9729 kilometers away, to be exact.i have these bones like flowers-fragile and finely plucked,these lily stargazersare kissing ocean beds,making love to sirenswhile yearningfor a taste of herwander(lust).i want to tape maps to my limbs-throw caution to the windas i gather upevery love letter receipt,from every false attempti ever wrote her& forget for just a momentthat even stilllight-years away,she does not love me.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart, your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece that buckled just before your whole foundation t o p p l e d over? I have. & no matter how many times I've restarted your heart, one would think I'd grow tired, eventually; I'm still writing you in poetry (in the most inappropriate of places.) You forced yourself beneath my blades & my fingertips, Licking unstable knees, you were death on my tongue: angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin scaring my limbs & haunting my dreams.Cardiac arrest & I'd still try to save your fucking life.
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldto slice through the thickestof scar tissue this evening.Let all my inner demonsfall to the floor& write them outin my own black blood.It’s not red anymore,even though needles& the bruiseslaid out like war-landson my armssay otherwise.I don’t think it ever was,honestly.Therapeutic,they said.My mind is a messof free versed insecurities,cat’s eye marbles,& untamed forest fires-but,I still don’t have the nerveto slice open my skin& bleed for her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,i have thissudden urge to cutmy hair.most of the time,i just wish I were anythingother than me.a rocket ship, a bird-the sweet flavored smokeI promised my girlfriendthese briar patch lungswould not in.hale.instead,i have fallen in lovewith the strangest of things-eyes that intimidategodless boys.the way my scarsplay hide and seekwith her hands. -the love lettersthat start and endwith kissespressed against limbs.i make promisesi know i can not keep.but if i were a liari would say i was tiredof writing to the stars.
I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,"There is nothingwrong with me, not a damnthing.”I wanted to believethe big dipper on my armmeant something morethan sun marks & kisses.But, how can I trust wordsthat slip through my teethas easy as breathingwhen this starhas only ever learnedhow to f a l l ?
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respect for hungry lions, than man's greedy fingers,she really, really doesn’t want to write this poem.As she forgets how to use words (on most days,)relying on curses like casting some witch's spell-with only ten dollars to her name.The oldest daughter:she’s still somewhere in the middle,filed under miscellaneousbecause they had no other way to categorize her.Getting her first gravestone at three-she prayed not to the gods,but to the lily stargazers in her palms.One day she would become a bird, fly south & never come back.She doesn’t want her deathlaid out like a fast-foodrestaurant menu-so, how does she begin to explainthe greenhouse cultivating in her breastbone?
binge eatingi have a buildupof black holessuffocating my arteries,having swallowed downthe bitter taste of too manygirls with galaxies travelingthe length of their spines.i ate them in mouthfuls,gaping & sad like a bingereaching for the skies-unable to hold them all in.i don’t think the universeis as vast& wondrousas it used to be,thrivingbetween theintercostal spacesof my ribs;i am hungry.& with a collectionof moon sighsas a reminderin my pockets,i will just have to learnhow to calm this swollenindigo pulse while eating.
to the starsI’ve got this arrowcurled around my fingerlike Apollo’s heart& your nicknamesengraved on the insideof my lungs.I don’t want to writepretty little stanzasor pick at the seamsof your poetrylike some deadbeatpsychology major -I want toscribble profanitiesall over everything;shoot down your moon& wear herlike a charmaround ink stainedwrists.I want to take you to the stars, & leave you there.
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaein the rough of my gutter bones,some stargazing sanctuaryfor lonely outcasts to lay their heads.I am but a car crash,spellboundinside eyelids,& red inked correctionson crosshatched skin.Made up of moans,the clutching of bedsheets;I am contemplatingripping my ribs apart& provingI never had a heart at all.But my moon shy love;she is determinedto try & wake the dead.
RelapseIt’s like countingSaturn’s rings,hash marksalong your limbs -remembering a timewhen‘just one more’made you feel better.- & you’re sitting therewondering whyDraco, stuck in limboalways looks like he’sfalling.-dp
It is 9 in the afternoon& I have forgottenhow to write in poetics-tongue kissed & gaping likea siren missing from her sea.I have been coughing up blackfor days. Unable to clean the tastefrom my mouth, these brokentypewriter keys sewn into myfingertips scream something fierce.They ache with longingto tell of a storythat left themfor a better highyears agoa story that never deservedto make a home under the skin,to crawl breech through anunsuspecting womb.-& out through the wristsof young girls much too ripeto fall from their beds.I am so damn tiredof looking over railings& wondering whatit would feel liketo fall.
Universe Girlshefell in lovewith Plutowhile he wasstill a planet;butshe could only manageto fall in lovewith shooting starsin the glare of your eyes.what more could you truly askfrom a universe girl?
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,I wanted to pluck my ribsfrom out my chest &hang them about my houselike wind chimes-dangled brutality;a taunt for hungry wolves.I didn’t grab for sharp objects,I just wrote about it.I never knewI wanted to be a writeruntil I lost something.I still don’t know what that is-(my mind, maybe.)But words,they fill gapsthat had no storiesto keep themfrom hollowing outin the first place.
I loved a girl.i loved a girl.i loved a girl with a lovefor cummings & sandburg& sexton.i loved an unflinchingpoet of a girl.& with no better diction:they called the shaking fistsat her sides, her silent actof pacifism, cowardice.i’m the coward;she bled for the both of us.
You do not whore around,You spend your nightsreachingfor Apollo’s robes.You’re as hotas New Orleansin mid-July, andas fierceas her gumbo.But, he is light-yearsaway and your fingersache with tiredinsecurity.-a disaster inyour ownmoon skin.Even if it fucking hurts,you can still tastehis heat on your tongue.Gods be damned,you’re a butterfly-( even if mountedto a bed. )One day,you will find yourselfand fly away.
