungry.
I love the way you describe love.
I love the way you think you’re in it.  
I love the way you walk when you’re in a hurry.
I love the way you yawn and the way you sneeze.
I love the way you laugh when nothings funny.
I love the way you hide your scars behind your sleeves.
I love the way you look away from me.
I don’t fall in love with what people show me.
I fall in love with what they are hiding.

there were soap suds on the living room floor the day i got the call
it's such an insignificant detail, but i can't get it out of my head
some nights i dream of clouds
that slowly morph into soap suds
and a blue sky
that slowly morphs into hardwood
and i am melting into sheets,
melting wide awake

i was dripping wet all over the couch
in a pink bath robe
sipping whiskey from a mason jar
that you left on my bedroom floor

i heard his voice break
when he said your name the second time
and i tried to pretend
my heart wasn't breaking to the tone of his decline

i broke a nail fastening my seat belt
the following day,
and cried so hard
i had to pull over

it's the little things in grief
that hit the hardest

you are faking
just fine
until you're not
and then one day
you look into a mirror
that you are passing by,
and you are struck by
the tragedy in your eyes
and you pray you're the only one
who can see it
but you know you're not

dark red circles
under tired brown
and white hope,
you are veins
extended
you are ribs
caving
and smeared
mascara
you are
pink lips
and
pale skin
and you are
dull
in a city
full of
magic

and that makes you angry-
angry is a new feeling
so it knocks the air
from your lungs
as you pretend to type
on a black keyboard
in a tan office building

you swear some
invisible force
is pressing it's elbow
to your chest
and you're not sure
if you want it to
let up

you were
vibrant in the night,
lime green
and electric blue hues
illuminating my pillow cases

this place is gray-
when did the fog
dim the street lights,
seep into the coffee shops,
wrap it's calloused hands
around studio apartments,
and lines to registers
in grocery stores
for miles?

or was it there all along-
you, with bright yellow words
and hot pink kisses,
were perhaps only a distraction,
a white light
in a sea of navy blue darkness-
when they came to shut you out
the colorlessness
of weekday living
between subway stations
and bus terminals
was suddenly visible
to the naked eye?

for the first time, maybe
i was just another
naked eye

this is the terminal
the point of connection
and disconnection
this is the terminal
the irreversible end
of something greater
than whiskey in a mason jar
this is the terminal
im waving goodbye to something,
as it exits the city,
im not sure what
but i know
it's never coming back

It's a beautiful night
and I wish it was enough
to keep my mind from racing
It's getting warmer
and I wish it was enough
to melt the ice in your veins
You've been listening to too much
Nirvana
I've been thinking too much
about what you've been doing
I used to argue with you
for chain smoking on the edge
of your bed
at 3 in the morning
If you saw me now
you'd call me a hypocrite
And I'd probably laugh it off
Like I wasn't ashamed of
the way I've been living
Last May
I covered my scars in tattoos
Cause you said it'd stop me
from making new ones
But you didn't calculate
how much flesh is on a human's body
If you saw me now
you'd ask me how
I let it get this bad
And I'd probably act like
I knew the answer
Ha
I heard you got lost on the way
to your new job
and turned around
Well
I know
I was always the first
to call you stubborn
But
If you saw me now
You'd call me a ******* hypocrite
*Cause I've been lost for so long
And I can't remember the last time
I stopped to ask for directions

I didn't ask to be like this,
Sitting on a bar stool in south Philly,
Hoping no one notices the water in my fist
Because I don't drink,
And I can't decide if that matters

I didn't ask to be like this,
Counting tiles as I walk through them,
Hoping no one notices
the concentration in my teeth,
Because I can barely breathe,
And I can't decide if I want to

Liking the rain doesn't make you interesting,
it makes you half-past 20 in northern PA,
And saying whatever is on your mind
doesn't make you edgy,
It makes you obnoxious...
It makes me think just maybe
You talk a little bit too much,
And tequila shots don't make you brave,
They make you sound like an 18 year old,
Just as lost, just as confused, just as scared-
But less articulate for sure,
Your matte red lips aren't deep,
Your matte red lips match mine
& every other woman in this ******* bar,
I didn't come here to talk about acid trips,
Or the hypocrisy in your politics,
I didn't come here to make friends,
Ever think I just wanted to sit?

I haven't spoken a word out loud
In six weeks and three days,
So I'm sorry if my voice shakes

I don't go outside for much anymore
So I'm sorry if your blinded by my complexion

I work at a nursing home
And I'm nearly as dead
As the patients,
The failure in my brain
Is a little different
But I'm equally exhausted
By my inadequacies

Without a lack of trying
I'm begging for the strength
To slit my own throat,
Because I don't feel like
Showing up for an other day

My diagnosis is a list 6 pages long
Full of initialisms that
end in the letter "D"
For Disorder

And I promise my tattoos
Are not an invitation for conversation,
So don't look so confused
When I get up and walk away
From you

I keep telling my boyfriend
Not to fall in love with me
Even though I've been
In love with him all along

I keep telling my boyfriend
To protect himself
Because I've been on my way out
Since I turned sixteen,

I say,
"I never thought I'd make it to
twenty-two, but please remember
I didn't stay to be with you"

