'you're such a good girl'
beep beep beep

unfamiliar breathing, followed by
silence. my naked body is
alone on my bed sheets.
loneliness breaks my own hand and
morals for a way to get
off but i don't. i sit there and
conjure up sweet whisperings
of how i want you. *******,
deep and hard and cold.

if i'm such a good girl, then
tell me. why do i wish my flesh
will melt away like the leaves?
masochistic idiosyncrasies
wrap my vanilla heart up in
a pretty little bow. your fingers
beg to scratch off my humanity;
they have to wait their turn.

my eyelashes have turned to stone. my lips are soft, my breathing is even.
my ears have been pierced
with the drumming of time.

acceptance is the sheets,
and my windows have no shades.
attempts to escape; the future will come,
if you wish it so or not.

and so I lay, 3pm on a tuesday in July,
under covers, awaiting my fate
as a lover with no shelter and a killer with no shame.

at age 10,
my mother pointed
At the small birth mark
On my left knee and said,
"Someone's going to love
You for that one day."

At age 16,
I told her that a boy,
One far away,
Told me I was unloveable.
"He couldn't be more wrong,"
She promised.

At age 19,
She picked up my prescription,
And cried,
"I don't want you
To get your heart broken,
Mary." She sobbed.

The empty encouragements mean nothing,
When a daughter has decided
That the need to be tragically beautiful,
Is more important than the need
To be exceptionally loved.

when will i learn
that love is not
late night phone calls,
perfectly designed
to hide your face.

when will i learn
that love is not
glances through tinted windows,
and secrets only told
through fingertips.

when will i learn
that love is not
a game to see who can
last the longest under
hot water.

when will i learn that love is not a game of truth or dare while god giggles in the corner, love is not the exit strategy to existence, love is not a band aid or a blanket and love is not a cure. love is not anything that i have ever seen or felt or touched or known.

but i think it might exist within that two second silence we shared after you told me how you wish you could come home to me every day. i think it might be buried underneath the miles. i think it might be found underneath your front porch.

you tiptoe through the darkness
towards me, kissing my palm,
my forearm, my shoulder
my neck, my lips.

we lay here, yes, here,
and you caress me until,
like butter, or a sno-cone,
i have melted in your hands.

my bed is a sanctuary
and we've come to pray.
two strangers, comfortable,
knowing everything, and nothing.

the distance between us felt further the moment i was in your arms. your words were as empty as the wine bottles on your mantle, your kisses were needles filled with lidocaine.
laying in your bed felt like laying in a coffin. i wasn't really there. you weren't really there, either. the streetlights illuminated these lies we told ourselves in a soft, yellow wash.
i remembered as your breathing slowed that you didn't know my last name. the exposed brick walls taunted me with the whispers of pasts until dawn. the sun rose patiently. you didn't say a word when you walked me to the door.
i've realized love does not exist within the confines of your bedroom. it might not even exist within the confines of your heart.
you told me you were afraid you could never love anyone again. i took that as a challenge like a bird to a glass door. smash, blood, regret.

i wish i had the skill
the artistry, the patience
to fully describe the ache,
the constant crucifixions
of my heart.

it's scary, daunting,
how three words,
(and not the three words
you're thinking of)
can disintegrate something
faster than nailing a coffin
shut.

there is something inside
my head that tells me
to crush the cocoon
every time i see it
because my hands forge
butterflies faster, better

have you ever woken up
in the morning, and
immediately start
crying? have you ever
kissed a stranger? have
you ever killed an animal?
have you ever broken your
own heart? your own leg?
your own home?