and here is where He told me i ruined
most days spent together wrapped
in a thick blanket of mutual
disgust, where i am the reason for such misery and
where i found myself to
be the biggest burden in the life of a smallest man
who had ever lived a life parallel to mine. and here,

where the river ends, so did my feeling of uncertainty; and the dynamic that
never served me. which is also here,
i find myself where we once
stood with my dog at my side.
now i hold an empty leash, once tethered to a companion that no longer exists except within my memories.
sometimes they’ll ****** out like tiny flashes of terror and lightness
and fruitfulness. this is how i
i know He never stood inside my love.

i walked a few miles by myself and
learned to let go of the leash.
there will no longer be fingers grasping for what i thought was once tangible. these limbs now stretch out reaching for something

much greater.

i cut up my apple then read a few
documents to sign my life away right
back where it came from,
notwithstanding the foregoing.

i am my own dog that
licks the peanut butter off the
spoon now.

i looked up what it meant to share
a traumatic bond and found myself in a
cyclical state between two resentful
mannequins strung against
time and other insatiable
responsibilities.

there was always an emptiness inside.

i put the knife down and think of
all the green onions i've minced in my entire life
to serve dinners in a home that felt like
a coffin.

we will have to try again later.

live a life like a little black disc
and rotate. warmly and popping.
i think a memory of this;

i know something eclipses your lips.

it wont ever sound as good as
a fist
being thrown against your
chest and so
that's how i know
the vibrational touch is just
static.

can you tell me
if we should
keep waiting for the system to
stay on the automatic
replay of the public
domain?

and
if so, this would include,
but not be limited to:
the never ending burden
of wiring between a disconnect;
laughing at some kind of understated
joke; or slight reference of culture.

i think of a memory of the impending.

it's sweet and bubbly, sticky and stupid; and
secretly selfish.
i think we would taste like pink icing.

but when we listen to the
lyrical content and dance around the
constructive ideology of a sunrise
within a glowing rectangle,
plugged into a wall, it’s
spewing syrupy sewage
through bluetooth airwaves, and
you stall.

that’s how i know you
won’t even tell me that, with
words, fragmented phrases;
or some unreliable catchy melody.

and
if so, i'll just have to tell
you it wasn't meant to end well.

i can't think of anything profound to say
other than everything is an allegory
and when you go to sleep at night,
do you think of jumping off of a
building of at least ten stories

like i once did?

i told my mother
the other night about how
i've never really felt a sense of
accomplishment whenever i
really do accomplish something,
because i have this unending burdening
inside me that bids my brain, and other
extremities around me to be obligated to do such things,
and extraneous tasks at all costs.

or else.

and she just looked at me with
sad vacant eyes,  and then i said i also have
experienced very little joy in life, which
i think my father can relate to if he would
actually talk about it, or his feelings, or anything
at all, really.

i still find myself wondering if living with
myself has been punishment enough for the times
i have done wrong in the eyes of others. i don't want to but
then i go back to a place when i was just a girl, trying to be the
right amount of “just enough” for an approving
smile, or nodding gesture. it didn't stop there, obviously. it carried on, into my current chapter, i keep grasping the pages of each day and rip them from the spine of my own flawed
little life story just to keep it from
unraveling completely.

but that's how it's supposed to be, you
keep waking up, even when something truly
terrible happens. even when you are devalued,
drained of your former self, and possibly brainwashed,
maybe. strangers will say that they can't believe your
so-called strength, or whatever, while you exist in pure disgust and
shame that this is really happening. you want to manually
unhinge your own jaw and crack open your head about it. this is really happening.

in the meantime, i think forgiveness is a weapon.
however, it's best used against its perpetrator. at least that's
my take on the subject at hand. and i know it's not
the most karmic way of looking at it but my finger is
definitely on the trigger,

and all my friends and family are asking me

"for what?"

i am made of venom and sea foam and false hope -

i am a series of "connect the dots" that never really seemed to make the full picture........

i am momentarily momentous -
a monster of my craft.

i am the seconds before
you take the lid off of a shaken up
bottle of coke, or some other similar generic soft drink.

i am unescapable, and
i am going to be a big deal from now on.

i am not sorry.

i am everywhere, gliding into senses, talking the way i want to, barely living, but
i am living.
i am freaking out in my very own stupid gutter.

i am never going to be the same.

i am everywhere,
everything,
and nowhere.

i started driving with my
left leg perched up on the driver's seat
again. sometimes i will sing if i feel like
it and if not, i still think about how i could crash
into anything if i really wanted, if i actually
cared to, but why bother if the song is good enough?

most of the time, the song is fine.

