Project Save MeDon't ask me how I amwhen I'm silent too long;tell me you know I'm pretending,tell me it's okay to fall apart,tell me you'll catch meif I climb too highand can't finda safe way down.Don't tell me I deserve betterwhen I get hurt again;tell me I'm an idiot,tell me you're not surprisedI crashed and burned,tell me the truthbecause no one else will.Don't offer to swap war stories;I don't want to hearabout your heartaches,I just want someoneto fix mine.Don't tell methey'll get what's coming to themafter they've left me broken;understandthat I give too many chancesbecause that's the only thingI really know how to do.Understandthat when I forgive them,I'm not thinkingabout the factthat they've hurt me a thousand times;I'm thinkingabout how much lighter I feelwithout the weightanger adds.Tell me it's okay,tell me it's not my fault,but don't ever,EVER,tell me to just get over it.That's unforgivable.Tell meyou'll always be thereand then prove it;people
Today, I am DrowningSome days,the pastweighs nothing--snowflakesfloatingin a tiny glass globewaitingto be carried awayon the wind.Other days,the pastbreathes with the sea--kelptangling about my anklesbeneathturbulent waves.
Strangled StarsSomehow, I thought you'd changed;I slid cloud veils over my eyes,I let the mists of forgiveness take over.I cared too much, I guess.I slid cloud veils over my eyes,pretending I didn't notice the cruelty of your hands.I cared too much, I guess--I couldn't admit you strangled my stars.Pretending I didn't notice the cruelty of your hands,I let the mists of forgiveness take over;I couldn't admit you strangled my stars.Somehow, I thought you'd changed.
Hinging TimeAutumn's diarydances in the breeze--pages ripped from barren branches.My father's father's bloodwas the same color, once--an angry, untamed flame.My own blood is an oil-spillchasing the metal of my joints--each move creaks.
Shy TruthsI spilled a cup of oceanand opened my handshoping to catch the truth.Empty seashells,broken clams,and a palm-fullof worn pebbleswere all I caught.I guessthe truthis shy.
Dresser DrawersStuff the pastinto the ugly sockshiddenat the bottomof your dresser.Only pull them outwhen you needto be remindedwhat you're fighting for.Let yearscoat the carpetwith fuzz,but don't let timewear holesin the heels--memorieshave a way of slippingthrough the cracksand the worldalways noticesthe dust bunnies first.
Dripping WordsSimple wisdomfor the girl teaching herself to fly--love is overrated,a super nova's roarcrackinga sliver of the galaxyon the edge of nowhere.Parched, starving,I am the Apocalypse.
Freeze Response--C.There is somethingpredatoryin the scrape of your nailson the kitchen table;in the tension of the veinspopping from your neck;in the growl of your voicewhen you admityou can't let me go.The air is violet, buzzing,steeped in electrostatic hum.The sweet scent of the hunt.I am rabbit-eyed, wide and reckless,knowing I have already been caught.I hunker deep,fighting the urgeto jack-rabbit over the tableand flee;I'm easy prey tonight,avoiding your hungry-wolf eyes.You haven’t moved,Huntsman, an army of horsesstampeding in your heart, youare waiting for me to cower.There are ridgeson your knucklesand I can almost hearthe rabbitsscreamingin the cageof your ribsas you breathethe cruelest wordsbetween your teeth.You want me less wild;something docile and yieldingcan't let me gocan't let me goevery way out is a trap.I keep a close watchon the clawsof your hands,but you knowhow to hurt mefrom a distance.
He Comes with the RainRain slides down Yesteryear Antiques' cheap stained-glass windows in lazy swirls and spirals. Tracking a drop with narrowed green eyes, Shay wrinkles her nose and steps around a haphazard stack of Life magazines. A sheaf of her thick auburn hair falls across the right half of her face. Pulling a hair tie from her wrist, she scoops the locks into a messy bun. The lights flicker, thunder rumbling. Shay glances again at the rain's path on the windows. Turning to a set of dresser drawers, she rifles through pens, paper clips, and crayola markers. A wad of teal tissue paper crinkles under her fingers and Shay pulls it from the drawer, unwrapping its contents. A pair of hand-carved bamboo chopsticks, topped with snarling dragons, roll onto her palm. She pokes them through her bun before diving back into the drawer."I could have sworn there was a--" A flashlight skips across the debris and Shay snatches it up. Grinning, she clicks the button. Clicks it again. Frustrated, her grin fading, she
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
Rancid BonesShe wants the skyto keep its promiseto hold her close,to take her heartand make it just like new,but the stars are hidingbehind thick cloudsand the city lightshave dimmed the moonlike disappointmenthas dimmed her smile.She wantssomeone to take her by the handand make her stand on her own.She wants someone to explainwhy sometimes,things just end.She wants...but her bones have grown rancidwith coldand too much timeis passing byand she's starting to forgetwhat she's waiting for.
