You are
a clap of thunder
in the midst of a summer storm,
exciting and full of life,
but you are also
the next day,
when the sun is shining
and there isn't a single cloud in the sky.

You are
restlessness, impatience,
and the feeling that
there is too much else
that's keeping both of us away,
but you are also
contentment,
and knowing that
even if I don't get all of you right now,
there isn't any rush,
and the hope that even though
forever is past the horizon,
it's still there waiting for us
...someday.

You are*
my favorite book,
the one I know by heart
and can recite all
your greatest quotes,
but you are also
a book I've never read before,
that I can't wait to learn more about
with each new chapter.

You are
a lot of things
that are completely new to me
and I'm both curious
and a little apprehensive,
but you are also
a lot of things
that make me feel like
I've known you my whole life
and want to know you forever.

I wore a gold Star.
I bear a tattoo.
When Six Million died
I was one of the few,
Through the mercy of God
or the missed chance of Fate,
I escaped from the boxcar
into winter’s dim light.

My parents and sister,
Long are dust on the wind.
Their faith and their race
were their only known sins
Now, though stooped and arthritic,
I still testify
To the bitter cup tasted
when the Six Million died.


(An elderly docent at the Shoah Center recalls his brush with death at the hands of the Gestapo)

Before reading this I want people to know that I have never been *****.
I got the inspiration for this poem from a post on tumblr.*

One
After the first time he put his hands on her
she never thought she'd be able to escape the grasp of the feeling
she stayed up till 3:41 in the morning in the bathtub
sitting in the scalding water
trying to burn the dirt from her skin.
she sat there until the water turned cold
and she had not one tear left to cry
and until her skin was rubbed raw and bleeding.
she counted the bruises on her body
9 on her stomach
1 on her face
1 on her neck
a yellow and purple necklace around her collar
from the telephone wire he abused
from the telephone she didn't dare use
even after he finished manipulating her.
she scrubbed his fingers from her hair
but decided cutting it off would be easier
she washed his yelling voice from her ears
but found that screaming made him quieter
she scraped his taste from her lips
a dry martini
a cigarette
and someones tears from the past.
she couldn't scrub her wrists hard enough
to erase the feeling of the ropes he had her anchored with
so instead she sliced the flesh of where the imprint lay
attempting to release the strain from the burn marks on her skin.

Two
That same morning when she almost bled out
she checked herself into a hospital.
They sewed up the crimson bracelets she made
trapping inside of her wrists
each scream he muffled
with every new stitch.
she guessed they figured out what happened
whether it was the bruises
or the way her speech sounded like morse code but
they told her the police were informed
and that they'd do everything in their power to find monster
who opened the door to her own personal hell.
When the sketch artist asked her to describe him
she told her he was a photocopy
the regular John Doe
medium hight
brown hair brown eyes
nothing special or unique that would make a girl cross to the other side of the street
just like she said she should have done.
When they told her she needed to be inspected
she didn't even flinch
that seemed to be the only thing that people did these days
was inspect one another for an outcome that they'll be paid for
in paychecks or pleasure.
They stripped her down
apologizing for the cold
they took pictures
apologizing for the flash
they held her hand
apologizing for the feeling
but why apologize if he already imprinted it on her body
there's no going back from this
she will never be able to look at a man the same way again
she will always see cold hard hands on her shoulders
even at the warmest touch
she will only see flashes of his lips forced onto hers
when she receives the smallest peck
she will never be able to feel anything but a mattress beneath her back
rope around her wrists
and a freezing cold emptiness inside of her stomach.

Three
After the second time he put his hands on her
she stayed up all night in the freezing cold water
not even trying to remove his mark from her.
she figured that if the dirt beneath his fingernails were still there the second time
the dirt would still be on her too.
she let the filth engulf her
telling herself that all she was was dirt anyway
and as she lay with her head underwater
she screamed as loud as she could
for as long as she could
until her face was red
her voice was scratchy
till the veins in her neck pulsed
and when she finally sat up she was deafened by a deep silence
with no more sound than rippling water and the ticking of the clock.
That's when she realized that no matter how loud she screamed
she would never be heard amongst other peoples silences.
silences full of beeping cars and TV commercials
buzzing air conditioners and clinking plates
quite whispers and loud laughs
full of family and friends and the whole world spinning around them.
she would never matter to anyone
no brakes would squeal at the sound of her desperation
no ears would turn to decipher the morse code she mustered shakily from her lips
no one would ever care that her screams for help were muffled
and no one would have a hole in their stomach if she disappeared.
at this thought
she slipped deeper into the tub
unwraps the bandages from around both her wrists
uncovering scars that would never heal.
She explored the wounds with her fingers
and saw how weak the stitching was
like the nurse who repaired her found it pointless
and attempted it half heartedly.
She discovered that pulling the dark material that was woven through her flesh
would release her blood
like opening a door to another universe.
the purple would quickly turn to red
drop slowly into the tub
creating a water color painting of the war inside her head.
She pinched the strings holding the two parts of her together
******* their rough surface
she began to feel tired
dreaming of a happier place
of a happier her
of feeling like a person again.
she pinched the string
and pulled.
hard.

"you are not alone"
she whispered to herself,
holding back tears of disbelief,
you are not alone
she thought, while she clenched her favorite pillow,
darkness closing in,
you are not alone
she tried to fight it, but it was too late, time had bent,
and the cold washed over her,
"you"
slowly, then all at once.
so, she curled into a desperate ball
"are"
and let the tears fall,
blinking simultaneously.
"always alone", he whispered
reminding her how little her reality meant.

And we sit here pouring:
Tea into our porcelain cups
Our hearts out to each other
Lift burdens from our porcelain hearts

We look at people passing
And wonder where they go
If all the rushing strangers
Are real or just for show

The maddening crowd it thickens
The waves are here again
I'm drowning in existence
Your hand is all I hold

You tell me that you're cold dear
I offer you in zest
The knitted sweater that I have
That keeps warmth in my chest

You kindly shake your head
And demand for something warmer
I carefully rest your head
And fix it on my shoulder

These bones of mine
They do not
Offer much protection
But rest assured
That they will
Lift off all your tension

'Is December coming early?'
You wonder as if true
And rub our palms together
While coldly the wind blew

December was not yet due
But the end was indeed near
I sieve your hair with my hands
Like leaves with morning dew

Trickling, so did the rain
As we hid beneath the heat

Seated under the cafe lights
That light up me and you