familiar stranger
new friend
tell me of the time we crossed
once before
under the wisteria.
i’ll meet you there– halfway
between the poppies
and forever.
your voice a nocturne,
notes i’ve never fallen asleep
to before: i cannot
quite tell where it is
within me that you dwell.
do you sing a song of this
universe, or one of
dreams?
for the first time,
i feel a different kind
of alive.something is sprouting
within me: a hunger for
the taste of your skin
on my lips, your warmth
beside me.i’ve always used a
fork and knife, never
indulged the animal
inside.but tonight you look
so good.
tonight, i think
i could.
you can jump out of an airplane but
be too scared to ask your waitress
for ketchup.there is no method to the madness
we are.but i know you will make room
in your heart for the things
you are on fire for, because
those are what keep you living.
when you want something badly enough,
you will face your fears for it.
read my words
and you will
dissolve under my skin,
you will be the spirit behind
these scleras.
you will hear the earth crying
into the arms of the universe.
you will smell
destruction.
read my words and you will
understand
me.
i am escaping
into the night much like
the air from her mouth evaporates
into the wind as she says
goodbye.light no longer
reflects off of me:
i am absorbing so much
darkness,
she cannot find me
anymore.not being able to see
me means i’m already gone.
the only thing
she wraps her arms around anymore
is the darkness, and it is too cold,
i make her
shiver.
you were eleven
pounds of limbs when
i scooped you into my arms
beneath the flickering
yellow lights that reflected
off urine-stained linoleum.
i thought i was rescuing you.that night as you walked
into the apartment
for the first time, i wasn’t
thinking about paris or
the lust in my veins
(the lust pumping out of
my heart). you cried,
scurrying into a corner
when i accidentally stepped
on your paw. i feared you
wouldn’t let me near you again.
you were so slow to let
the hair on your back go
down.the days are getting longer,
the skies bluer, and i am
dreaming of paris
again. you follow me
to the bathroom, waiting
patiently outside the door.
you follow me throughout
the house. wherever i am,
your eyes are there. brown
and gold nebulas.we fall asleep
and i feel your heartbeat against
my feet. i want to squeeze you
so hard sometimes.
twenty five pounds,
you are an anchor following
me around. i can hear
london calling me now.where do i go
to escape your eyes,
little lamb?
what have i done, falling
in love long before
i have seen the world;
making home in twenty five
pounds of limbs and
pawprints in the snow?will your eyes follow me
to london and paris? to cobblestone
cities and languages
i have yet to learn?your small heart an anchor
at my feet, mine is filled
with a lust to see every inch
of the Earth’s skin.
i’m getting bad again.
there’s no room under
my skin,
there’s too much of me
to be beautiful.
i’ll never fit into a box,
i’m not perfect enough.
i’m too much
of the wrong things
to be loved.of what value am i
if i want to cry
every time i look at myself?
i see excess
in every limb. i am a waste
of space, i should not be taking
up so much.
you say the whole
world looks a little
crooked.
my head is on
the wooden floor,
staring at the bowed leg of
a chair, and i guess
it is a little
twisted.i had a dream last night.
we were all vampires, living
in my apartment back at
school. when i woke up
everything was the same except
mom and dad didn’t want to
suck my blood.i guess the earth is a little
bit crooked, tilting
at twenty three point five
degrees on its axis.i’ve been dreaming about
death a lot recently. it’s funny
because when i’m asleep i am always
the one being killed, but
i know that what
we’re trying
to kill does not have its own heartbeat,
but rather has taken
over yours.sissy said something
the other day that made me want to cry:
that the life has drained from your
eyes. sometimes
it’s hard to look at the beautiful gold
they have become.
i hate that color.
i know what it means.i guess you’re
right.
the world is pretty warped.
i think you can see it better than i.
is it scary? is the world
a little straighter when
your eyes are golden
like that? does it look
a little brighter?
i can feel
the drums in my pulse.
i miss the warmth
of the sun while it rains,
and the smell of
Armani cologne and sweat.
the way we’d all slide in
the back of the car with
no seat belts,
the leather sticking
to the backs of my thighs. the heat.
pulling mulberries off of
the trees in the yard and making
tracks on the tile
when we’d come in for dinner.
our four beds pushed together.
whispering in darkness.
throwing cheese
to the street dogs and cats.
being free to be
a child. getting lost. wandering
too far.
i shouldn’t have let him
close the door.
everyone knows nothing
good happens to young girls
behind closed doors
and yet i wasn’t thinking
about freedom when i heard
the lock click. i was all dolled up
for the camera.i heard your voice in my head,
saying you wouldn’t let
him touch me.
but the door closed and
you couldn’t see
where his hands were sliding.
i was
just another day at work.
just another photoshoot.
just another.i wonder if
he knows my body
has become a shrine to
the emptiness
he thrust within me.
i wonder if he cares
that i’ve flinched under
every pair of hands
since.i wonder if he remembers
my name.
Silenticel 