i’ll vividly remember
the time i was too afraid to shower
afraid the water
would carry what was left of my blood
and I was finally have to
look straight into the eyes
of what i’m too scared to beg for:
the last moments on earth,
when i’ll finally see
what really matters.
drinking down warm water like it’s the cure,
thoughts of the back of my eyelids,
and I’ve got a bottle at my bedside.
and it’s not the romantic kind.
“smoke cigarettes out of my bedroom window” kind
the,”sit on my rooftop, watch the sunrise-“
"baby, if i was sleeping next to you, i’d be fine," kind.
"please god, not again-"
think ‘yes’ to myself.
I need the positivity,
so i mumble ‘yes’ out loud
two or three times a day
let the habbit grow.
my muscles are soft, and I let them bruise.
He’s not my boyfriend, but he asks if we’re exclusive.
I humored the thought of being just us two,
but when the forth day went by without a word from him
i closed my curtains and decided to go back to what I knew.
Yesterday he came to my porch on foot.
took me up the stairs, and I let him feed my forgiveness through my shirt stretched over head.
and we laid together again.
He stood up to leave,
without even mentioning my name.
"If you don’t hear from me, take a hint."
I let my eyes swallow one last image of him,
and my skin absorb one last kiss.
Today was when I decided I didn’t need him.
it’s still early, i can still forget.
I just wanted something.
expansive and physical,
tangible and brave.
I can keep any secret,
but it’s just so much more satisfying to play guessing games.
February 18, 2013 at 2:21pm
i have such an empty plate.
a swear shirt could cover scrapped arms for another couple of weeks,
but there’s no telling when the next time I might take off that shirt may be.
fresh blades, dull ones too.
there’s no telling when you may answer,
but i just keep on writing message after message:
"A heads up: I worry about you."
December 19, 2012 at 12:54pm
I got into trouble.
I don’t want you involved,
but I started drinking again, and I spent a few days in jail.
Witnesses said I stabbed a guy,
but it wasn’t me,
I don’t even have a knife!
He was looking at me though,
but when I told him to ‘fuck off’
I wasn’t expecting a punch.
Five stitches to his punch.
I didn’t stab him though,
they found the knife two blocks away without a print on it.
I only had half a beer,
but five people said it was me.
I’m going to represent myself in court,
my case is tomorrow, and I don’t want you there
I don’t want you involved.
Our anniversary is in two days,
I know. I still have your letter.
November 24, 2012 at 10:35pm
I used to have a boyfriend:
I wouldn’t say we were dating,
and I wouldn’t say I was faithful,
but we were together,
and i thought the world of him.
He was older than me, older by a lot
but from the first time I saw him he caught my eye,
so when I became aware of his age I was forgiving.
Even before we ever spoke to one another
our stares were endless.
I made the first move,
just to be bold-I had to.
A haiku written on notebook paper,
with my phone number at the bottom,
and after that we were together.
He said I used to light the entire bus terminal,
but lines in his eyes showed his troubles,
and hard hands confirmed his age,
but I gave him what I could of myself,
21 in age to his 30,
I gave him what I could,
but i practiced restraint.
i would visit him in New Jersey,
and he would travel the two hours to Doylestown.
In January he told me he had cancer,
and March he told me he had a son.
We had sex after he told me he loved me,
(though I had tried to fuck him before)
and it was April he never spoke to me again.
I would leave him messages,
haikus, and linger the bus terminal for his ghost.
But he left me alone, and never returned a desperate message.
He called his son bear,
and he called me ‘Bad News’
but tonight, a year later, he writes to me from the hospital,
"There’s blood on my hands: I need you."
there are no special words to me,
there is no text book
hidden deep in the cobwebs on the Philadelphia library
that can be swung open to reveal
some rightful text
down to one word.
my unpolished finger,
oiled with young age
will never slid down the glossary
and point to a life saving vocabulary,
because it seems everyone has that one word that keeps them tame:
love, hope, life, saudade
will never save my life,
i will just remember that I am living
and speak a language
that has no immedient meaning.
November 23, 2012 at 11:45am
can you stare at me
through the convenience of a blue screen
and still remember how it feels
when you speak my name so clearly.
looking through me,
and I would undress for you willingly,
does it feel the same way
as when we could touch one another,
it only takes the first two syllables of my name
to activate a memory,
you call to me now,
begging for me to move my ass a little more slowly
"I wish you were here, I’m home alone, I wish you could taste me,"
and static feed back
are almost unnoticeable
to our precision eye contact
but in my mind,
I’m fogging how I feel:
because as your eyes unfocused
and you bring yourself to climax
I wish you would here with me
tracing light fingers
in the curves of my back.
November 19, 2012 at 12:16pm
find my last life
washed up in the creek bed
one hand kneeds the other
lays a heavy head
a man may lend an
and try to pull me
from my earthy bed
yet i continue
a gracious heart
and vulnerable jest.
so curl over, my dear,
and have mud seep,
let vines wrap
and feldspar project
and vision burst
a longing heart
and precarious worth.
And may I rest, until seasons end
until water thaws
and rises above
my creek bed.