.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.crescent moon- silverhook in the sky fishing forstars; you catch my eye
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.he told me prayersare uselessand if i really want hisforgiveness, i should get onmy knees and beg
.hangman, could you showme the ropes? i'd rather doit all on my own
.she became a seabed noanchor could grip, with ahabit of turning everythinginto a shipwreck
.little robin, wingsoutstretched in the dirt, a smearof red on your breast
.when you claim your slotin the ground, it will claim yourbody in return
.i keepbutterfliesin mystomach;pierce holesthrough sowe canbreathe
.i scrub loveoff your knuckles
.the cat keepsleaving dead meaton my doormat,a pile of bones,bloody and rawhe wants me toknow what i'mwalking into, hewants me to knowjust what i am
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
.my head isthe apple and youare the worm;watch mesquirm
.my cat has ninelives and i fear he willspend each one doingthe same fuckingthingstaring out of thewindow at the birds onthe fence, when he could beout there, sinking histeeth in
.the shadows bruise thesunlight while the moonweeps in the darkness
a.m./p.m.i put my handsin the stars-feathery hair, coldskin and cyanosis fed, i realize that i amnothing. born in neither winteror spring, crying aboutcherry tree spines andthrowing stones, iwas left for thewolves. it is the dawn ofFebruary, and i am so close toseventeen that i cantaste it; i am very nearly choking on age. the sky beckons me most at 11:49 pm, becauseit's hovering between tomorrow and yesterday--that destroys me. i want to burn it to theground, breathethe ashes in like cigarettes ondirty curbs. i am stuck here in a windowless town witha thousand memories stuck between my canines;into the wind, i drop words like deadweights. take me home.
sati(ate)dit's ironic,isn't it? the waythey say "hunger gnaws"like the way our teethscrape against bones.for all thecalories that are counted,you still feelempty. you aren'tbeautiful untilyou are digestingnothing but airand maybe your own guilt.that's just the wayliving is thesedays: swallowingglass shards toslice up your insides soyou can ignorethe other kind of pain yourstomach is feeling.but when people askif you're doing okay you justsmile and nod even thoughyou can't help butthink "if honesty wastangible, i'd eat it rightnow."life hasan acquired taste andsome days you'dlike to rip yourtongue out.
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,you are notthumbed bruisesor honey bones& you have onlyever been a godinside of your own head
Can We Just PretendHey...Can we just pretend ?Like we did when we were kids?I can pretend to be strongAnd use these twigsTo build a mansion for youSo large and beautifulThat you'll have everything you need.I can pretend to be smartAnd I'll teach you new things every dayGently widening you eyesTo the world around you.I can pretend to be a musicianYour own private concertoSing lullabies to you each nightWith the few notes I know.I can pretend to be funnyAnd have a witty criticismFor all the things you dislikeAnd sweetly teasing youTill you gift me with your smile.I can pretend be wiseHave an answer for all your problemAnd advice that never fails.I can pretend to be a cookAnd delicately createMudpies for you to eatAs though they were gourmet meals.I can pretend to be someone I'm notSomeone who's beautiful or amazing or kindSomeone who won't let you downSomeone who won't break your heartSomeone who can give you everythingYou could ever want
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience inthe holy water of my wrists,I carve hearts from emptypaper for my galaxyboywith stars written in his skin,and I swallow moths tomuffle the emptiness andhelp me fly away.
Astrali'm the seraphicromanticist,a hallowed bodyswallowing galaxieslike i am hellbent onself-deterioration
Life Boats for Paper DollsI still throw salt over my shoulder becauseit makes the devil thirsty.He drinks from an oaken bucket.We can live our lives without him.*I know a tree in Pennsylvania.A girl nobody saw leaned against the mossevery day after class.She wrote in a journal as antscrawled between her silent fingers.The summer I turned eighteen she tried tohang herself from itThe tree-Not the journal.I suppose our words may often feel like gallows.*You never forget the first time youtaste sour milk.The feeling of time's betrayal.Some things still have to be taken on faith,not expiration dates.Today, I saw her under a tree in Minnesota.She still writes about damnation but only with a smile.There is something beautiful about rotting wood.
MapsWe marked the deaths on a map in little black tallies,every day we counted the numbers and they had come to a strong incline.You sat in the dust by the flamesplaying with a cattailand you asked me“When will it be over?”The smoke drifted into open sky above us and I tried to count the stars.The map was held together by rivers andrailroadsand lakes.And we were held together by a commonplace drive:Hope.The poem in your eyes had no backbone and it was falling apart at the seams and it made youtired andsad andhopeless.The map is held together by little black tallies on the edges from an old charcoal pencil.And we are held together by a thread of life that could very well besnipped.Alas, that is out of our reach but we must remember to alwaysfight! and to stay aliveplease keep holding onpleaseBecause home awaits with open arms and we are here counting stars andwe must never die.~The mayor warned when we came home tonever leave againand tonever go agai
bomb broker.there's a boydown the road;and at night, when the bombs fall like snow,i imagine him thinkingof anything butthe walls shaking.the people acrossthe street hid a Jew, and the boy down the road(i don't know hisname, only thathis hair is the colorof candle wax, the moon, thesand) cried when they took the womenhiding awayand shot her outside of the church. sometimes when i'min class, i sneak glances at himand wonder whathe thinks ofthe war and the stench ofdeath (it's so heavy in the air, now).he salutes likeit's no trouble, buti think he's just smart. two years after the war is began, he kisses me while hedies. it's the first timei've ever been kissed, and i tasteblood on his lips andin his words as hesplutters out hislast request:"don't hide, Leslie. don't you ever hide."
.winter gavebirth to a baby,cold and still