How to have a healthy relationship with your razor
A guide, for the ex-cutter:
First, take her cover off
Let her slide out of that shear plastic coating
Then, just look at her for a few seconds
Stare at the shiny pieces of metal that line her core
But also look at the things that aren't so pretty
Like the gooey gel that surrounds her plastic parts
She'll like that you take the time to notice each and every one of her blades
As well as all of her.
Don't touch the sharp parts though
As those used to have a hold on you.
See, your relationship used to be very manipulative and abusive
When you first met
You were vulnerable
And she played off of that like she was a huntress
While you were clearly her prey.
She would lure you in with the luster of her kiss
How it felt when the metal dug into your pasty skin
And almost instantly, you would regret the sensation
The momentary high that you got
From your evil queen
Your sweet escape.
You would throw her away
The garbage became her home
But there were many like her
And like the devil, she kept appearing
In her many manifestations.
Plus, you needed her for housekeeping reasons
To keep you looking your best
And your sister and mother kept her around, too.
They really liked her
And she never harmed them the way she harmed me.
You really couldn't live without her
But learning to live with her
So you two shared mutual love and respect
Is an uphill battle.
Why did I want to be with someone like that?
Therapists blamed in on the fact that some man
Had unjustly touched me at seven
And sleeping with a knife under my pillow
(Her close relative)
Could have led me to having a volatile romance with the razor.
Some believe it was my daddy issues
That he had dropped the ball in so many areas of my life
Had he taught me to love myself
And not that I was just a fat, sick ******
I wouldn't need to turn to her sweet bliss.
But now, regardless of why we initially got together
We are in a good place.
I run her up my leg and she touches it
Making it smooth
And then I run my fingers along her work
Loving how it feels to be soft and feminine
She no longer suppresses that side of me
She no longer causes me to be callous
Because I put her in line and said
"Enough is enough!"
She will not take advantage of me anymore
Because I finally value myself enough to ditch
My attachment to her abusive nature.

Folded and unfolded,
Until the creases
Are old friends,
Lines faded,
To indecipherable smudges.
Rhymes familiar,
Sentences similar.

Line for line,
Word for word,
Name to name.

The weight of your memory
Sits in my back pocket
Like a signature hangs on
The end of a dotted line
With the scent of finality
Arranging it.

She couldn’t believe she could breathe underwater for 43,829 minutes. Especially with all the constipated looks of sympathy.

Poor girl stuck in a box, they thought as they tapped the glass.

Some days she would float, barely moving, unresistant to the small currents that swayed her whichever way. Others she nestled away, trying to find something the temperature of blood to bury her face into.

But most days she acted normal. When they watched, she swam.

It wasn’t until she was alone that she removed the ceramic vase from where it sat and wedged it into her armpit, her arm wrapped around its base.

Ah, yes. The vase that once held flowers with promises of decay. She rocked it and rubbed her face against its glossy exterior. She ate fettuccini alfredo with it. She watched “Gone with the Wind” and “It’s a “Wonderful Life” with it. She sang Beatles classics to it.

But on the 43,829th minute, the vase slipped from her cold and slimy palms, shattering on the hardwood floor like an exhausted piece of coral.

She retrieved the broom, swept and took a seat next to the broken pile.

When she looked at her naked feet, she realized she hadn’t groomed them in a month. And with that, she hand-peeled her long and yellowed toe nails, flicked them into a dust pan full of ashes, looked up at the water stain on the ceiling and said, “here’s looking at you, kid.”

She dusted you off her shoulder
something she noticed out of the corner of her eye,
a nuisance flake that looked like a blurried boulder,
brushed off without so much as a goodbye.

but love remains..

He sends you a text message
or calls you on the phone;
his promises were a hollow pledge,
he hangs up, and you’re alone.

but Love remains..


You feel your spirit start to wither
and you realize you must forgive her.
You feel your soul dying from within
and you realize you must forgive him.

And Love remains
even when he leaves,
that’s how you can love again.
Love remains
even after she leaves,
that’s why you can love again

He gave you his heart
tied with a pretty bow,
you opened it and found a box of pain.
She gave you her heart
delicately placed in folds of silk and satin,
you opened it and found a box of rain.


Yet Love remains
even when he leaves
that’s how you can love again.
Love remains
even after she leaves
that’s why you can love again

Deep within all the pain,
time passes..
and Love remains.