summaryyou greeted me smiling.it felt like thunderin sunlight.i know you to be as gentleas you are rough.i need someonewho knows how to touchso i can learn how to feel.your name means strong.you are shouldersand a smile,warm armswith snaking veins.today, our palms are likenesting dolls,and you are politeuntil your lipstouch mine;tongue tied,you are a new man.ankles swollen,pierced in vaini am your child.i am the sweetest moonunder the breath of bedsheets,our hands swimminglike boatson theopensea.
fridayhappinessa thousand ringswrapped around my bodytight like your armson my waist,loose enough to breathethe warm summer air.i caught myselfstaring at your hands,watching their veinsform roads to your arms,your shoulders.i didn't want you inside me.i never wanteda fragment of your heartto tangle with mine,a sliver of soulto stain my own,just a hand to holdand lips to kissand smileand share beautiful musicwith the winds ofroses.
i am wrongi am wrong.i promise my heartto the closest bodyof water,i promise my bodyto the closest heartof the matter.my hands still reach outin the nightfor another person,another blanket of skinstretched tight over boneand muscle.i am wrong.i never told him i love him.(i am right.)he means more than the sea'sbreeze to me,more than the bee'spleas to me.it is wrong of me(i am wrong)to tell you this.i cannot tell you of theutter throb in my chest,the dull ache and panicked stutterswhen i think of your frecklesweaving into his.i am wrong.i cannot tell youhow i feel.i can only hopethat you won't love himagain as i do;i can only hope thati am wrong.
i would give you everythingi want to trace your lineswith my fingertipsto know youas well as i canto touch you(close to heaven)to feel your faceunderneath my skini need someoneto call me babyto hold my tonguewhen i know i can'tto listen to my wordsbreak worldsor silencebones i have brokenor hearts i wish i had notthe constant, reassuring pressureagainst my skinlike tension of glue and paperi would die in your handsif you would only let me.
a letter of lovedear d,i'm sorry for everything. i'm sorry you're hurting, i'm sorry you can't see your own beauty, your sadness. i'm sorry i love you, i'm sorry you can't love me. i'm sorry you think i'm beautiful. i'm sorry i'm not. you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me. it makes me feel like marla singer. i feel cold and dark and drugged like you, i'm bleeding words for you. that is a blood stain. a word stain. a "love me" stain. and you can't. you make me want to hurt myself more than you ever have. you take away my hunger, the weight in my gut. i just want to spend forever in your arms, you in mine, forming a basket like wicker, white and flexible but strong, to keep us safe from the world.love always,e
a thing like lovei believe in love like some believe in god,bending over backwards, causefinally you found somethingthat will keep you from dying,finally you found somethingthat gives you hope,a home in a war zone,a sanctuary for sanity,finally you found your heart,lost in that hollow body of yours,always too afraid to excavateits caves on your own,always afraid of the monstersyou'll find in its corners,you were always hiding from things that might have been.and when you finally opened your eyes,there was love at your feet,waiting to be made.
moth househappiness,elusivelike a moth,paper thinand breathing heart,skin with liltingpowders,flight under blood.your breath is paintedagainst the skyand i am travellingin spiralswith itto the stars.behind my lipslies a sunin full bloom.we are static,side by side andsong-hearted.i feel the sunpeaking from its curtains,i feel warmcreating photographsof my body in your arms.happiness,elusivelike a moth:i have caught it.
quietudei know when it goes quiet,you think about me.and when you go to sleep at night,i am waiting in your wings.and when you wake at dawn,the last thing you see before openingyour eyes is my face.and i have felt you,a thousand times, i have felt youhold my head underwaterjust to drown me outof your morning coffee.i am not so bitterthat you must dilutemy very being.i am not so loudthat you must quiet me.it is all too much for my poor, angry heart.the delicacy that flowsthrough the veins of silence,the fragile branches of snow;the powdered sugarcaneas glitter on your fingers.the i miss yousthe lapses in conversation(and lapses in judgement)the ever-present wishingfor another word,just one,to be spoken,and send this quietudeinto the wind.