i'm vaguely in tune with how
my dominate foot controls the machine
now. and how i am really in control now. and how
i will no longer be the passenger in the seat,
and i will no longer allow myself to live at the
mercy of someone else’s demands now.
i think i feel okay now.

and most of the time,
the song is fine.

i do a little dance
with guilt
during the day,
and then i
let anger **** me at night.

i try to feel safer about my whereabouts
whenever i'm alone
ever since the security guard at the club
stopped me and asked me not once,
not twice, but four or five times
if i was carrying mace on me
and was astonished every time i
repeated the phrase “no!”
anxiously while he was checking my bag
upon entry.

because it's heavily implied that women can't exist
without some choice of weapon
against the type of men who want to ask
why we're not already defending ourselves
against them when they've established
their weird *** interest while conducting
a security check. i guess.

i think if i did in fact
have mace on me,
his face would have been the first
i'd  have maced.

so like, what flavor mace should i get, guys?

go ahead,
have another breakdown in the office bathroom and then
pretend like you’re having the time of
your life on the internet. think about how
it could be happening to some other girl
if not you, how “cool” you must be
to be able to keep it together.
(which really means stupid)

they'll all think, "wow he must
really be something special to have someone like her" or something shallow like that, something along those lines. something to make it feel just a bit worthwhile.

go ahead,
lose track of when those lines of performability blurred and the sustainability of it all started.

someone might ask me if i want another drink and i will no thank you, because he tells me it “runs in your family.”
but he’ll pour himself a night cap or five before bed or he’ll convince me after a set of repeated no’s to wash down a heavy handed cocktail or two that he made because he says he’s the best at home bartender we know and we are always at home.

i don’t touch the stuff anymore, i used to when i was brave. i used to be brave.

he said, “you should write more,
you should let me use your words.”
but my words can’t hold any meaning
other than the utter embarrassment of
who i was and how it’s consumed who i
used to be at the hands of someone who
i allowed to selfishly grasp me when i thought i couldn’t hold myself. i watched myself fall through his fingers, like empty promises and then get thrown against the wall just like all our
various household items i’ve seen him smash in the same way.

so he thinks i just have writer’s block. or at
least that’s just what i tell him. and
i try not to, but i can still hear his stupid distorted guitar tone humming, calling me a dumb **** from the other room.

sitting on s cameron waiting for the
light to turn,
waking up for the morning commute
just like that indie electronica group
said i would. thinking about the various
ways i’ll allow myself get taken
advantage of today.
the city smells like ****
and desperation. to be honest,
i think i fit right in.

i had a dog once
i think he still loves me
i used to kiss his nose
and take him for walks

when he got scared i held him in my arms
i squeezed him when he shivered
i remember his soft ears and whiskers
i think he still loves me

he is a good boy and i told him
everyday

Daniel Johnston was an underground American singer-songwriter known for his nonconformist stoutheartedness, vibrant and vulnerable use of lyrics, and DIY-esque recordings. Johnston suffered from many mental illnesses in his lifetime, nevertheless, his creativity shone through as a driving force throughout his artistic career. Johnston is more widely known for his album, Hi, How Are You, which received some mainstream recognition after Kurt Cobain was photographed in the 1990s wearing a t-shirt with the album artwork on it. Daniel Johnston passed away on September 11, 2019, at his home in Walker, Texas. This was also the same day my husband told me he hated me for the first time.
I remember the way the grass felt under my skin when he said those words, the way my face flushed and how my vision became slurred, toppled over, motion sickness-like. When someone says something like that to you and you actually feel it with every fiber of their being it does something so irreconcilable to you. I had never told anyone I hated them before and I vowed that day I would never make someone feel the way I felt in that moment as long as I lived.
I’m embarrassed to say that we weren’t even ******* married yet on that day. When I told him about how I couldn’t get that memory out of my head 5 years later, when I was asking him for a divorce, when I finally saw things as they should have been, as they have always been, how incredibly wrong they have been, his immediate response was “you tell me you hate me all the time.”
It’s hard to explain to people when they ask why I stayed so long, as if it really wasn’t so terrible, I could have left at any time and then I think about how he said to my friend when I was moving my things out, how what he’s done “wasn’t really that bad because look at how she’s grown up and how her dad treated her mom I mean, she should be used to it, shouldn’t she?”

She should be used to it.

