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a lack of language, in coloursyou tell me you miss me
and that i am more beautiful
than any girl in georgia
or even barcelona.
everything is fitting like magic
between fingers when they
and i swear for the past three nights,
that's all i've dreamt.
give me acrylics
and i still can't make you see
the exact shade of warm
you are to me.
give me the ocean
and there are not enough waves
in its body
to show just the way i feel
when our own vessels move together.
seven months since we last said goodbye,
since we last said hello-
i could fill libraries
to love you.
what i really want to ask
is if you think you can
love me this time.
breathe deepbreathe deep.
breathe it shallowly if you need to,
if filling your lungs to bursting
is too much,
but breathe the depth-
of tree roots
and ethnic roots
and the roots planted by love.
and the orgiastic fullness
it gives the empty shell
you try so hard to stuff
but nothing sticks;
because deep is star-soaked
desperate with creeping beauty
like attar and trellis
and the june moon.
this is how you keep her.
this is how you say,
this is our permanent address.
this is how you say i love you
with something more than words.
playing godi am the last paramedic you want to respond to your call.
by no means am i inept at my job- i am, in fact, the best in my precinct. my problem is sometimes i think i'm god.
the people who are drains on society - the welfare collectors, the addicts, the elderly, the people who wronged me in high school or remind me of the people who wronged me in high school; the people who cost me taxes? oops, i made a mistake. i'm sorry, mrs. doe, but john didn't make it. our team failed to correctly assess and promptly address his condition. our condolences.
i have let hundreds die on my watch. just seen the spasms stop, the light leave their eyes. i have saved hundreds as well. i am god and i choose who is repentant and righteous and allowed to carry one; i choose who is to be condemned to an eternity of hellfire and brimstone.
tell me- does this make me a bad person?
my palpitationswhen a palpable change
breathes discordance in my chest,
it is because
i am missing you.
you are an essential element
found in the body of the universe,
lock and key
struck in me.
i want the love i feel
to shine from me
the cosmos and stardust
collecting in the corners of your eyes
while you sleep.
and when i trail my fingers
like routes along a mountain peak
over your neck,
the thrumming is the sound
of solar flares.
i want there to be no question
that when my heartbeat stutters,
it is imitating my words
when i tell you that you are
my sun and stars.
sinking sadnessi will not burden
a soul so beautiful
that my hummingbird heart
with its stammers and stutters
silences its staccato beats.
i am struck
by the sad
i am struck
more and more
as i let my thoughts
sink me further.
i don't know how
to open my mouth
when my lips
stick together in my sleep.
i forget how to breathe
when i'm out at night
a few drinks under my belly
and men who are not you
rub their hands
up and down my body
in their minds.
is my fingers in my throat
because i sinned,
is the way my body has changed
but my mind hasn't,
is not knowing what
i'm doing to myself
is doing to you.
bruises that won't healthe days i will not think of you most
are the days i am in therapy.
i hate walking through the doors in
sadness so full that my heart
is begging to burst.
i won't say i've missed you,
but i have. your number is dead
in my phone, & i long for the
music of change echoing from
your heart to your
jean pockets. i don't mean to
apologise, it's only a habit,
just like your nightly smoke fix.
do you remember singing 'no surprises'
to me over the phone,
laughing as your thumbs stumble
over errant strings?
every strum feels like my heart,
i hope you know
the rumble in your throat
becomes its beat.
you are so hard to look at
and everybody looks like you.
the stultified stammer in my belly
flutters like a hummingbird
catching fire on every feather.
any photo of you i can get my hands on,
i do. i let my eyes take in breathless
mouthfuls, my fingers, clawing
daggers digging into the photo and
crumpling it with want.
the hurt is what makes it
you were never supposed
to mean this much to me.
adulthoodwhen you interact with other grown-ups,
there are things you need to remember.
i am learning the fine art of Adult Small Talk-
banter for banter's sake and smiles and short, impersonal anecdotes
because you can't risk letting anyone in,
god forbid someone actually gets close.
you keep your friends in your stomach and swallow them at night to keep them close
and put your cheery face on for medical professionals even when your throat is too swollen
to drink down those friends.
those friends, you know they'll never let you down.
you see your human companions on lunch breaks and weekend days.
at night, young adults have sex and fall asleep together;
at night, older adults complain of headaches and sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
your human friends don't make you feel as good
as your other friends make you feel.
they ask about your life and how you're doing,
ask if you're still in therapy and if you're eating,
and god forbid you let them in.
they're your human friends but they don't get
you arei want a city ruined
every time you love me.
i want to show how loudly i shake,
enough to break
faults and how it will never be yours,
and bring down skylines
when you aren't here.
there are seven weeks until my blood runs blank,
but it is so full tonight
it could drown a man.
i hope it drowns you,
the way it carries the only beautiful thing about me
my heart, my love.
it's time you pull together
your telephone wires and breathe stars
back into my body-
it was so dark without you.
there was no moon,
just the kind of black
you know could be no emptier.
i am effulgent again
with the ways i've needed to feel,
i am bursting with fire
instead of hurting, i heal,
and i'm still bright enough
to be burning like god speaks.
i myself speak too loud.
it's what happens at night when i let you love me
and my body writhes with glee
over something it has never known.
i'm afraid to wake the neighbours, or the sisters i'm loving as my own.
when i'm embarrassed by myself,
i won't ask you to hold
electric kissesi don't really write anymore.
i don't know what to do with myself.
i wake up alone
but i never felt it so much as now.
