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simple math.it was the strangest thing to be complaining about, not liking
feeling -this- human. feeling so fucking vulnerable and exposed, and not
understanding anything that is going on but knowing that its actually
just chemicals that we’ve given names too
and far too fucking weak to handle the tidal wave of shitty chemical reactions you
bring with you.
32you were gone before it even sank in that you were really there.
habit is the worst thing, cause it made me so blind to the fact that you could
just as easily be snatched away from me.
i should have hugged you at least four more times
i've spent the better half of a year being your definition of evil and insane
at the same time. i've known better than everything i've done, but done it
anyway. god knows i've repeated the same tedious/dangerous/stupid
actions over and over wanting/expecting different results.
you wouldn't be proud of me for anything anymore.
but i'm still mad at you, i'm sure of it. if you waded through the
rising tides, or peeled away my blue like old house paint, you'd find something
that screams how you broke everything inside me. and how you were one single event
that taught me that just cause something ends, that doesn't mean its over.
and that i will waste every single change given to me.
the only thing you ever told me that i listened to, was to rest occasionally.
003its easier to say
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.
calamity.the poor boy got a lecture from deaths secretary
"deaths busy enough as it is without walk ins"
"but it was urgent," he stutters.
"it couldn't wait, it was now or never"
he was simply told
"take a number, and wait over there with the rest
who 'couldn't wait' "
quietly.i lost track how many times i told you those damned things would kill you. that they would set your insides on fire and burn you alive. or the smoke would seep into your blood and bones and stain you with the faintest taste of lingering death. but god dammit i don't know why i didn't notice it earlier, that was the entire fucking point of the, wasn't it? maybe not in the beginning, but the 5th year in, or after he skipped town and left you speechless each one was a tiny suicide, a quiet, unseen death. each packet held 10 days off your life, maybe more, and they're so much less conspicuous than a gun or a sudden addiction to painkillers.
waste.distance is the worst thing ever
and i think
'if these people were closer, everything would
just be so much better'
but then i stop
and remember all the people in my town
who i barely see
and the thought
to the same place
he's my bottom
my rock bottom
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faith
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
001 i am a whirlwind of
an aching heart
a regret that could
flatsound thinking.i remember that once i was about to have a panic attack
and i could feel it building up like storm clouds or a rising tide
and i thought of you, and i imagined the way you smiled
when we woke up next to each other on some guys floor in october of 08
and it just went away. like it faded to the point where i could breathe normally.
i tried it again the other day.
and i swear i almost died from suffocation.
Hands.Maybe the reason why I didn't hold on to your hand
was because I knew that as soon as I did,
everything would be real, I would start to fall for you,
because holding onto someone's hand is like begging
someone to take your heart and I just wasn't ready
to be broken again.
A Liston the back of a graded test (88 and a few red marks) scalded with tea stains and flecks of fennel:
THINGS I WISH I KNEW
- whether i'm less or more
- what he's thinking when he's
- when i'll find the answers i'm searching for
- if he'll find a better girl in this lifetime
- when i'll figure out that i'm the best i can be
- if he'll ever re-discover me
- when i can finally start living in love and not in fear
sleep, as an elephant1.
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
choosing me as the first, remembering
me with the best.
thank you for june,
and then june again.
thank you for december, and
thank you for the time
that helped me break my body in-
thank you for two ticks
on the wall of not-forever.
thank you for june to june to december.
in a few years,
when you are older still and i am
getting even younger, i want to take
on what this really means, sweetheartwith little time to take
what is mine, there is a small
mouse with strong ears and tired eyes
in its burrow. he tunnels deeper and finds
with each layer removed he is closer to the
center of the earth, it is not something so
just as the milky way does not see new york city
but sees the way that it shines. the galaxy is a gentle garden
made of gelatin, dust, and gulps of god, and gusts, small balls of
cream that roll easy down the intestine and through the bowels revealing:
this is why i am here!- which is no closer to the real
answer to the real question anyway.