I won’t go into detail about all of the terrible things, about the way I think about the worst things of myself because of someone else’s repeated phrases and subtleties, how when I close my eyes in the shower, I'm nineteen and think of the bedsheets against my face, how the cotton felt like razor blades and the hands that were supposed to hold my cheeks, the spaces between my fingers, certainly not around my neck, for a split second before he came to, and we had to pretend like everything was okay and we were in love, and it didn't mean anything because it didn't leave a mark and he didn't actually hurt me, and it was the first and only time, and then the drug problem that wasn’t a problem because we don’t talk about problems and problems can’t exist if we don’t talk about them, naturally. You can fill in the blanks.
I don’t want to explore the darkest parts because I’m scared I’ll never come out.
Instead, I’ll say that I lived a life with him that I imagined I would have grown to accept if I hadn’t been able to embrace how totally unknown you are to yourself unless you start looking. Neither of us really tried to figure each other out, let alone ourselves. I can’t fault him for that, but I can hold myself accountable.
I don’t want sympathy like he does when he logs into his social media accounts and posts for his friends and family to watch his very public slow paced downfall. I just want to portray a slice of my truth. I want to be able to log into Facebook and not worry about people reading about my divorce publicly from the man who feels like he needs to clear the air of something he’s so clearly dirtied. I want to wake up feeling proud of myself for finally finding the words to describe the ways in which I have personally tortured myself through the means of another person. I want to be able to let go. When I had to leave, I had to lose everything. All I have is nothing. I am nothing. Sometimes all I feel is nothing. But I’ve learned becoming nothing is better than being someone's object or accessory. I would rather be nothing.

One day when I am far away from this point in my life, when my hair has grown back and I have gained a few pounds, rather than at the rate at which I am losing, I know I’ll be able to look back and forgive myself. I know I can forgive those who have done injustice unto me, however, it is so much harder to forgive myself for such a total abandonment of self.

For now, I'll settle with the sentiment of knowing that I am not (that much of) a *****, I am not a bad partner, I am not a terrible person or a stupid ******* **** who messes everything up and makes everything her fault.

Was everything really ever my fault?

I know I am brave, I am kind, I am empathetic (to a fault, but I’m working on it), I am smart, I am funny (sometimes), I am capable of being independent, I am a gentle morning after a night out, I am a flashbulb capturing a moment of pure elation, a smile in slow motion, I am a still dancing flame that cannot be snuffed out.

how long does it take to drown?
tumultuous and predictable
does it hurt?
i don’t know where she begins and ends.
you’re good with kids,
but i think you’re being impulsive.
you should think about staying here.
think about the beauty,
amex black cards,
and impeding lateness.
you would think about
becoming something else.
i bet you’re going to be homeless,
or a dream that never existed,
just like a sick scam,
and then die.

which then,
means your little darling
will dissolve.

In 1948 I was twelve years old and I thought I wanted to be  
alone.

In 1948 I was sick.
At least that is what my mother told me.
She said I saw things that weren’t there.  
Like the sun in the bathroom  
at midnight. She said my little friends
in the feathered grass weren’t real.

In 1948, I think I was infected.
Sometimes I dreamed about things
I know I shouldn’t. I’m not allowed  
to talk about it. If I could, I would run away
out West. There are cornfields there. And nothing.
I think I want a whole lot of  
nothing. And corn.

In 1948 I spent the summer
In Maine with my mom
and stepfather.
I was alone most of the time
in the field. My house in the distance
spun in circles, and I dreamed  
about not being in Maine with my mom  
and stepfather.

In 1948 I was right.
Everything is real. I still have to keep my eyes open  
when I fall asleep because I know the bookshelf
Talks to me at night, the stairs  
always spiral in and out of view,  
and my friends in the grass were real.
They still speak to me  
inside my head.  

In 1948, I was twelve.  
All I wanted was to be alone.

you have to walk down the hallway
like it's an abandoned runway

(only if you want to feel better about yourself)

smile at people who
don't want to be smiled at

you have keep it together
make the bed and kiss him goodbye

you will say you're sorry even if you're not
say you mean it even if you don't

you'll pick up the clothes from the floor
put them in the washing machine
dry them fold them and stuff them
down your throat

i am happy
i think i'm in love.

i eat cheetos
he'll say i'm a slob.
i should just *******.

i am sleepy and
i'm inconsolable
i like nothing.



you're uncontrollable.

i traced the outline of the
bug bites on my knees,
while your insecurities
floated by in my memories.

it was about 100 degrees.
humid air hanging on our skin,
so freshly destroyed and
rotting out like
some kind of disease.

i traced the outline of the
stars in the sky,
tried to figure out which way
the sun would rise.
i never knew much about astronomy,
but enough to know you never
deserved an apology.

hot iron,
wax, melting
inside my mouth.
tongue tastes like
a microscope. dry like
a wasteland inside my mind.

twelve o'clock
strikes at the stroke
of one, one o'clock
at the strike of two.

the train has already left.
unless it hasn't. time
doesn't move in silence.
it moves according to
the way of the cosmos.

