the hot water only lasts about 11 minutes
which is just enough time if I don't shave
so I don't shave and for the first time in
weeks I'm idle, with exhaust streaming
out my pores, all shallow breath and
wet hair watching the water hit the
curtain behind me, thinking about
how glad I am to only pay for
electricity, thinking about
how god, i just wanted
to run tunnel drive
this morning but
could barely
muster the
energy to
talk much
less   fe   e l any thin
                                     g

if i am anything like
the underbrush between
mountains, the thick fauna
that sprouts in the ravine
near the creek, with young
aspens and their slender
bodies nestled in rotted
trees teeming with
creatures and inks and
dyes, unburdened by
the wind that can't
reach between the
leaves, it was so
easy to get lost
in me, the
way i got
lost there
where i
could
only
hear
my
voice, all
hushed like
a whisper in
the night asking
God to deliver me.

my dad speaks to the
birds in the evenings
while he trims the
grass--if you stand
in the doorway
hidden by the
cabinets, you
can hear
them
speak
back.

so nervous and usually wrong
full of answers, draining words,
a songbook full of songs he
doesn't like, has never heard.

i have faith that i will
be enough, but will i
be enough for myself?

tell god, 'look....words'
really      good       thing
away. trying. h o m e
beneath used face
water wasn't kind
fingers...long nights
life wanted house
head tried, **does

This poem is called text her back because
I'm not sure why I reached out to befriend
you, but you taught me how to swing dance
beneath the lone concert awning in the middle
of Veteran's park at 9:00 pm.  Is that how they
do it in Texas? The niceties of i-don't-quite-know-you
and I'm avoiding telling you my age because I'm
worried I'm such a baby.

This poem is called text her back because I thought
calling you a blessing was a bit of a stretch for we've-
only-known-each-other-for-a-week, I don't know the
details, drowned out in nuances,
afraid of "I'm sorry, you
thought differently,
it was just a
dance."

I'm tired of asking you to kiss me.

I'm tired of asking you to kiss me,
with this impatience that sustains
me, an appetite for romance that
is more fragile than the feelings
I barely have for you, after all,
chasing a single spark is hopeless
because they're lost as quickly as
they leave the flame. When was the
last time something felt right?
When something felt right?
The last time something felt
complete because it had run
f  u  l  l   c  i  r  c  l  e, when I was
comfortable being touched
or touching     I hardly remember
a time before this where something
wasn't rushed because i am a habitual
rusher, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

I've been an abuser
and I'm afraid she's
still there,  a l l  the
ways I could hurt you
have already been
done.

i had a dream that girls put purple flowers in my hair


for him to see across the dance floor
and when he saw me he laughed with
with his body, took to me immediately
with strong hands, kept dancing when
I fumbled against his knees because
what did tripping matter when we were

flying.

there's this song by Fiona Apple

called Parting Gift and you looked at me the
way he looked at her with  h u n g r y  eyes
and an anxious tongue, you a l m o s t made
beer smell good, a bitter rush of   wind  and
sweet malt cologne    b    u   t     this bonfire
is too warm and something doesn't feel right
something never feels right, maybe it was
your 6th beer and noted sobriety, the 7th
before i left and whatever was left in the
truck bed in my absence.

a counselor once told me I had abandonment issues

so i have dreams of this guy shoving his tongue down
my throat like a dart and it makes me s c a r e d of the
things     I can't see in people,      unable to discern the
true intentions      in the  b e d r o c k  of their   heart    
because I don't excavate men anymore (at least that's
what I will tell myself) and I've only e v e r had boys
for toys, people who  give  me their strings for play
things. endearing but emasculating, the two things
i've aspired to be and I guess I'm just   terrified   of
not having control, of being the lowest block on the
totem pole with you can leave me dangled over my
head, you can leave me, you can leave me, you can

leave me.

