April, 2004I was fifteen. eight hoursMore Like This
in the waiting room remembering
the ride, lights flashing, you
crying through your oxygen
mask, saying I'm okay,
I'm okay. I still hear you
when I close my eyes,
see the man across the room,
folding paper cranes out of
magazine pages &
pamphlets about every
kind of pain. after six hours
he taught me the right way
to fold a wing
& it was, I think, the one thing
that saved me: each
smooth and steady crease
we're all made of stories.We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this all these words and breaths and spaces aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be.More Like This
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let their contents spill. You wouldn't look at me, but you kept talking. For the first time ever, I wished you would stop. You were telling me that you could never love me and I was completely aware that I had already foolishly followed you in too deep and now you were letting me know that you had been drowning for years. You were promising to take me und
love, in shortit's somethingMore Like This
like an electrical fire
and my god,
it will hurt
and you will smile
because it hurt
and that means
it wasn't all a dream.
graves.we have become as brittle as elder bone.More Like This
i am bent to a crossbleeding in the garden
watching white lilies creep up.
their feet curled around calcium graves.
i am built from carcasses.
a collection of ghosts. beetles mull in the
pits of my hands and ask me to forget
for my fingers crush them so.
like a leopard skinned i
am just a mound.
all glamour lost to the knife.
if you're an ocean, then i'm drowning.You are a calculated mistake More Like This
something that I've known is wrong from the very start. And I wake up next to you every morning lately, praying that your split lips don't sink me even though I know it's too late.
You're already taking me under, because, baby
you're heavy like hurricane. Like a thousand drops of rain pounding down on my shoulder blades. You're seeping into my skin and into my bloodstream. It's only a matter of time until you spread to my heart.
It's too late. I'm already drowning in you.
It's too late, but god, I cannot love you.
You're like the last boy I kissed
which means I should already be working on forgetting the exact way your fingertips press into my hipbones or how my name sounds curled up in your mouth and the way you like to speak it so careful like a secret like if you said it too loud, I could get away from you. Like you want to keep me. But mostly I should forget you.
And sometimes, I try, but right now, I'm calculating the
one of those nightsIt's one of thoseMore Like This
one of those nights
you pool in the dark
letting the light through
window slats shackle
your granite wrists.
You let this
city tiger-stripe you
with its restless
It's one of those
silent nights, not
holy just stretched
out in front of you
avoiding your eyes
as you stare.