Fragile Magpie MoonsIt's only spring when you first wake up,two magpies and the dull ache of menstrual crampstapping on. Death's windowsleeps in all our bones,a dripping water faucet.Brittle things--like love,marlboro midnights,a jar of not-quite-nothing--small and fragile and oursare the presences we carrywhile running from the moon.
ocean lungsyou weigh something like gravityin my tired expanse. you aresand;(my once splendid mountain)my love is the oceanthat has worn you down.with my monstrous tongue,i pulled you in.as you fall,sweeping peacefully into the depthsand filling each crevice,i am learning to inhale shores.some would say i'm suffocatingand bring me buckets of air (only to have itescape my slippery grip).no, the tides need something heavyto make of hera home.
Disappointed RainThere are twelve phone booksstrewn across your porchlike tortured reminders.It rained last night,a subtle lullabyagainst half-opened windows;I could hear,in the dropsacross those cheap plastic bags,your disappointed sigh.Tomorrow,I'll call the Salvation Armyto come pick up these boxesof chipped chinaand faded flamingos.Right now,I'm burying the catwe all forgot to feedonce the ambulance took you away.
.i keep a garden ofdead leaves, their amberribs crack under myfeet, and i smilethe flowers turn theirbacks on me
pollenwasp-waisted beautypray into my collarbonelet your snake tongue slitherwith the syllables.i wish for soft-chested nights,and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,nurse my coiling tongue with yours;tap my scalp like a silent drum,and wind my hair in between your fingerslike broken guitar strings.(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
.tick tock, he saysi am coming for youand now i knowwhy they call itthe ticker
Cliches I Have Datedi.Anna collected stardustlike pennies, exceptpennies are worth something.ii.Claire had inkrunning through her veins; dead,from an unsterilized needle.iii.Robin had birdbonesstrung together on windchimes.iv.Sarah’s eyes were alwaysto the sky, and neveron me.v.Lizbeth took my breath awaywith every punch to the stomach.vi.Rosalie had too many thingsin her ribcage; emotional adrenalinetriggered her arrhythmia.vii.Emily left mefor a boy with starrier freckles.viii.I am one cat awayfrom a stereotype, or one girlcloser to a happy ending.
Light over darknessDarkness smothers lightEncouraging death and sorrowBut hope is not gone
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
Our DutyWe swallowed the path homeBecause we were hungry,Though starving is an ongoingStory, an empty bagDancing in the streets,Full of an unfastened voiceWalking through the house,Wind unchained, heart admonished.Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,That sleeping boat content to followThe vacant waves, intervalsOf dying that we dare not interrupt,And we watch the kind ear shrinkingFrom our charcoal docks; heavenWith a full stomach crawls away.This is what we were put here for.
She's An Untitled StoryShe has scars on her hipsLies laced on her lipsBroken stars in her grey eyesQuiet goodbyes in her sighsYet she'll smile and say "I'm fine"And I want to tell her not to lieBut there's something in that bright smileThat hints at a multitude of despairing trialsThat she'll never be ready to talk aboutAnd her quiet voice seems to shoutTo the heavens above, calling for someone to save herBut she swears she doesn't believe in God. UnderThose clothes I've seen them, the scarsYet she compares them to fallen starsOnce bright and sharp like the blades that she usesBut becoming stains of red and blue, she abusesThe trust that her loved ones have givenWe forgive her, she just won't let herself be forgivenShe has become a quiet ice that holds a burning fireThriving on broken desiresAnd it seems that she's a girl of many.When asked about hope, her eyes say there isn't anyBut her words form rehearsed lines that defy herAnd she attempts to hide herself and blurBack into the gre
The mirror of the soulStep closer and lookLook into my eyesCan you see it?Can you see the shadowsThe pain and the sorrowWithin me?Can you seeThe hopes I've lostThe dreams I gave up?Can you seeThe fierce battleTaking placeIn my mind?Can you seeWhat's leftOf my broken heart?Of my tortured soul?Come closer and take a lookIf you dare...(And I'll look into your eyes as well)
.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
wrists that roarmama sayspull down your sleevesthey'll see, they'll seebut no-one's even lookingi say mamatigers are proud and strongand tigers show their stripesso today i'm a tigerand who saysi can't be a tigerwhen razors made me fierceand secrets kept me lonelywho saysi can't tiger-roarwhen everything unsaidripped my throat rawi made my stripeswith tiger-claws and tiger-teethso damned if i'm not a tigerand damned if i won't roarmama, i'm a tigermama, hear me roar
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasuresfaded verses from his wife the way connoisseurssavor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.The record needle hits the groove wrong;he stumbles over words that aren’t there,rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.He doesn’t write poetry anymoreand his confusion is strangely endearing.But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,poetic lines inserted between the daily grindof character names and who said what;voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.He doesn’t write poetry anymore –except when he does.
Broken and despisedLittle girlOnce so inocentNow broken to the coreOf her very beingHer once free mindNow trapped in a nightmareHer once pure heartShattered into tiny piecesHer once hopeful soulOverwhelmed by darkness and despairAnd no one noticesBecause she hides her scarsUnder long sleevesBecause she hides her painBehind a fake smile...
Hanging SkeletonsDo not talk aboutthe skeletonshanging in your closet--bones bleachedwith wishesand mistakesare nothing to be afraid of.Prop open the doorand talk to them--you'll findthe answers you seekin their silence.