I find G o d
in the dust
up  against
chokecherry
trees by the
river, when
i talk to him
s u n l i g h t
brushes  up
my   thighs
or   f i n d s
me through
the   leaves
encased   in
honeycomb


encased in honeycomb.

i used to think trust appeared
with the right words, it would
b l i n k  out of the universe the
way new stars are born- - -not
and then a l l  at   o    n    c    e .

but you cross into the concept
that trust is built, as with wires
beams and panels, love, faith
and identity---

I trust him to do this, to not
do that, trust that he won't go
there and will come here, but
i've realized that trust has been
misconstrued with worry, with the
innate desire to control any and
all things that pass by me in their
states.

lately, though, trust had been been
a release, a slack line, a whole box
of blackberries, celery and raisins
pink knuckles, deep breaths and
sky blue nails

i have an armful of things I cannot
let go but they slide out one by one
without my knowledge, trust is a
blind thing, not like hope, because
hope is hoping and trust is trusting
with so much more vigor, less of a
spectacle and more of a private
ceremony, a quiet wedding
appropriated in smiles and
the brush of duchess satin
to and fro, to and fro
to and fro.

i cant find the words
right now to properly
express how I feel but
i'm getting lost in this
body, in the marks and
dimples turned to scars
and valleys and shadows
and the way i'm stretched
around muscle and fat I
can hardly remember that
first and foremost i   a  m a

spirit

can i  l i n g e r
in your heart a
little while?

and
as
god
is
my
witness.

i'm pushing all these
decisions with precision
but there is no sneaking
with a god who knows
your heart and my
perfection is pure
fiction, a boy built
in a hundred teenage
romance novels imposed
on every man I meet, each
interaction a fitting but men
aren't shoes and I am not
cinderella.

you hung peach tea-lights
from my ribs spoke across
the plates and ceramic cups
filled with single origin topped
with daylight and smiled down
at my fingertips which sounded
something like silver spoons in
homemade jam jars or wheat
toast singing straight out of
the oven---but you're still
there blooming out of a
black lacquer chair
in dreams that smell
like pancakes and butter
you're there, somewhere
smiling at my fingertips

the snow fell all before
i cut my hair, melted when
i woke up this morning
the heat of discovery
radiated against the
walls, and between
locks and licks of
curls that dried up
on the floor, I thought
maybe you've been
dreaming of a girl
who wasn't me but
is me now.


who wasn't
me but is
me now.

he put himself there
because I let him and
left because he could
and the explanation
he forgot to give
has enough
salt unsaid.

this worry
fills me to
the b r i m
looks  like
the v i e w
from  my
w i n d o w
reads half
french, half
a l g e b r a i c
equation and
worst of all it
wakes me up
in the middle
of the night.

he says things like,
don't you remember?
we saw it together
and i jump for that
last letter, he drowns
out his own intentions
with nervous laughter
trades books for minutes
lives in the instep of his
mother's shoe and rules
with tired fists,
I once saw a girl cry and
she fell into his arms but
I have no reason that he
wouldn't deem juvenile.

i still add myself up
against the girls I
don't know, who
have found their
places in your life
and bear your vices
against their skin
who probably
love you better
than I

did.

i wish i could
bare my faith
like the weak

this is such a soft loneliness
like a kindred spirit, heavy
and without doubt, she hangs
tears from her eyelashes, pairs
of glass ornaments and plants
tall cedars in the valves of her
heart that grow up the walls
and bloom in her throat, through
the whispers, how and why
how and why
how and why

of the mountain peaks and
lofty wave crests, even in the
troughs you rest, for the stars
find  y o u  in the deepest pits
where you come to lay my parts
to bed and the pines they bend in
your  w a k e  like blades of grass
beneath my feet, so should the
salt settle in oceans deep
just so they could meet
your lips,  then would
my thoughts gather in
a heap, a group of
injury, fresh and
raw, find me
find me
find me.

