how to healthey say honeyto soften the wound, but i let the woolwet with ethanolgnawuntil i amweeping,again, and again,and again
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationmy sweet synchronicity ,i have downed your appetitein a bed of front teeth (it is morning in perthmidnight in dublin, and the noonsun has been lost behinda dress of mothy curtains)do i taste ofyour forethought of love making;do i reek ofthe weeds that have infiltratedthe posture of your spine?-you bend overmy lap a curve of guiltand weep all night.i collect each knob of your bodylike a gift. press it to my mouth.swallow, spit.
note 59burning it was somuch better thanletting it burn me
note 32 i am so terrified
on hearts and how they beathe says it likedropping a stack of plates.the plates are his heartand i am gravityand i am the earth that catchesthem and scatters them around
--though you tease theworld with your presence, like everyone's got you ona string (or maybe you'vegot us)i'm stillwinding you upwaiting for yourrelease (openup thatribcage boy, and show me how youbreathe)
tossdiscordant,like the bowstring of yourvertebra
saccharinehe thinks i don’t like his curves, his lumps; sucking in, standing up straight, shying away. but i run my fingers across them, kiss them, unclothe them. more for me to love; more for me to devour; sweet-as-sugar boy
you can't have the world.i never meant to make youhate me; i only wantedyou not tolove me.
Sticks and StonesThey say words can never hurt you.Silence does a better job.
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
ScepticismTearfully, God played dead.
for riley i think i have forgotten how to dream for the last time it happened i smiled and ran my palms through your hair sifting out sand and fumbling at the buried shards of sea glass that bite at my calloused fingers. your frothy eyes threaten to drown me but instead i inhale dopamine and carefully trace the thin boardwalks that wrap around your skull where the hair is missing. you ask me if i cried and i said that i didn’t think i knew how to once when i was young i saw a baby cardinal huddled and bleeding in the grass. i watched the ants and the flies skim over the contours of its closed eyelids until i scooped it up and held
'the only time we ever looked at the stars andsaw them,was the night i left.we both went homeand for onceyou didn't askif i got home safe,and for oncei wasn't glad that i had.
Running Dry in a White Paradise.Every bottle that she tipped, he filled with emotion.Bigmouth never managed to land his staggering foot in it.Her clock ran silent, they chuckled out, one twenty-something broken,and the polar with no intent to commit.Couple bought a cheap motel room, broken glass refurbished the flooring.She with the llelo, he con gusano soaked mind filled adoring.Next was the couch, self-medicated comatose sex.Sun burnt lights off the Venetians. Inside milky cloud rainy season.Happily together from complex to rough.Hex marked the spot when his paychecks weren’t enough,to rebuild her flurries back to mid-face avalanche.Running dry…She said, “Your life is a laughingstock, chasing nine to five o‘clock, your talk is babble, you should really consider kissing a smoking hot barrel.”She knows how to exchange punches but prefers her pen and how to look ladylike on all four limbs.“Take a walk, before talk becomes fuss and if I’m a lucky little lady, your
there's a fine linebetween memories and loneliness.
RelativityLooking in the mirrorthrough the mirrorseeing a stranger,My chest swells and my heart lurchesThis girl isn't me, not at allShe looks like someonebut not me.A movie star, a homeless person.Even when I look at photosno memory comes upno allowing for the thought that I have a bodyOr that the cold of my fingertips,the throb of anxiety inside my ribsreally exists.I see my arm, an armbandA scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaningNot anymoreBut it did, to this girl in the mirrorEven if memory failsExistence is relative
untitled.these boys andgirlsplay funnygames.lips split, eyesturning gold in myhalf–sleep,i watch them traceblood ontoeach otherspalms.this is wherethe mapscome from– and asthey maketheir road ways, ialign mye y e l a s h e sin such a way thatstories fall out of theshadows.
EmptyI feelEmpty.i cannot healFrom thisStrange pain.Being hitBy a trainWouldn't feel asBad as this.They say thatIgnorance is blissBut where is That?I feelFlat.I haveNothing to say.At least the painHas gone away.For now...
is it blissful?uncertainty pulled the pin from the grenadelike he pulled the pinfrom her hairand locks fell like silkwaterfalls upon her shoulders,future happiness felllike shrapnel, embedding intotense muscles.the inevitability shooklike war as they shook togetherlike love shakes every fiber inour being to convince us ofthe impossible:some things do last forever.but the days dieas soldiers quiver in their wounds,regrets that dig deeper the longer they live entangled in one anotheruntil they die too, eyes fixing into each others starless nights.and how gently they went,he from her, her from him.blown apart.
may flowerslips widen enoughto let the word fallthrough,over and over -stained canines,budding cankerson the bed of my gums- until it becomesa nounless,wonderlessactiondry aching, dry heaving"you worthless bitch"i, too, wish i'd never been born
i hope the stars will come back to mewhen i was fifteen i wrote about the starsi wrote about the boys i was in love withand the body i lived ini wrote about the hatred i felt for myselfbut i covered it up with prettier poemsand only let people read the parts of methat i wanted them towhen i was sixteen i wrote about heri wrote about the girl i lovedabout the people around me,those that changed mei wrote about happiness and a futureand those poems were for me to exploreand to be more of myself in themnow i am seventeenin three short weeks i will be eighteenthis past year i have written about angerabout the sadness that plagues meabout the life i didn’t want anymorei wrote about family and the little sisterwho was out of touchabout growing upthese days i write about my depressionabout the anxiety that wracks my bodyand keeps me in bed each dayi write about alcohol and cigarettesof my broken family and whatit has done to mei still write about her because she is still thereand i still love h
how to break a heart slowly"I love you.""I know."
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
Stopslave to emotionspoil of warfull stop
I Would Be LyingI would be lying if I said that I don't wonderIf you think about me too. That I don't miss howYour arms felt around me when we would lay nextTo each other, fitting so perfectly togetherThat I don't wish I could still talk with youWhen I'm upset or when something exciting happensThat I don't miss sharing part of life with youThat I don't think about why I wasn't good enoughThat I don't miss laying together talking and laughingFor hours without getting bored. That the way your eyesLit up when you smiled at me was not adorableThat I was not unbelievably happy with youKissing you was not overwhelmingly breathtakingThe feel of your hand in mine was not naturalThat being held by you did not make me instantly feel safeI would be lying if I said I didn't miss being yours
on being savedi am sorry youhave never known salvationfrom another's touch