I'm always trying to save
Bright eyed people,
Full of swirling galaxies,
And light
From the way I seem to
hallow them out,

I'm sorry I stayed in bed
With the tick inside my head
Again this week,
Don't forgive me

Some people shape them into words.
Some people organize them in rows
And the people you don't hear about anymore were making ****** columns.
Well, I think I fell in love with the way
             I could watch the pain pour away from me
and empty into a dark puddle of crimson warmth.         I left puzzles under my skin; deep lines that
              intersected at dead ends up my sleeves
and down my ribs.  
                         Sometimes they fell apart into this
rAnD0m mess all over my ankles.
     Everything that touched me was immediately
lost in these chaotic pools raining from my veins.
  I woke up early most mornings to drown my
insides in a sea of hot liquor.
                                 You knocked on my door
holding a coffee and a pack of cigarettes.
     We counted ceiling tiles all day
with our limbs intertwined.
             You painted the fine line between
pain & romance on a white canvas
& hung it over my bed.
            I stayed underneath it most nights but
every time I crossed it, I called you just to weep
into the phone.
              I think you liked how much I needed you.
I think you liked feeling necessary to any
existence outside of your own
& I think I liked having a vessel to empty my sorrow into
                 so I guess that's how this goes...
the fine line between pain & romance erodes
over time or gets smeared in the heat of a moment
and here we are, watching our seams come undone at the hands of the only one who
can save us.
                  Here I am...
unraveling in the moonlight...
                         salt water tears pouring down
from my eyes to meet my chin.
                Once the romance ends we are buried in the debris.
                 The p a i n is all that's left

I made a wrong turn
In a coffee craving rage
I ended up behind the park
where we used to play
The fence collapsing in on itself
And a freshly graffitied pavilion
It was brand new; white and green
When we were kids
But things seem to have
taken a new look since then

I fell asleep
In the center of a stressful afternoon
Chaos spiraling all around me
Hidden under the darkness of closed eyelids
I saw your feet aligned with mine
Memories very rarely wander into dreams
But here we were,
Our eyes still unsure
We walked pretty **** far for an iced tea
At that corner store
But looking back, I don't think it was the
iced tea that we were walking for

I threw my wallet out on the counter
Dreaming of inhaling the first of a fresh pack
I was on my way to work
But I was thinking of heading back
Your senior picture came shooting out from under
my ID in front of the register
You're outside your old house
Leaning against your Dad's garage
I think one of our friends did the honors
An awkward smile
And a broken wrist
Dark skin
Pale eyes

Today I looked for pieces of you
All over the floors
And the walls
Of my skull

Since you've slipped away
I've been afraid for you to see
how wrong you were about me
I'm not strong
I'm not okay
I'm not intuitive
I'm not brave
I'm not omniscient
I'm not angelic

And I'm not a poet...
I can't even articulate to you
how far I've fallen
I can't even find the right words
to prove to you that
I still miss you
That I still need you

I wish I had a typewriter
That a blue jay liked to rest on
Like power lines in pretty paintings
I wish I had a typewriter
That dispensed music notes
Incrementally
Like leafs from their trees
on an Autumn's evening
I wish I had a typewriter
who's letters shifted spaces
Rearranging themselves
into poetic little phrases
I wish I had a typewriter
that grew from a bud
And blossomed like a poppy flower
I wish I had a typewriter
that collected dust in its place
atop an old piano
In my faded pink guest bedroom
I don't have a faded pink guest bedroom
I don't have a guest bedroom
I don't have an old piano
I don't have a piano
I wish I had a piano
To grow old with
And a typewriter
To keep us company
In a faded pink guest bedroom

we sang along to the same
ten songs, until we thought
we found solutions to problems
we didn't know we had
we hid our fear under
mohawks & dreadlocks
and stitched our sadness
in with India ink
on our knee caps
and metal in our
faces

we looked pretty from the outside
but I remember the tears that swallowed
his blue eyes when he said
"i just hope for his sake,
next time he dies"
because addiction was a pain
none of us knew how to mend
and it left a hole right through us,
no amount of music could fill

when i was five my mom
used to tell me
that it was all fun
and games until
someone got hurt;
i don't think she knew
at the time just how familiar
i'd be with that concept
by the time i was
nineteen

i stopped getting memorial tattoos
after the sixth one,
and i stopped trying to quit
chain smoking when i finally realized
we were all gonna die

blood red hair
and blood shot eyes
i know how love feels
when it sighs a worn out
goodbye

I am the most self aware when it rains
This pit in my stomach grows
deeper than the blood in my veins
And I can feel every inch
of absence that lingers
in the space between my fingers
Parallel lines of exhaustion
and depression fall into a figure eight
And at the point of intersection
you can find me buried
in too many years of self-hate
Begging for a case of amnesia
to take these memories away
Or at least a shot of anesthesia
to ease the pain if only
for a single comfortable day

there will never be enough time
to have a meaningful conversation
with every person and that
hurts the most on winter mornings
and summer nights when i could
swear the whole world is silent,
overflowing in a pensive state,
wondering if being alone is really
lonelier than being surrounded by
people who will never hear their stories
or recognize their voices