i buy the
affection
I  w a n t

the hydrangeas found your
face through the crack in the
sliding door, during the early
morning before our bodies
decided to sweat off the night
and the fan blew cool air up
the lilt of our shoulders
that rolled and pressed
like pistons--I forget what
we spoke about.

but i felt your skin beneath
my thighs and begged for just
one picture of you, like this
all day-old and dewy and beautiful
with the morning shining out of your
chest, aglow and gentle, just one picture
of you, like this,  just one picture of you

*like this

I'm always loving myself off

a precipice, hanging from the
c r a g s  by branch and string
wet down by s  e  a  and dried
by salt, the  w  a  l  k  here was
long in the tall grass that has no
trail where the  wind whets the
bluffs and steals my hair from its
hood so that I am my own maelstrom
a shred of black off the cliffs, incised
into the gray like my body is only an
o  p  e  n  i  n  g but from far off i am
just a whistle against the headlands,
sea foam and pine needles or
the grains of sand that
never settle.

sometimes, when you're not
trying to save the world or
build empires out of the
mortar hatred your father
planted inside your chest
like a factory that chews
and spits and bellows
when you're not breathing
fire and dust and business
you're a little bit human
and it's nice when we
both settle into the bony
seats at the Skyline theater
when our heads fall to
the same side and
the world smells
like buttered
popcorn, fresh
laundry and
comfort.

I DON'T DRAW ANYMORE
BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL IT
IN MY BONES, I DON'T
LAUGH MUCH ON MY
OWN BECAUSE THERE'S
NOTHING IN MY STOMACH
I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M
RELYING ON TO KEEP
ME GOING, I'M JUST
GOING, GOING, GOING.

it's easy to stitch me up
but the truth is i'm still
popping at the seams
and this happiness is
a little makeshift, with
crafted motivation, i've
all but glued the glitter
on and i have to keep
reminding myself
that I no longer
get graded on
participation
this is all or
n o t h i n g

had a dream they were
telling me to wake up,
had a dream they told
me i never talk to god
shoving vouchers in
my face to bar me
against the window
yes, i do. I do talk
to him. I do.
so where is he?
where is he?
where is he,
brooke?
and I
was
screaming
*I don't know
I don't know
i don't know
where he is,
I don't know.

they say write out an sos
in the snow behind my house
got this livin' on the 411, what's
you're 20? I'm asking everyone
and i'm trying to get better at
cursive, I want to flow from
wave to wave but i'm getting
thrown round, rock to rock
it didn't matter anyway.
could have told me
to stop cursin' because i'm
dropping Jesus Christs like
no yesterday, Jesus Christ
where were you today? I'm
drowning in self-hatred, finding
grief is mashed potatoes, pinching
skin between these fingers, where's
this wealth in ****** freedom, just love
yourself, to love is to be loved, well
i insult myself to the point of no return
point fingers in the mirror, love. shaking
heads and sleeping sideways because i feel
the weight of skin i'm stuck inside of, a face
only a mother could love, barred behind words
from kids no longer in or of,
my life, god could it get much worse
i can't find solace in the things that used to work
painting pictures no longer soothes the pain, fields
of grass no longer hide your name, i'm lost in the
plains of isaiah, wandering the sand of achor, so
this is a door of hope? are you telling me to walk
onward? but this soul is distressed and these thighs
are worn, can't go a day without calling myself out
straight to the flaws i go in headfirst, lost all my
friends, self-esteem and sense of self-worth,
confidence is an concept i've only every dreamed of
so my mom keeps asking what I want for my birthday
and I say, happiness, a purpose, and a way home
happiness, a purpose, and a way home
happiness, a purpose, and a way home

I'd like to
think that
my smile
unbuttons
your pride
because you
sure unzip
mine.

loving you is being naked
except  m y  transgressions
are written into the sinews
in my muscle, braided into
my hair and mingling with
my blood. For that, loving
you is a vacuum, loving
you is a room filled with
widening spaces until I
am nothing more than
a wick burning from
both                   ends,
l o v i n g   y o u
is a tragedy in parts,
alone in a wheat field,
alone in a school hall
alone in a coffee shop
loving you is being
alone.