to jenny, from ericshe cut me out of her life,sharp blades neverslowing the hurtnever slowing the bleedingnever slowing my thoughts,always asking why,why why why.the letter is being stabbed outwith passive aggressionas i type a letter to her,y y y y y y.this is probably the biggestfuck youi've ever been slapped with.bigger than my motherwalking out on my family,leaving me with a dead fatherfive months of suicideleft in the drain,bigger than my brotherfollowing in his footsteps.i sneeze, say,god bless me.from the sky i hear,hell no.
embarrassmenti hope loudly.it's a bad habitbut i can't silenceits screams.it's a misery,speculation an amber glassthrough which seeingleads to wishingleads to believingin the impossiblethat might turn possiblewith the luck of the starsin our midnight sky.if you are here,i won't turn my cheek.i'll hold and notlet go, i'll nevercatch and release.thinkingturns to frettingturns to worryingturns forgettingleads back to memoryof shared wishes.if i am there,i am fallingthe spacebetween usclosinguntilnoneisleft.
nervous behaviori was born in a thicket of woods.thicket.it means there were way too many fucking trees.the briars were sharper than the hypodermic needlesi stuck in my arms a thousand times when i spent a yearin the city. i forgot what it meant to feel.i just remember bleeding all the time.i was jesus.my mom didn't love me.she wasn't the mothering type.she was the surgery type.the type who blamed me for her sagging tits and rounded belly.she had me decades ago, i said, she can't keep blaming me.that earned me a punch in the face.i liked the way the blood tasted.that's how i got into it.i didn't think i'd get out.i didn't want to get out.that's what love'll do to you.now i'm living with clean veins and puncture mark scars,walking down the street with no second glancesat the wide, hollowed eyes i no longer have.god i miss the screaming,look at the monster, daddy! look! his veins, daddy, his veins!sh, honey, don't point at that man. he is a sad man.and i'd laugh
how to be poeticlook at the spaces between words(on paper, in speech, in gaps of bone)and forget the rest. know the pauses are a thousand times moreimportant.break a few hearts, but break your own more.this should be irreparable if done right.(expectations tend to work beautifully for this.)find beauty in the ugly, and ugly in the beauty.realize it is a double-edged sword and you are somehow on both ends.look at birds and imagine them as lips.look at bodies and imagine they are perfect,objects they are not, magnets and clocks, animals and weapons.know that breath is not colorful or clean,rather it emits something that kills us in heavy concentration.stop writing about it.(see also: eyes, ocean metaphors, spines, medical terminology -- you're not impressing anyone with your googled information.)stop cleaning your house and wallow in your own filth.do the same with your life.stop in the middle of anything -- driving, pissing, sleeping, sex --and write down what might be ins
mesentery.i get the same feeling lookingat you as i do dissecting catsbut it's oki know it just meanslove.i want to be more in love thanthe man who first wrote about true love;i want it to swallow my souland i don't want to mind;i want it to kill mebecause sometimesi think i should be deadand this would be a beautiful way to go -dying for someone betterthan myself, unselfish untilrealised it's the most selfishof selfish things,to love & be loved.it's sickening.black-tar-lungs,that kind of sickening.emphysematicparoxysms, that kind of sickening.the shape of your lips,in all their beauty:that kind of sickening.