Milky Waymy body is a road mapof hazard signs& do-not-touch-me's.but on the dayswhen the mirroris nice to me,i can hearwhispering voiceslike little racingheartbeatsbeneath my skin:you are not worthless.you are strong.your ribcage has a meaning-these bruises arecon ons, ste ti & you are the Milky Way. lla -dp
nightmares and lavender owlsdear night-bonesdo not marinade in the melanchorand allow your feeble surfacesto become slippy andelusiveunder the fingertips of sanity -don't become a semblance,a representationof reality, just be.there's no need for lavenderto perfumiae the dusk gardenthat thoughtless flowerdoes not grow here.unobtrusiveafter the broken attempts -of cracked knucklesas they claw a representationof beauty, into soil.oh, to that intrical fluidsludging throughthinly veined cribbagesof capillary and thought,illusive,illusive thought -don't slumber to a stopand leave me destitute and dehydratedof truth, of life.dear sanity,do not betray mewith your sharp and unsoft pricksof the realityintrusiveinto my ribs--don't sharpen my sensesto the point of self harm by thought,of thought,oh bones and sanityand the screeching owlsthat herald in a death-silencethat coos the word;"reclusive"do not ask of me more than i can bare -don't, please, ask meto endure the blade-in-brain
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
broken dreams and invisible heartstringsEvery morning,she wakes up to ahollow chest & stormy,red rimmed eyes.It's so easy to be in lovewith being in love;swallowing fake truths& sincere lies.But her heart—it forgot how to smiletwo years ago,because no one can tellthe difference betweenimitations & reality."Please,please find me;I'm lost between the cracks ofdying stars."Desperate to breatheyet wondering how it would feelto drown,she's never belongedin this universe.
For every boy I ever kissedi.you took my hand 'neath the magnoliaat a christmas dinner party I held.your mouth was cold. so were my affections.ii.you were the first man to listen to me.i let you listen to my heartbeat; butwhen the day fell away, you bruised me deep.iii.you were my safe harbour, and i your stormturning your misery to naught but airbut i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.iv.you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleepyou would hold me close and pray for something,anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).v.eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,i still couldn't believe when you kissed meeven after midnight struck us again.vi.i don't miss those guitar-player fingersyou wrapped me 'round. i loved enough for youuntil i realised you didn't love me.vii.we fell into our love by accidentand like one, there were some fatalitieswhen you said you loved me using her name.viii.opposites attract. i fell hard for you.you kissed me in starlit castle ruins.we par
titans.they don’t tell you thatone day,sisyphus just let the rock roll downand collect his bodylike dust.they don’t tell you that you can still walkwith holes in your legsand you can still lovewhen your heart has already been ripped open.they don’t tell you thatyou are 75% of an oceanthat is six miles deepand eats ships alive,75% of the water that shapes canyons,75% of the rain that drowned the earthfor forty days and nights.they don’t tell you thatyour body is made of the same carbonas starsand diamonds.they don’t tell you thatthere is a fire burning inside of youor that your bones are stronger than steelor that the things that fuel youfuel tigers, too.the greeks and romans wrote stories abouthow strong you wereand you are icarus,and you died laughingbecause they didn’t tell youhow beautiful the world really waseven as it was swallowedby the waves.
why we pity angelsto him;you are afraid of phonecalls. youare afraid of your own voice, andopening your ribcage to letyour heart come live on your sleeve.you are afraid of living without caffeineor alcohol, whatever the day calls for;you are afraid of being realwithout laughing afterwards, becomingeverything you worked so hard to getaway from, acknowledging allthat you still are. know this:I am afraid of loud noises.I am afraid of honesty and drowning,people I don’t know and wordsI won’t say. I am afraidof growing old and living alone andyou not accepting me. I am afraidof myself. In that, we are the same.to her;I have the compulsion to grab youand cup you to me like you are somehalf-alive bird, like that soundas the lazy sun paints you a portrait isyour hummingbird heart and not my ownshallow breaths. in the beginning,you were my peace of mind. you tracedthe contours of my being with a scalpeland held me up, a shadow puppet,as the darkest, blackest figures I gav
two-fifty an hour.let me save you the trouble:because what i'm trying to say isi'm not a good person.--i don’t tell valerie about how i planned to rekindlemy friendship with charlie’s best friend last yearjust so i could get to him and hurt him.(i don’t tell her how, in the end, i ended up likinghis friend instead, and charlie dated anotherfifteen year oldbecause shit happens and what was i doing,expecting things to go my way?)there are certain things she doesn’t need to know,certain things i can’t say becauseputting it into words what it was like waking up,that sort of shame that came with it –it was like – it was like looking into a windowand swearing there’s a monster behind itbefore, slowly, i realizedit was a mirror.--what therapy promises me: love yourself, forgive butnever forget, tell us your pastthen let it go.what i learn in therapy: nobody has all the answers.we certainly don’t.-
.the reaper playssolitaire when he's gotsome time to killbut when your time'sup it's back to work, coshe's gotta make a livinglike the rest of us
Second star to the rightThere are days where sheforgets how to fly;wings all tangled up inmisguided heartstrings."There is nothing wrong with me,"she insists,"Nothing at all.I just can't seem togrow up."The clock strikesmidnight -she's nothing butmisled faith,broken trust,and withering pixie dust.
roses and brier“I’ve never planted roots-“she said,believing her body to beon a road tripto nowhere.“Well—“ I smiled,“let’s be like roses & brier.We will go nowhere, together.”