he's using me as a new year's
r e s o l u t i o n  probably to
be kinder or apologize more
there's little reason to calling
me up but I let people back in
so easily  p r o b a b l y  to be
kinder or apologize more
maybe because I just want
to be loved and I'm letting
all the wrong people love

me

this is a q u i e t type
of living, I want to get
lost in this sweater or
sink in these shoes,
sometimes I wish
I would drown
in cups of water
or burn up against
the wick of a candle
i've been setting three
alarms to be up before
the sun and it's working
out pretty well but I no
longer find solace in
paints or peace in
lead pencils
the things I
love are made
of rice paper and
dissolve under the
weight of words
and bowls of
honey nut
cheerios
I am at a loss
filled with sighs
filled with sighs
filled with sighs

my mom began a disconnect
and stopped entertaining my
depressed notions,  I want to
tear the newspaper in front
of her and tell her she will
never understand, buffer
this thought by receding,
folding myself into 1,000
paper cranes for a wish
finding a new life under
the duvet, searching the
skies for shooting stars
but it's been cloudy all
year
long.

2014 started with
Brett's car breaking
down on I-25, 45 minutes
before new years, and me,
giving the bird to everyone
on the shoulder of the exit
ramp, mad that Joe ditched
us to smoke, (but we didn't
know you'd be so hurt)
(I almost kissed you)
(then told you)
and April was barely
a thought, February a
single sentence, a moment
of silence for the love I still
had for you drowned in 8oz
of milk and espresso
straight into October,
November, December
there's still no tree but
this house couldn't
feel any less empty
nobody notices but
I've tied my anchors
to the construct of
time and we're
weighed in at
6pm, stopped
the clock like
a Havisham
where do I
begin, where
do I begin?

heads up in
the suburbs
we have the
winning sense
of self control
but get lost in
cups of dark
roast or tall
americanos
with drops
of smoke
and half
n' half

Biophotonics.

The study of living things
emitting light. Every few
months I take a salt scrub
to my skin and will myself
to believe that beneath all
the blood vessels I have to
be something m o r e  and
studies suggest that I can
be. That with an intensity
1/1000 w e a k e r than the
sensitivity of the human
eyes, I am glowing. Like
a jellyfish, someone
said.  So for a moment
I saw myself deep in
between the different
waters where the
u n d i s c o v e r e d
sleep and hide and feel
the floors that no one has
seen, a light so faint in the
ocean so black that you could
see me from miles, miles, miles
out.

sometimes i
can love my
body from
t w e n t y
feet away

inside there was a
spat b e t w e e n my
bones, a wrenching
in all the sockets
every single
curl in my
brain was unfurling
but all I could do was
pinch the calluses on
my palm with a calm
ferocity, he does not
want me to c o n d e m n
myself but i was already
******* in, concave and
ready to collapse.

my mom tells me to
be encouraged and I
want to pry my ribs
apart and show her
my whitewashed
insides, how someone
went and took a matte
finish to my skin, I want
to show her the average
diary entry from 9:05 pm
and how I've stopped signing
my name because these letters
never get to God, I want her to
sit in on my conferences with
the empty chairs at work and
listen in on all the phone calls
I don't take, expect my showers
to be two hours long when really
i'm just filling the bathtub over
and over and      over and  
            over                  over
over



over

i a m
s    o
scared

I won't take you in
i'm unwild, unwild
wouldn't wind my
way though all of
your knots, my
pages are dog-eared
unalphabetized, uncapitalized
you can't hide behind that, no
curtains, big windows, small
door, free but contained, uncorked
but restrained, tied my hair down
for sails, a single breath could
******* away.  won't build
monuments in your name
or dress your letters in
gold trim, i've
idolized too
many men.




but i
could
love
you.