[& but now]

those soft tones used to evoke you

i see only her
she stands over the whispered words
a memory no amount of blocking
could undo
i cannot escape her
i attempted to resuscitate my life,
free of her omnipresence

but i can't bleed this away
no, i cannot bury my insecurities
into my flesh, and dredge up
the old show of mask
and stone

i don't expect anything

dig in with your razor teeth
take the flesh a piece at a time
tear into the core
and keep going
until you have a perfect piece of artwork
hollowed from the inside out
a porcelain heart
empty
but beautiful.

daughters of Jupiter

such is my divinity
but having him as father
has not saved my heart
from a slow death

i can control the world
and create joy in lives
for short intervals
i can caress a cheek
and contain love
in my hands

but it is a useless talent.

no person may be satisfied
with mere moments
a glimpse of the love they long for

i cannot bend or force free will
to sculpt a situation, i cannot
work the wiles of cupid
to stay so permanently

the dawn brings emotions
i cannot change

disbelief has killed my power with cruel hands.

pathetic

you're like a bad drug
you promise paradise
leave me lying in hell.
and i can't drive away
and leave you standing there
like i should
you parasite
you've invaded everything
i held dear
and i don't understand
i can't burn
or bleed this away
i can't hold this in my hands,
and let it drop
like a leaf
coming to rest
on water.

irony must be a writer

even when
i could feel myself
start to shatter
i lay staring at the ceiling
composing a poem to tell you how i felt

instead of simply doing something
about the cause.

the classroom of her

fingertips twined in your hair
brushed back from your face
to find the eyelashes that
tremble against my cheek in sleep
the mouth that holds mine in its sway
the kiss i lose my mind in,
every time
we play these games
a fingernail caress
hands that shy and turn, yet
hold yours like a saviour

i have never been here before
no familiar paths guide my steps
i stumble blindly
like living in darkness for centuries,
and walking suddenly
into sunlight.

small roses

i look into the past and it hurts less
the sharp ache is gone, replaced by sadness
that, while pervasive, is not overwhelming
simply there in the back of my mind
when i choose to acknowledge its presence.

i have become far more than i ever dreamed.
and i did it
while walking on shards of glass
holding my broken heart
bleeding in my hands, and for this
i have a sense of pride in every small scar.

the housing of blackmail and love

you can travel time in photographs
(they are an unwilling machine, but no matter)
you can stare at yourself
and imagine
back into the world of the snapshot
and close your eyes (there you are).

desire

i wanted to know her
like nothing i could have ever imagined.
i prayed to a god i didn't believe in,
as our knees touched under the covers,
please let her feel the same
as i do.
her lithe body curled against mine
in sleep - i could hardly breathe.
i became even more of an insomniac,
just to watch her dream.
there is nothing else that compared
to the feeling of her small self
pressed against me, in a self-
conscious way,
our hands clasped secretly
in the darkness.

swept back into the familiar ways

slicked back
my hair's long enough again
bend the strands into the same old knots
to see my former self in the mirror
missing, albeit, the grace
charm
proper attire
and stance
of a dancer

i have changed, but it is transparent
and when you lie me over who i used to be
the patterns still fit
(they just need some adjusting)
i have become everything i wanted
desperately, and at the same time
was afraid to be.

four am

set spinning
by the way
you waken me to say goodbye
like a dismissed child
set spinning
by the drugs i've consumed
to try & get rid
of the memory of you
(& your hands on my body & face)
set spinning
by straining to stay away from you
straining
against the power of the pills i swallowed
to paint a better picture
stretched on a gravestone laughing at the sky
bleeding onto the stone
set spinning
by the lack of clouds
& goddamned beautiful music
& the touch of cold metal on my skin
the warmth of blood
& shitty alcohol
set spinning
by the lack of you
in my days & my nights
like a blanket removed
so i shiver all night long.

they say leave you

behind
like a bad dream
but oh
& it's so hard to let go
of dreams, once they have
taken root & festered
& tangled into my heart
like to still its beating.

i didn't want you to be like the others

your fucking face won't
get out of my head

nine times this morning
i thought of you and
turned that pain loose
on myself like a spear,
squeezed it tightly like
a knot,
where no
amount of untying
will ever loosen
my clenched teeth
the fake smile i give
to strangers when i pass

i make fun of people as stupid as i have been
the kind like dogs, who cringe away at
a blow
and later run back for the attention.

i remember talking, laughing
conversation
the kind about the type of men i like
i said i always ended up liking/loving
the ones who treat me like shit

you said you'd beat me, to keep the spark alive
and i laughed, because it was funny
but i'm not laughing now

masquerade*

welcome to the masochist’s ball
rent your whips and your chains
by the hour –
search down an empty-eyed partner
in a mask, blank –
faceless, smooth
and let her pour her rage into you.

when your stranger makes you scream

your stains will mark the pavement
like a murder scene.

chalk lines
are only found

in fiction.





*in my B.A. senior thesis, also

don't bother

i need stitches.
some things (never) change.

the reasons i couldn't leave you, at the time

kept waiting by the small and silly things -
the way her hair falls
from behind her ears, no
matter how firmly placed -
the way she breathes when she sleeps
curled into my neck
while the world outside
waits for me, i stay here
captivated by her movements
the small rustlings
of the covers as she moves
and yes, i have made a study
of this,
i have noticed
each thing
the motions even she
does not know intimately.

like (almost) a prayer

your voice like a hand over the phone line
to caress my cheek (like an unseen breeze)
love you, love you [not] - oh,
like it's ever a conscious decision - like
i could ever pin you down, and classify
this feeling (pit of stomach, a flutter) feeling
like time stands still - like love and hate -
the same intensity of emotion, simply
different ends of the spectrum.
like time stands still like stuck in mud
whenever our lips touch
whenever we mouth away our sorrows
and our yearnings.
let's say it's love - well
maybe but it's
hard to tell
when your hands touch mine, and
i turn away
(wanting oh so badly, but too afraid to try)
but i'm here, hold me -
make me believe.

i see through you

you can tell everything by the
clothing one wears
by the manner in which one
presents his case, his self,
the abrupt manner of his chopped syllables

public speaking

it's not a subject i tread lightly upon
the repercussions are still raised and indented
on my arm, however slight or harmless (looking)
but who am i to insist you not
broach these topics of conversation?
they broach themselves, insistent and loud
they want to be heard, yes
and sometimes i am helpless
to stop the tears, or streams of words

how to die (when already dead)

take a razorblade
attempt to carve your life story
into your arms
drink too much, and smoke
like a chimney

let your body think
you've given up on narcissism,
then
lash back out
and fail to breathe

turn colors
make the audience
gasp in alarm
wash, rinse repeat - (through the months)
make a habit of sleeping

in the street, praying for trucks



p.s.
this is modeled after a poem by Eibhlin Nic Eochaidh, called "How to kill a living thing"