The Day She DisappearsIt is the day she discovers
she has ears
but no mouth.
She realizes that she said nothing
but in her imagination, the words between
her ears never escaped.
It is the day she discovers
she cried every tear allotted to her
for this lifetime.
She thinks of her brother trapped,
a life-long night terror, imagines fish
nibbling ashen remains, her father
in the lakebed, her father as a spiral,
her family as an old treehouse on fire,
blasted by lightning.
She feels a hysteria build in her brain,
the swarm of wasps rage.
The eroded ridges of her cheeks never fill.
Her eyes don't even shine,
two desert oases forgotten by the rain.
The wasps fly in and out, bringing paper
bits of leaves to create a nest inside
her brain. They lay eggs.
Feed the wiggle white larvae
pieces of grey matter,
all the wrong memories.
Wasp nests never slumber.
She can't either.
It is the day she discovers
time will not heal the double-barrel
shotgun wound she's taken to the stomach,
as she shovels her intestines
CANNOT GET OVER THIS PLEASE READ
i am almost out of treatment and ready to start school. i'm feeling better than i have for this, and i'm praying all goes well. i can talk myself into a better mood up to once a day, which is a million times better than before. but i don't want to be praised because my disorders will get angry with me.
cheek kisses and sweet goodbyes.i rest my cheek on the cool of the window
as we roll by trees quickly fading to autumn.
the chill is setting in and the days are growing shorter.
soon the coffee shops will hang signs of pumpkin spice.
i write poems for the ghost that cracks my closet door.
i know you're only lonely, love,
but remember that i wish to sleep
and see to it that i can.
i try to analysis my demons
and label them with illnesses.
i decode the downfalls of those i love
with sociological theories.
they have painted me shadows on canvases
that don't quite conceal my fingerprints and spilled coffee.
i have been sleeping as though it were the winter
and i were a great grizzly bear.
i don't mind that my friends see the bruises on my legs;
they are rather lovely colors that belong on paintbrushes and book covers.
it is not the blotches that make me nervous
to wear my favorite dress to school.
cooley's theory leaves me questioning
if i am a worthwhile mirror to those i hold dearest.
may you never think that i hate yo
loop the loopshamble down the road
can’t look you in the eye
the dogs always bark as you walk
by but they don’t wag their tails
when you approach,
you don’t meet
any eyes afraid
they might bulge
from the socket
or melt off-white slime down
collect dirt from the sidewalk
slide into the gutter
tripping during the day
doesn’t help, anymore,
not on this
nothing is familiar
you don’t recognize your own voice
you don’t recognize you’ve
already said that
already said that
twice already but that’s the loop
the loop the
loop the loop
you’re stuck in today
you pass the same culvert
five times the sweat starts
drips down your back
you remember it’s August
your water bottle empty
your mouth fills with cotton
spiders they crawl out
spin sticky webs around you
while you speak to the police
in mumbles and growls
tell them why you stopped
your truck in the middle
of the highway
hazards flashing yellow red
white through broken
you remind me.i talked to you today<da:thumb id="395888846"/>
and did not say all the things that came to mind.
but, before long, i realized
there is no use for those words now.
you are not the hero anymore.
i am not the angel.
we are not who we used to be,
and that's okay.
the airbags must have knocked the sense right out of me
because i was over you before the breakdown.
i forgot to remember that you are not
the boy i fell in love with.
hearing from you today
was enough to remind me.
i don't can't hold the distance between us
i won't say the things i think
you couldn't bear to hear,
but i wish the best of everything for you.
remember that life is so much simpler than it seems.
you are in my heart-
that does not mean
that you need to be
in my life.
7.race tracks and highways
and sweet interstate memories,
raising my flag just to watch
them sing my national anthem.
i begin all over again
and i'm planning
the rest of my life.
no more spending money
for the girl with deep pockets
because i'd rather have a home
than a new pair of shoes.
i cannot press creases
into the skin of my face
worrying over how you're
throwing your life away.
Starving sleep and apologies.My sleep is starving.
It is shivering sweat like snow
across my shoulders as I sob scream
after scream against your skin;
"sorry, I'm so sorry,
go back to sleep."
I am sad
and struggling to stay
together but you slump
against my sickness
and hold me
we wait for the fallthe thing about the world is
our failure is mutual
like some up-
our truth is simply this
no bitter fruit unpicked
the poets are hungryThe poets rip open
leathery metaphors, those soft-
shelled snake eggs brim full
— they lap up the flow,
a different taste
on each ravenous
the poets fight over
who had the words first
not realizing the words
have all of them.
the words hold them back
and lift them up
and shake them violently
like skinny trees.
the poets scalp each other
spread red with the sinking sun
break open stones
with their bare skulls
to find crystalized geodes
the perfect angle
where the last light