there is nothing to be said
about the sunlight or the swing or the porch railing
but they are my new homes.
i fuck around
with people i pretend to know
and then i pretend
that it doesn't matter.
i go on silent rampages
and pull out my hair.
i imagine i am screaming
but i never am.
i say i'm angry
when the truth is
it's just easier than saying 'i don't know.'
for such a know-it-all
i say a lot of idon'tknows.
i have too much nothing inside
and i take care of things that
don't matter to me.
i turn off lights
and write lines.
sometimes i don't eat
just because i'd be empty afterwards anyway.
when i think of you
sometimes i smile
before i break things.
why i never wrote you a poem.last summer i tried
to use the words that you fell asleep to
to write you a love song but
every time i tried
my fingers froze up.
i failed the test of describing you
in a paragraph
in a sentence
in a word
there is nothing in my head adequate enough
to describe how you look
on the train station platform
when you smile at me.
i can tell you that
my heart climbs into my throat and
my body prickles with heat and
everything disappears, for just a moment, but
the thing i cannot describe
your mouth caresses my name
like it’s the most beautiful sound
it’ll ever know,
like it understands me perfectly,
you are not made of verses.
you have no meter.
you are not written in stanzas
that i understand
and i find myself captivated
at how beautifully complex
your language is.
you say i’m the mesmerizing one, but, baby,
you've stumped me.
you have left a girl,
a person who wants to build their life
a poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mindit isn't like i'm
lazy or anything it's just that
the thought of getting lost
in a crowd of ten or more people
makes me want to puke.
this is not just some
stupid little hang-up that you can
joke about when i'm
digging my fingernails into my palm so
hard that blood is drawn as we walk through
school hallways so packed that it feels
like we're suffocating from too much
oxygen but i just grit my teeth and
laugh "yeah, i know, i just don't like
being around people sometimes."
but you know,
there's just something about the way
my mother says "go out and have a life
and stop looking like the world
betrays you every day"
that makes my stomach drop
or when my dad looks at me and just
sighs, like they've finally realized
i was never good enough to be
and to everyone who believes that
i just need to relax,
to just calm down and think:
fuck you. fuck you for trying to pretend
like you know how it feels when my
bones grind together like broken
gears as i walk by people who may
i know you didn't read iti know a land with 22 different species of unicorns
with nothing to do but listen to the wordless flight
of birds at dawn
ill take you with me if you promise to read the note i left
taped to your cigarettes, it says; the only way to make a
change is to realize that you cant stay here forever.
i know you wont read it
i know you wont read it
i know you dont mean it
when you came home that night i waited around expectantly,
you smiled like the sky and your lips tasted like grass and rain, i
said did you? and you said
yes. you take off your shirt and unhook my bra, i said
and? and you sayi love you. as you kiss my eyelids
and i think about falling asleep
I know you didnt read it
I know you didnt read it
I know you didnt mean it
.my thoughts want to
flee, but there is no fire
escape, no guide to the
exit of my head, and they
consider digging a hole
there, i feel it, maybe a
crack just wide enough
to crawl through, drop a
rope through the back
of my neck and climb
down, prise open the
earth - a tremble turns
into an avalanche, and
a snowflake in the flurry
wonders am i the same as
all the rest? he coughs and
splutters and chokes on
it - i wake in the early
morning, heart lodged
in my throat, that red
bird in that chimney, he's
going to starve there and
i'll be spitting feathers;
i won't claw the inside
of my neck again for
nobody, i'm past that,
pick me up by the
scruff and drop me
wherever you're going -
but wait, when lightning
strikes a tree, well isn't
that love? and when the
rain pelts the ground,
well what about then?
when you miss the ache
of wounds as they're
healing, is that it? well
when your nose bleeds,
that's still love right?
cos i've got an entire
pack to get through -
and what a funny
thing it is
this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.You were never meant for me.
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin a quiet and humble confidence while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself bu
:in between words and worlds:i.
With amorphous regret in my mind and genesis in my notebook I turn the page and there is the hateful etching of your name a hundred times over and over until its engraved on my wrists and under my eyelids, those crimson marks dispersing into atoms when I close my eyes, there is the slight tremble of the summer leaves and the south birds migration, there are the salmons leaping in ocean's tears and mountain's streams and there are cars whizzing by the empty voids between our words and worlds.
To you, words exist in worlds
And to me worlds live in the existence of words
But you'll only frown and turn away, and accuse me of being philosophical and boring.
Because maybe that's what I am, a cluster of clashing words,
Clashing worlds when I shut my eyes
And clashing sounds like soap water when I just l i s t e n .
In the translucent yellow of this candlelight, the lisp of words soften to words sifting above whispers, and in vain I sketch in my mind the shape of your smi
22don't you dare
leave fake flowers over my grave
allow the weeds to grow and envelop me
because I will always be a sanctuary
for infectious things
tuesday.i wish i could
tell you that it
was as simple as
he went for coffee one
morning and never came
back; he left his
glasses on the counter
and his dirty socks
on the floor.
birds sang march
through the open
window and there
was July, nose
against the back door
and hand in hand
with a small
i was never a child.
Nobody is born depressed. What cannot break me makes me stronger.
I was, and still am, suffering from depression. But things do seem better now than how they are, before. Small steps did seem to make a world of difference to me.....
There must be an even, well, nastier cure, than any nastiest disease. I'm sure anybody has the capacity to be, well, the nightmare for anything he or she is trying to conquer. Get better soon!!!!!
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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