they'll miss you, but
how much, really,
and for how long? she
says this to me
almost daily, the part
that yearns so much
for rest she considers
death a vacation.

it's for them, always
for them, that my
hand stays shaking but
away from that bottle
of little white saviors,
and I sacrifice myself
every time I think
of those who might
miss me but not
very much, kiss me now
but kiss someone else
later, they'll benefit
in the long run.

when can I be done?

I'm barbed, my spines
poke unsuspecting victims
intertwined among softness
are poison spears that
***** with doubt
and about what? well
anything, sling and slug
punches, cut a rug with
this manipulation tango
I dance starting first glance
and ending inevitably
pending your 'goodbye, crazy',
my sigh at myself seals
this missed opportunity
in a wet exhale, the
envelope is shut, but
the letter contains the unsaid,
a love poem unread.

chin lifts and neck cranes,
eyes close to relish pain and
pleasure, measure me
in hand cups,
a little mouth opens up
revealing wet teeth, a
high gasp escapes, a rasp,
roughly shove me
down, a frown upon
your lips but eyes glimmer
with delight as my resistance
grows dimmer, the lights
go down along with you
and I scream, steam
could blow out my ears
but it's tears on my face
that you replace with
droplets of yourself,
top shelf slap marks
join my decorated skin,
only to glow red
before we fall into the bed,
ready to begin again.

Listen to them sing,
the braver few
who aren't denied
their voices by fear
but push past, rasp
as they may, or
belt, felt by the
whole room or
maybe just me,
doomed to notice
the part of me
stifled by stupid
nonsense when
I could spew
it from the rooftops,
anew in my loud
voice of violence
and idiocy
and elegancy.

I'm reading novels into
your cool expressions that
I know, somewhere,
only say syllables but
I so badly want
the attention of
your words,

unheard

but understood,
sentences that say
in so many ways,      I
see you,       I love you,
         I see you again.

"she's crying". "she's
crying, she's crying",
"she's" --yes, I KNOW
babies cry. Did you
think I switched
off my biology
for a moment?
that every sob doesn't
stab me, every wail
wailing on my heart,
her bleats for
me beat me raw
but she needs
a ******* NAP
and sometimes
adults cry, too.
and when that happens
where are you?