unending hymnsi know you've met a new girl.i hope she's nicer than me.i hope she's prettier than me.i hope she loves you a littlelike i do, but notnearlyas much.insects glued to my teeth,i cannot speakwithout knowing your breath;i cannot beatmy heart against its cagewithout the love thatbroke it free;i would probablykill myselfif i were that close to you,to be your she,to be your her,to crawl inside of youand ring the bellthat makes you tick;love, know the power strungbetween your claws.maybe i am just lonelybut the wind is calling your name.the crickets serenade meon their knee-sitars and i hear your voicejoining their ceaseless hymns.i am not myself.i am the me i becamethe second you became my life,le raison d'etre,reason to be.i love you. i will always love you.i am trying to love you the right way but i don't know how.i know you care about me and that means enough for the world to turn.it means more than what i'm worth.i don't know how you make me feel this
night fading to darklet's talk about stars and sex and love and sadness,drugs and poetry and how they're the same,bones and madness and mischief and grief,and how we're all reduced to them someday,and ways that i can make you stay.(i whispered that i love youmore than earth to youwhen i meant it but could not say it.you were asleep.)you did a good job loving me while it lasted.you left me as sadness, filled with smoke and a burning desireto light a mentholated cigarette and bathe in rosewater.i look like i belong on the wall of bones without you.i will be there one day, i know i will die,i just look like i'm dead before i stop breathing.(the same night, you whispered thatyou were leaving to-morrowwhen you meant it and could not say it.i was awake.)
electricyou tell me how you're feelingand it's not like a sicknessit's more like a feveryour throat is that of a frog,gruff and low,and i am a doe,eyes wide in the headlightsof new york traffic.my voice is meek,my pulse electric.sometimes there is no differencebetween fear and desire-i am sorry for becoming ice.epiphany #12: if you call and i don't pick up, it's because i couldn't collect myself to say hello.
why hearts kill us when theyi wish you would justsee what is in front of youand love it betterthan you love me; thelove muses could smileagain andyour heart couldsing beautifullyof praisesunknown to the world--the world that so desperatelyneeds more people likeyou. you are at theend of your rope but please tieanother knot andbreak your fingers tohang on, your heart is too fullin its pressed pagesto stop beating thisearly; the birds aren't evenin bed just yet, please,beautiful heart- just keep beating.
from edear,i am not miserable, i am sad- for the beauty in the world, for the poisoned lungs and minds fluttering like one-winged butterflies in dizzying circles in this world.i am listening to your music. you sound so sad- you sound like me. i want to hold you in the fold of my arm, a pen for a sheep, a comfort, protection from the world so sharp on your skin. i could write you a hundred letters, but it would be much clearer to show you if i could hold you in my body of glass, knowing i'm holding the only thing worth saving.with you, i am not infatuated with thinness any more than i am with money. it would be nice to have both, but it dims in comparison to the heat radiating from my core, the fire behind ribs. the satisfaction from your joy, your acceptance, your anything-but-hurt, is electricity running over my skin. it is more than enough. i do not need romance, i do not need sex, as long as i have you, i will
i only have nonsense.the tip of my tongue has never tasted a tragedy quite like you.by now, i should know better than to do these things. but i don't.so i will. the only sense of right and wrong i have anymore istrapped between the edge of my teeth and the curve of your lipsand i'm losing it. fast.not all of us spark when we kiss, but you've started the fire that'sraging down my spinal column and through my heart. i'm burning andit hurts everywhere. i still can't bring myself to mind because atleast this way, i still get to feel something.last night i promised myself that i would never say another word i didn't mean.so hopefully, the next time i say i'm not in love i'll mean it. becausei can't take another minute of watching you fade in and out of my lifewhen i'm just ashes on your fingertips.i remember when i wanted you to completely destroy me and then put meback together, but you only ever got halfway there. my heart still skipsbeats even after it's been burned and i still fall asleep alo
spooning"i want you"doesn't necessarily mean"i want you to stick your cock in me"it doesn't necessarily mean"i want to fuck you"it might just mean"please hold me""i want you on top of me"doesn't necessarily meananything my mother wouldn't likeit could maybe just meanthat i feel like i really existi am a real beingwhen you are lying still on top of me(it's not like it hurts, you're pretty skinnywillow boy