just as the great American city does not see the heavens,
but sees the way that they shine.
all answers are questions, too.
all questions are answers, anyway.
the teapot and its steam both containers
the woman is infinite in her expanding power.
the mouse burrows closer to the center
of the earth, his universe is triumphantly
the woman and her man create this similar effect.
what i am talking
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big words
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
eyes red and raccooned, reaching
for some comfort and I had to explain
that my lips swell when I cry. All I wanted
was for you to say that I look pretty when
I have come to realize two things:
one, that everything I want is not good for me and
two, I am not the worst things I ever did.
I am not the worst things I ever did.
I want this tattooed i
reflections on firstsyou know what really makes
me sad is that i have no recollection
of our first kiss. i have no recollection
of the first time you tried to fuck me. my
memory stops where i walked into
the room in garters with my best friend and molly
rolled my eyes back while you
made my fingers snap and grasp
at musty sheets. what i do remember
is when i fell in love with
you. it was over several
short and long moments.
1. the water murmured softly
underneath the wood and underneath
our bodies. the rushing of our blood
seemed like too much,and so it calmed
down and pulsed gently like thump.
thump. thump. thump.
and you called me sweetheart and this is
what you said. "i hated you so much because
i was attracted to you. you are so beautiful.
so smart. so talented. i hated you so much."
and then i sang the same song for you
that had made others fall in love with me
but i never felt it the way that i did then.
my voice was almost shaking,
eight things that hurt more than a broken boneone,
i have never had broken bones,
but i imagine it would snap,
splinter, pierce my skin.
i imagine it would be
the pieces i cannot put back together
scratching their way out of
this body bag.
i imagine my demons would
not rest until my arms are torn
by the claws of my inside.
i'd imagine broken bones
would not hurt as much
as broken confidence,
(my lack of it.)
fluctuating positions in life.
the backbone of a dreamer
who finds nightmares her companion,
the fingertips of a mother,
pressed against feverish foreheads.
the lips of a teenage girl,
forgetting what truth sounds like.
i cannot remember the last time i did.
knotted hair pulled out at the roots.
nail polish remover spilled into wounds.
lips chapped red.
burned at the stake
dying on a scaffold,
unable to speak.
numbers on the scale,
tick-tack-toe on my wrist.
every blistering insecurity
that sends me spiraling.
I lost my voice one day. I woke up to a hollow echo in the base my throat and knew I’d lost something special before I’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. I checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
I found my voice one day. I took long walks with silent friends, made travel plans and came home tired but fulfilled. I pulled a pen from the junk drawer, or sat down at a keyboard, or bought a journal on a whim and found it curled up around my fingers, sleeping, rusty, but alive.
untitled letterdear boy who talks too much,
i've been tired since the day i was born, though you have argued that these rings under my eyes look like bruises. and these tendons that are keeping me together, they are nothing but tangled spider webs. they wont keep me together for long.
look, i'm falling apart already.
my bones are hollow, as a birds are. you'll think i'm fragile; i am, but not like that. i'll break from the cold i feel when you're away, before i would from a blow to the face. i'm a poorly salvaged wreck and sooner or later (sooner) i'm going to crash and burn.
i'm a mess, but i'm trying. really, i'm trying.
it's october and i'm still here- - still cold. hollow boned fingers bowed from the weight of the words they translate.
pale blue.no-one should ever have to spend so much time focusing on
trying their damnedest not to self sabotage.
but the ache of january was too well known to ignore
even when it wasn't there
for years in a row
it still lingered
in the way of old bruises
and silvered scars
that she thought of tearing open
to see if something was still trapped inside
something to unleash.
even if it would destroy everything
cause the ocean leaves traces
of wherever its been
with salt haze
or dark lines marking depth
but she was okay with the salt
and naturally cleans
so even if she chokes
and stops breathing
it won't hurt.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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