burnt skins smells like
ashes from the chimney
during winter and the
toaster oven sighs.
so do i. my bagel is crisp,
maybe even posionious,
but i eat it anyway. like i always
do. second degree burns never
kept me from the next day.
callouses and bruises thread up
the calves of your legs. you pretend
it's not there but i know. my boyfriend
likes to come home past ten. but i know
he is always late, always exaggerating
the circumstances we like to live within,
and somehow we can never pierce it,
like artificial skin.

peach fuzz,
moss fuzz,
what is the
difference?
frosted flakes,
my back aches,
i feel like a broken
fence. tight muscles,
white knuckles,
i smell a cigarette.

when the ocean reaches
the sky, we're dreaming
of a different life. when
no one wants to die,
we're innocent and alive.
stop for a second,
breath it all in.
all we are is flesh and blood.

sticky and sweet
synthetic acai
slips off my tongue.
driving home in
oblivion,
but always ready for bed.
thank you for being my
favorite friend.

when i feel like
blood is coming
out of my ears and
the fire wont stop
inside my head
i like to think of
a place i used to go to.

flowers bloom even though
they might be called weeds
i still like to think that they
are beautiful and maybe that
i am just like one of them.

just a ****.

it smells like limes,
like salt and not pepper,
and like the ocean and like
everything that i have ever
thought was comforting.
like my father's kisses at
2am because he is going
to work his second job
and it will not be enough.
it smells like fighting. it
doesn't ever smell strong
enough for it to end. And it
never ends. It won't stop anyone
from yawing loudly in public.
It won't stop you from taking
advantage of her. It won't keep
you from being the person you
are. I think sometimes it smells
like the expressions we never
have enough courage to say
but i think that sounds cliche, too.
it smells like limes, it smells like the
illness that haunts the people in their
beds. It smells like limes. It smells like
life.

in the night i think i
am alive i think i am
swinging and swigging
from bottles and living
my life like it doesn't exist.

in the night i think i
am swimming in the
darkness. flinging on
a sad abysses. i think
i need to stop for a minute.

i just want to say
i have nothing to
say. i just want to
know how far it
takes to let my world
go. i want to be it
for you. in the night

i think i could be the right
one.

roots stick out
of the ground,
like i don't
stick out in
a crowd.

dogs are picking
up sticks,
i watch them
do their tricks
they get a good treat,
i'm alone at the park.

now i'm listening to
forensic files
in my basement.
i'm talking to walls
but they never listen.
sometimes
nothing ever makes
sense.
maybe i'm just a stick.

one day i will be enough for you
i tell myself i know it's true

i just want to be the girl of your dreams
sometimes i say things i don't mean
i wanna become
unwrapped and undone
i wanna become
your heavenly daydream

one day i will be ready for you
i tell myself you know how i adore you

slow motion and we're walking in the sand
it sounds stupid but its not
every little sound that's comin from your mouth
goes right through my ears
right through my fingertips
right to the smile on my lips

burns all over my body
from over-priced coffee
i'm running on E
and she needs her caffeine
don't we all?

gonna go home tonight
walk a million miles
in my own shoes
i'd do it
i'll do it for you

don't act like it doesn't matter
it doesn't matter to me at all
time is always wasted
isn't it just amazing?
all i need is a good night's sleep

don't we all

great point!
i just wished i could have figured it out myself....
you're such a smart man!
such a strong man!
what a MAN

it's so amazing
it's so entertaining
to be a little doll for you
take care of me!!!
just know i don't come for free

i'm just saying
you simply can't live without me

otters are so cute
i like to watch otter videos on my facebook
otters make me happy
i want to hug all the otters
and live with them
i wish i was an otter

something tells me that the sky doesn't just let those clouds move so fast like that for any good reason
i want the wind to ******* into next week, too
next month - maybe
next year
next life?
something tells me the birds don't just sing for the hell of it
there's gotta be someone out there listening for something they just can't hear
something tells me she's leaving town for good this time

can we just slow down for one minute?

there isn't much left to be grateful for
i think that the sun sets just to leave
i'm sorry she has to wake up again

geometry is hard to do

1+2= i like you

let's go read a book, instead

let's lay down for a few minutes and
take the clouds out of the sky

they never looked that good there in the first place
i don't think it matters anyway

all we need is blue
like your eyes
like the sky
i can't lie

give me the shapes
and i'll make
the best *******
masterpiece you've ever seen

just because you said "please"

oh and you can forget about trees
let's lay down for a few minutes
and rip them out of the ground

what's left by the time i'm done
is just you and me

i wanna smell like
cigarettes
i wanna smell like
gloom
i wanna smell like
cigarettes
i wanna smell like you

i don't wanna be a little girl
i wanna be unseen
i  don't wanna be in between
i just wanna be your dream

something tells me
not to do it
when your eye are in my view
so instead just watch me pass
right on
through