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistakewhen i told you that i could love youforever. i know now that the only thingi can know for certain is that nothingwill ever be certain again. we couldwake up tomorrow and feel somethingcompletely different. we could wake uptomorrow and be completely different.that's the exciting part. it's also thepart that makes it hard to even fall asleepin the first place.my heart attacksmy every whim and everyday is this whirlwindof terror and elation and i don't even knowwhere to end or begin or if this makes senseanymore, but the one thing i've come to realizeis the worst kind of lie will always be theones you don't even know you're telling. soi'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think youalready know. it's nothing worth repeating.nothing ever is.when i'm tiredi tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of way just because i'm not strong enough to fightthese feelings full time. i'm more of a halfwaygirl, but there are a few things i fully understan
i can't see what's real.the problem is to me nothing is ever going to be as beautiful as you.i feel like i'm going blind.this would scare me except i know it's just that the whole world has dimmed down a few shades since i last saw you. and my eyesight will never adjust again because now all i do is look for you everywhere i go, even though i know you're miles away, because all i want is to see you smile again. even if it's the last thing i do.i want to see your face because i've gotten so used to seeing no one at all. it's too empty here. i hear his name and voice, feel his fingers on my skin and his breath against my cheek, but i don't see him. maybe he sees a silly quiet girl with dull eyes and a silent smile that he wants to get to know, but all i see is 600 miles stretched beneath the tips of my fingers that i will never again cross and the person who lives there that i will never get to see and the lonely fact that i know where my heart is.and it is not here.it's there with you.i'll never get it b
maybe we'll cycle like seasonsSummer never came this year.It got hot, uncomfortably so, and you would call me every Thursday like clockwork. Like always. But the taste in the air was different, so were the things you would say to me.I spent the long nights, curled in my front window, watching the fireflies flicker in the yard. Letting them blaze and die before my eyes until I couldn't pretend to be okay doing this anymore so I would pull the curtains shut and hang up on you. Hang up on the only semblance of normalcy to split up these warm days.The sky was pinpricked with stars--always brighter in the warm evening air and the lawn was sprinkled with violets again. Everything was as it should have been. Even the sting of sunburned skin against sheets as I crawled into bed each and every evening. The only thing that had changed was this year, you weren't here, and so for me, everyday would be as cold and empty as winter.--I never thought of the last time I saw you as a goodbye. I should have been better prep
hundred yearsi want to liewith the starsand youdrunk with the mortalityof your lips
i'm contradictory at best.i wonder what it's like to look into your face and not want to spill every secret i've ever had. i want to be startlingly indifferent. i want to say i don't care and mean it. i want to be reckless in more than that jaywalking every morning on my way to work sort of way. i want to say something that will completely change the course of everything forever. i want to be the sort of thing people need to invent a new word for, because "cataclysmic" won't cover what a disaster i am.i want to be someone new.i worry about why the air always tastes several degrees colder than your skin. i know there's a correlation that i haven't figured out yet, but my mind doesn't work fast enough to make the connections anymore. i worry that all the synapses are breaking apart and my brain is shutting down. i worry that i'm dying in slow motion from the inside out so no one can even tell. not that anyone would care, but i worry about the most absurd of things. and then i worry that i don't worry enough abo
anorexiashe swallows sadness instead of calories
antagonistic, i have no pulse.hold on.hold onto what?hold onto me, hold me,when nothing else mattersbecause my arms are open 24/725/7 actually, even that extra houron the longest day of the yearbecause that's how special you are(to me? i guess. but i never knowif i guess correctly or not)"wait, did you say something important/poetic/meaningless?"what."hold on a second, i'm busy."well, i've never held onto a second;time always slip through my fragilefingertips. never held onto an houreither. or an our. a your? fuck youpronouns. just hold onto something(i'm a thing; hold me) hold me like asecond. for a second. instead? youhold me like a second-place trophy;for a second-best, runner-up (no, i'mwalking down, head down, just down)i told you i'd wait that extra hour for you,but holding onto this second is too mucheven for me. sorry, but it's closing time.it's non
what i will not tell youif i tell you, i knowyou will become a birdin my stomachflying forever miles away,out through my throat,singing songsican never have.i keep saying the wordsi love youin my head(i just wish i couldlove youin my armsinstead)