.a scalpel fromwrist to elbow-you will not beliving under myskin anymore
.we are one and thesame, that old willow andme, we stand tall with thescars that life gave us -with the names of loverscarved deep in our limbs,and old burns from mydads cigarettes
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
.i keepbutterfliesin mystomach;pierce holesthrough sowe canbreathe
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.i will bury myselfoutside in the garden;like the spare keyor the dead dog,i'm never there whenyou need me
.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
.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
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
.the shadows bruise thesunlight while the moonweeps in the darkness
.little robin, wingsoutstretched in the dirt, a smearof red on your breast
.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
.you should haveemerged with life; yourlittle roots should haveclutched the soil in theirtiny white fists, andgrowni did not mean to trampleyou, i did not mean tolet my body killyour body
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
.tiny heart drummingin your chest, i canhear youred gravy pumpingin your veins, i cansmell youyou are such a freshmeal, and i can almosttaste you
.a spider weaveshis silver lies on myfront door, and iwalk right in;the flies laugh
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
all of your lives have been addictsmy cathas turnedmy front porchinto a graveyardas if to say:this is what we needbut tonightshe tried to lick my clawsback to hands& I said to her:"I do not have 9 livesto spend on the bathroom floorwith 13-hour insomniacan't we just kill the mockingbirdspull the concreteout of our throats& get this dyingover withalready"butshe's got 8 lives down& doesn't answer questions twice
five second suicideand as i pour myself out on these canvasesi drip over the edges, spilling dots ofabsence on the hungry earth.they call me jane doe,and i am not art.every evening, i close the door,close my eyes, disassemble.slowly, i've become fleeting.i float, my feet don't touch the ground.how can i crash?i fade, i dissolve,but i've lost the motive to explode.there's no glory in my death;i leave no trace of the dramatic.a man on the train last tuesdaynudged me, apologized, and carried on his way.he's the last person who'sspoken to me since then.we hit a notch in the tracks,the car wobbled.i stared at him silently,counting the infinite futuresthat suffocated behind my teeth.i'm dying in my own penitentiarywith the cell door key in my pocket.
lung canceri will die with your name on my lipsbecause there is nothing else i'll need to say.you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,you will greedily swallow my ashesuntil nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.you dipped me into unconsciousness,and i willingly closed my eyes.the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.i find comfort in these carcinogens.i've made my nest in a swaying tree,my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.they smile at me with pity in their eyes,scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,yet
roadkillYou told meI was November’s ambrosiasweet on your tongue.But now all I feelis discord, siegingand overthrowingthe 3,000 year old treeinside of me.-Centuries to grow so talland strong-9 mere minutes tofall.You no longer smile anymore.And I am here,silent as stone-the carcass of a dead...wild thinghoping you don't leave meon the side of the road.
Wistful"I am the boy who wants to loveyour misshapen words,your broken hearted pieces,andyour ink split fingers.I am the boy who wants to kissthose scar tattooed arms,that tear stained faceandmend what has been broken. I am the boy who canand willmake your heartsing poetry again."If only he would say itnowlike he hadthen.
Awareness.She writes such lovely poemsBut nobody really caresShe hides them all the timeTo avoid the judging staresShe wrote one yesterdayAbout a boy who said he loved herBut to her own dismayShe caught him with anotherShe wrote one about schoolAnd the words painted on her locker“No one likes you, stupid bitch.You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”She wrote about her parentsAnd how she wished they were togetherBut she knows that won’t ever happenAnd forgetting’s probably betterYes, she writes such lovely poemsBut there’s so much more to thisSee, her pencil is a razorAnd the paper is her wrist.
hometown bluesthey say home is where the heart is,but they never claimed it had to be beating.if this town is all there is to living,then I'm dead,and these dusty dirt roadsare my sad little gravestones.there's a harsh winter wind.I'm breathing,but it's the same air I've inhaledsince I first opened mysurgical steel eye to the world.remember the pale pink dressI wore to our senior prom?you held meunder the fuzzy yellow confetti light.I loved you because you were so gentle,and when I fell apart,you were the only person who knewI could fix myself on my own.you twirled me like I mattered,because you knew that one day I would die.you forgot that you would, too.you are wrought iron starlight,my crooked grey dove.you live in the sidewalk cracks,moaning my name as Icautiously step over the gorges.my mother calls, from time to time.I've learned to let the phone ringbecause her voice is not the one I want to hear.she's too tepid, unsure.she's the link strangling me,pinning me t
Why Love Is A Four Letter WordLet me tell you why "love" isA four letter wordIts so people will overuse itSo they'll say "love"Every other time they speak(A secret plot to replace "that")So it doesn't sound weirdLike an unpronounceable rumbleOf letters for every timeYou feel the need to repeatAnd repeatAnd repeat, those four letters.("I love love love snickers"Heard that sentence way too many times)So we'll be confused by itSo easily replacing two lettersChanging "Like" to "Love"With a flick of the tongueSo we'll adore the simplicityOf the word that so easily spokenCan define the thousands of emotionsWe feel for each otherSo it can be similarTo the words that are soEasily birthed from itLike "hope" and "need"So we won't forget itLike we sometimes forgetThe smaller things about each otherOr even the larger things,But those four lettersWill stay in our memoriesAnd on our tongues."Love" is a four letter wordBecause while nothing can defineThey way that I feel for youThey way your ey
.how to comfort someonewith an anxiety disorder: tell them to grow up.god knowsthat they only panic because they're just not old enoughto handle themselves. say that it's notthat bad.because, hey,since it's not bad for you,it can't be for them. that's just how it works,right?"calm down".this oneis my personal favorite.because the one thingthat i want to hearwhen i'm choking on my own sweatand heartis that i need to calm down.
.i will notlove for fearof losingand if afondnessshould creepthrough likeivy, i'll cut itback