i and youwho is it thatyou dream of?is it mewith the knife in your back;do you see methe woman witha wolf jawcut slack in a growl?do i pounce you?do you defeat mewith the knifei gave you?and i wonder the soundof me when you finally put your demonto rest--she is a venus(her body cut fromthe ivory tusk with hips like that of a valley, breasts shaped astwo moons caught inher breath)and i am the trapshe slips into.i cut her headinto a loop land wear her round my necklike lace.
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.
thankheaven for books,and mulatto boys thatbreak my heart; thank god for vodka andthank god for urges that slither into deep throatspast better judgement and thank god for his handsthat he lovedme with
note 59burning it was somuch better thanletting it burn me
KATRINALIVES A MILEfrom the sea.she is sallow as a beach.she smells like rain,or a wet earth,with pale hair clippedbehind her headwith pins.she feels as though her hairwould be black. but it isbrown, sometimesand sometimesit is colorlessblonde.KATRINAGIVES MY STOMACHa fight.she doesn't speak.she is silence.i speak at her, mostlyand her eyeslook as thoughthey've been pluckedfrom a lynxto replaceher own.they are blue around the edgesthe deep blue you findat the edge of the sea,if you've been out that far.at the center they are greenlight like a riptide.they tug you in.unmoving, and calculatingwith audacity.KATRINAi said to someone once,gave me head.she didn't.her hands are too far duginto the coast of spainfor her to reach me,far too eagerfor my composure.she'd suck me drylike her mothers didthe caspian sea,like the fields of saharaonce lush with green.she is a barefoot girl.she moans like the shorefrontin the dead of night.i've made love to
note 32 i am so terrified
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo
Sticks and StonesThey say words can never hurt you.Silence does a better job.
The DarknessImmortality is wasted on the youngbut fortune has chanced me eldest.I was the beginning, and will be the end.Darkest, truest, endless.
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
contactwould it be possibleto grow so comfortable withanother person'sskin,that distancewould feel like tearing off your own?
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
contrastthe capacity to feel happiness grows parallel with the capacity to feel pain.
a conversationi welcome sleep as it is - a long lost friend returning home from battle, arms draped over my shoulders, weeping. i held it close and whispered - as if it were my only friend, being the prince of the sky, asking of why i cling to my possessions like a dog to its territory, why i harbor insane notions about silly things -"we are all barren, stripping the land, looking for love in white-capped waves of our own destruction."i asked why mother nature was pulling me by the roots of my hair, and being as i am, a girl who speaks vague classroom french and stands at the waterside passing small thoughtslike stones as the brine and tangling seaweed washes over my broad and open feet, i condescendingly believed he would give me straight answers-"all languages we speak are diligent and binding, we bite our tongues against society, and she is just trying to say hello."silence like a trainwreck passes on four feet and i wait, breathing, for the hour to come and announce itself to me in a rain-l
a love letteri couldn't sleep. there are a lot of things on my mind, and i kept tossing, trying to fling the feelings from me, but they wouldn't leave, so i said to myself, "i'm going to write my fucking heart out, and it's going to feel much like getting slammed by a bus or a train, that immense crash and pain and blackness and the confusion after the hit (do you tumble, crack your head on the pavement or do you die, right there?)" and this is how this letter will go.i'm scared of losing you. shit scared. i go to bed at night, sure that i have you here, somewhere, whether in my mind or in my heart and i wake up and i can't breathe and god i feel like i've really lost you somewhere, in my dreams or my actions or words unsaid. and god, you don't know what it is like to have a person like you missing from a bitter thing like me. i need you. i am coffee, black and roasted and hard to swallow but you make it so easy. you are my sugar, sweet thing, constant love and nothing else. you make me okay. you
soft as waterthis is the funeralwhere grey ash spreads & in the air, a traffic of kites stream across the horizon,on firethe ash of sails, ghostly non existent,sails set wide, slicing across the Hudson riverthe water heals itselfrescinding wounds, sowing back together the places where edges meet, and we become soft as waterdoves sow the horizon thus, weaving through the kites on fire& the lovers on fireand the burns and burns and ink stainson quiet carpetseverything became a silent memory buried under gravesin the cemetery sails bloom in deathly renaissance.overpopulation expands exponentially underground, in empty spaces(between the sand, rivers, dust storms)waves recede and seagulls echounspoken sadnessand the shivering saline sea is roughunquenched, tumultuous.(baring our naked spines against the asphaltof the shore, the seagulls soaring echomore truth than we'll ever know)they know about:recessions, receding shorelines and horizons,and men retreating within,
I am afraid of monsters like you.Bones and sinew clingto the part of methat is not human,the part of me thatis yours.Your lips are readyto pounce mine whenyou lace my neck withthe collar of hope.It hangs too tightly.
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
TearsTears are good for the eyesyou knowit's like rubbing alcoholon paper cutsit burnsit hurtsit stingsit opensfresh woundsbut it's good for the eyes you knowit's that vaccinethat makes you soreit cleansit healsit lets outall the bad feelstears are good for your eyesyou knowso I think I'll lay downlay down and cry now
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...
LuckI did not know what luck wasuntil you told me that Fate was the reason we met.Of course, I thought, if it was luck after allI would have you here.I would feel your hands,and breathe your breathand tangle your legsbut you and I are fate,and luck is not realbecause you cannot have your best friendand eat her too.
OrchestraFour a.m is uneasy -time purloined and lefthanging on the bed posts.You said I crowd your sleep,feet and hands slipping cotton,pulling dreams in paper streamslike the nest of waspsgrowing restless in the tree.Your legs make room for me,for the sound of weatherhappening on the roof,and warm the space above us,setting fire to the drapes again.Just let me feel your claviclepress under my hipswhere daylight squeezes inand hinges us.So we both can waken slowly,you know, like kids in summerwho long for everything to never endand the sky to be an orchestra
pillow talkthere are thousandsof tongues i couldmemorize; new wordsfor love tucked betweenteeth often bitingtoo hard.my chapsticked lipscould learn to bow togrammar laws incountries i'llnever visit.i could master writingsymphonies in syntax,spend hours penningvolumes in languagesof longing and love,but i'll never find aphrase that fits youthe way your body fitto mine, back bent.i'll never find a namefor how our lips tuckedtogether, for my handsin your hair, for therapture in your eyes.
.misery lovescompany aslong as it'son his termsand i've abetter chanceof winningif i just playby the rules
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.
on being savedi am sorry youhave never known salvationfrom another's touch