that girl she was sad
so she got high all the time
hoping to change her insides
hoping to dispel all memories of
your touch, your scent, your dimple, your crooked lips
your screams, yourhurtthatyouimpregnated within me
and that hate that gushed out of your throat and into
her heart,
my heart,
my heart full of hate
hating my lungs for breathing in smoke,
hating my hair for brushing up against my cheek
and remembering your fingers
and all the parts that fit
inside of me.

can we go back
to that evening
where the sun and the moon
shared the sky
and all around us,
was a haze of pink fuzz
and birds flew overhead
dipping down into the water
dipping down into our veins
our flesh an entanglement
of one
human
body.
the waves,
i remember,
they were lucid
and always changing colors.
blue to green to white froth dusted in sunset.
can we go back to that evening
where the universe
decided to reflect
the appendages in our chests
and the love swirling in our eyes.

a pale body
in a smoky glass
smoky night clubs
girls who sold their souls to jazz
they dip their backs and
shimmy their ankles
in an array of beaded stars.
you'll be a slave to the sax
sad mouths twitch
and hail down taxis
don't they know it's too late
to grab a cigarette and go back to that
empty room
we once thought
was home,
but it's just littered with
memories of you.

the night takes a turn
and it's no longer your friend-
holding your hair
with your head
in the toilet,
or taking you to see a movie-
the way colors can light up in the dark.
it's stars become hazy
and the hands that cradled you once
so gently,
become talons.
the night will eat you up little girl
and spit you out
into a painting abstract.
you'll be a crude cave drawing on a wall
dried blood so dark and brown
the night will have you either way
and the moon will look on
in melancholy

i won't apologize for being naked,
for having this body god gave me.
i will always love couch change
and my grandmother's knitted
sweater.
no one can take me away,
and a push is not a
touch and these bruises aren't
my fault
and the lies you hear
about me
are ok,
but i won't apologize
for what they think
they know
because
this is my story to tell.

if i could stitch together
all the unanswered phone calls
and the stale nights
spent in a bed with
wide owl eyes,
there would be enough
patch work
to cover the whole continent
in my quilt of
stomach aches
and empty hands

i remember how the room went blue
when i laid eyes on you.
like the lucid light reflected from a pool,
and i wasted no time
diving straight into
your waters