his hands made me drunk.
his hands made me really fucking
drunk
and his lips
his lips made me drunk,
too.
but i’ve never been
one for alcohol, really,
because wine makes me cry
and beer makes me angry.
when
his fingers strum you
all you can do is sing.
or wail.
sometimes it sounds more like wailing.
and whatever he’s feeling comes out of your mouth.
whatever he’s thinking.
whatever he’s saying inside
comes out of you instead and
your throat’s sore from all the screaming
he’s feeling; from all the anger
little peach pits in his stomach
and you regurgitate them and
your throat is bloody red.
i find the quietness i crave
amid the forest’s windy veins
where my mind can be at peace,
where my thoughts vacate with ease.
here my feet become my breath
and my mind one with the earth,
i come to realize my worth:
an atom in the universe.
When I was young,
my mother used to warn me
not to look right into
the Sun: I could damage my
eyes from the
heat.The first time I met you,
I could not look directly
into your eyes; I still
can’t.
I’d never expected
to find the Sun
burning
in them.
We as a species are always trying to find comfort in purpose, as if we need to justify our existence on this planet by having a ‘reason’ for being here. You do not need a purpose or a reason to be alive on this planet. You have a right to be here simply because you are.
Rather than seeking comfort in purpose, find freedom in understanding that you have no purpose, and that is okay. You alone are enough.
I. i saw your jar full of wrappers
and thought maybe you’d just developed
a sweet tooth recently. though
it never occurred to me that
white waxy wrappers
can carry
fun-dip powder and pixy stix, too.II. i knew something
was wrong when
clouds fogged your eyes (grey and heavy
with rain);
so heavy
they could not look straight.
so heavy
they kept sinking.III. at half past midnight you left
to ‘be right back.’
45 minutes later and i felt the thunder
shake the house; i knew
there would be rain
in your eyes.
At eight forty-five the next morning
(you normally never wake up before eleven),
you ‘stop at a friends’
before breakfast and return
empty-handed but eyes full,
veins full, blood full
of calm, full of ocean waves and
lullabies, full of
ice so cold you feel like you’re
on fire.IV. you are forgetting
more and more
about me these days. it seems
you’re drifting farther away,
farther into
your veins.V. i know that
i don’t know
how your mind rolls
on the tracks in your skull.
i never will
feel the hunger in your veins
for a needle that bites
so good. but every time a new
track mark paints your arm,
the train that’s riding them
runs over my heart.
my mother asked about you today.
i didn’t know how to explain
that your name
on my tongue is like
novocaine;
that i’ve been waiting so long
for the numbness to
fade.
I haven’t lived long, but I’ve lived long enough to know that closing myself off to the world doesn’t prevent pain; it only postpones it. I am learning to live with my heart off it’s hinges and the door wide open because pain is going to enter regardless. It is better to enjoy the time I have in the sun than waste it worrying about when it’s going to rain.
please please please stop building
these walls just so that you can tell me
i’m crossing the line.
remember when we shared a
womb for nine months?
there were no lines then, just
innocence and warmth. i want
to take you back there.remember when the doctor explained why
you were so small and weak when you were born?
i took
all the nutrients from the placenta.
i took
your strength, and i wish i could
give it back to you now because
i’m scared to see you fall
knowing i cannot do anything to save you.
i want this to be my fault.
i want to take away this
darkness within you and burn it myself
so i cannot watch
you crumble.i wish i could transfuse to you all
i’ve learned from the scars
on my arms and thighs and the heartbreak
i’ve been given and the heartbreak i’ve caused
so that you wouldn’t have to feel it all.
i am standing with my hands up
ready to surrender myself in your place, but
i know i cannot do your time
when the prison is within the walls of your mind.
sometimes
reality is a red chevy 4X4 that
hits you at 103 mph–
windshield crashing
broken glassy
eyes
realizing all you want nearby
is someone to hold you–
sometimes it moves
too fast.
sometimes it leaves you
breathless.
Silenticel 