.i will swallowthat white pearlon my tonguebut i'll open upfor no one
.he pointsto a crucifixon the left sideof his necktells me he can end allof your suffering -and i look at himand i cross my arms, thinkinghe can't even do this
.the rabbits twitchin their sleep;they dreamof red bitten neckswet with spit,the birds dream of their eggscrackedand runny -the mice dream of hearingthat tabby cat screamas the teeth of life ripitwide open
.the first time my father holds me,he shoves one handinto my mothers armsand grabs meby the back of my babygrow, roughlyraises me upwith his big clenched fistand i hang there, like a kittenby the taut pink scruffhe sayswhat a small nothingyou are(but now he is nothing, gone, dust)
.i think you know of hair wound tight round a hand like ropeof thoughts that sail in and let down anchorin the night, sleep drifting away on the black tide,i think you know of god up in the crow's nest, keeping watchhis eyes have rolled at us so much they rattle, loose nowin their pits like marbles, they say he knowsi have examined the slides of my childhood, uprooted my body,yanked myself out of my years with my own gloved handlike a weed and stared in disgust, it's only naturalthat you should still want to sleep with one arm overyour head, she said, don't you think?i think the sun lit upthe world's scarsand felt bad, hung its headthrough the horizonand cried in shamenow i don't think it's evergoing to stop raining(i am holding up my mind, i am shoving it in your face)
.i wokeon theedgeof nothing,one armdanglingover theledge(numb from the wrists down)
.i feel in a languagei don't understand,and the wings of the bird in my kitchen, theywon't get to feel the sky anymore -and sometimes doesn't it feel good?to put two fingers round the neckof a flower andsnap,hear the petals scream fortheir withering limbs,then start choking(instinct)
.sometimes faith slowlyprises open our ribsdecides to slip outquietlyand unseen
.love like thunder;make yourself known
.she saysexplain these thingsto me -i say the silence sort of ticks - my sadnesshas a face, think blue, think black and grey, think sanguinered, the end of may, he had a pulse too strongfor me to take,i killed it, stripped it bare, i carried it rightto it's grave - i say andmy lungs, they feel like frost, they're filled with silverlight and sharpness, rattling pips, a scream - i stayedinside my bed for weeks, i didn't eat, i didn'tdream - i think in fire, flame, volcano,resurrect you, keep your nameinside me like a splinterturning green(i could not bring myself to say yes, but i think you know that)
.in the beginningin the bonewhite tendrilsof holy fire, the nightate away at it all,that acid tide -it ate away atthe bud in the mudand the blood,it burned their bodiesbut left their ghostsso they could beidentified -and then a wildman, a monsterpressed his thumb intothe air, he drewa cross upon his facesaid lightand nowi am drowningi am drowning in lighti am drowningin the whiteand the goldas he sitsat the end of my bedand he shouts -for somethingor someonei don't knowand i scream, god, please justlet me sleep!let me sleepin the cold barren groundof the earth,let it pull me right inthrough its mangle -and i feel a stingin the crook of my armwhen they come(and then even the wolves, even the wolves start to whimper)
.something snappedlike boneand blood floweredon the carpet(i grabbed the hand of that man, and he knew)
.know this; i loved the fireand i walked into it willingly, heavenis not up above but deeper down below(there is a snake with the world in its belly, eat it; you are a killer the same)
.i will carrya small hope, a grainof itin my pocket(it will do whatever it can)
.i keep wearingmy skinlike an old wornjacket and jeans,stitchedover andover again
.even the devil'sgot a kinder firethan you, red -was the wolfafter all that he'd eaten,it says you need to look at mewhen i'm talking to you,so i open my eyesbut i don't see,i say i understand,but i don't know -if i'll come aroundthis time to see it sittingthere, thinking -i'm dead,i understand,i understand,and maybe if i scrunch upmy eyes when i go,i'll be able to withstandthe heat(why keep feeding a stray that you don't want around?)
.the stars rock themselvesto sleepthere is nothing left;they have peeled the moonlike a ripe fruit, coilsof pearly skin draping the hills,only god knowswhat they did to her core,where they buried her seedsin the earth(i put my ear to the ground now and listen, for her children in their wombs of dirt)
.a motherstripsthe sheetsfrom her earth -red as dying
float onnow I'm thinkingthat the moon's smarter than me:she's in love with the earthbut keeps her distance,keeps moving,keeps living.I lose my orbitwhen you're not around,and I find myself without gravity,waiting for you all nightwhen I know you'd rather besomewhere else.
You only fly for a little whileShe was just four years oldkicking her feetharder and harder,as the swingset creakedand crackedShe finally reached the peak,jumped off,and said,"Mama, I'm gonna fly."and so she did;three feet into the air,sticking the landinglike a gymnastAnd I wonder everydayif those were the same wordsshe mutteredbefore jumping off that bridge,unable to remember,you only fly for a little while.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
Melancholy thoughtsI tastethe sweetnessin your words,only to wonderhow many othershave tastedthem too.
Past Tense BluesWasesAre painful,So are weres;And it's the becausesThat make them feelThat much worse.
I am the daughter of a sailor.There is pure sea waterrushing through my veins& my vocabulary can bejust as colorful.But,how do I begin to tell youwe all have jungles growing& growlingin our chests?-Wild, fierce,untouchableby human hands?Sometimes,I like to pretendit’s Draco residingin this chest of mine-his smokeclogging my lungs,choking &suffocating me.I have forgottenhow to writepoetry-or anything with a shredof feeling.I have no space left within myselffor celestial, fire breathing dragons-because I realize nowwhen I look in the mirror,I do not see my father.
We Only Live To DieThis is what we live for—these whispers on our lipsThe drying bits of blood on our paper-cut fingertipsOpening the letters that we left our future selvesA bittersweet reminder of those storybooks on the shelvesThis is what we live for – this emotion in our soulsThe torture and the bittersweet moments of lost controlBiting cracked lips with the dirt beneath our nailsThese moments of imperfection as our trains of thought derailThis is what we live for – shutting doors and opening eyesSmiling for a moment, before the tears reveal our liesThis is what we live for, this reality, this life…This is what we live for,As we only liveTo die.
bullets in a shot glassAgain the archers are aching,again their bones are breakinglike the cracks in the Colosseum.Death does not defendeager-eyedfighters; he does not fulfillgodly goals ofheaven and halos.I am inverted, introverted,a jester jeeringat kids who kisslike life is long enough to fall in love.my mouth is a machine,a new nightfallordering our soldiers outinto pits where they pray for peace.the quirks of ourridiculous readings rule us,sand us into sculpturesthin and tall, trembling.our universe is built on uncertaintyand vicious virtueswritten by long-dead warriors whoexpected to live forever, andI do not yield to yourwell-read zombies.
IntrovertEveryone's tryingto get out ofthe shadowof their parents-I'm here tryingto get out ofthe shadowof myself.
.in the bodyof a dead womani am aliveand kicking