now i see the stars.there was a time when icouldn't catch my breath whenever ithought about you , (crippled lungs and-boy, you hit me like an asteroid,there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,even withoceans of my tears cried onnights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,andfor a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,weighted to the ground andburied in myself, butwhere there is no light there are no shadows, andsometimes, i wonder if i miss me.yes, yes i do.i may not see the moon, but
she's gone, she's gone.don't tell a broken girl withgrief pouring into the juts of her cheekbones,hunger suffocating into the curves of her ribs,that her eyes are madeof moonlightand her hair was weaved fromsunshine when you arelight years away and millennia too late
things that fall apart2:36, new york city, i canimagine youlooking out your window,watching the cars pass by instead of the waves, andsomething isn't right, because there's ocean in your blood andi anchor you.love,you still believe in the girl i used to be, butshe's been gone longer than this white sky summer.
society.We live in a societywhere obese men can't be beautiful.We live in a societywhere being African American automatically makes us criminals.We live in a societywhere women are looked down upon as whores and sluts.We live in a societywhere having
beauty (lost)and i swear, this is the last time he'llpin me to the wall(he tells me i'm a work of art,but after all this time, i'm still just a girl)too young, too young, the walls whispertoo late, too late, i sobbecause this battered body,this girl with the scarlet tattoos, she is too tired to escapeand her wings won't work in the rain.and as i suck in air, i wonder, how many more will have to endurethe pain of not being their owni have heard too many screams, all at once(God who i stopped believing in,if you can hear me,let this end, so that when i am walking in the streetswith my child, i can swear,that she will neverhave scars on her back,she will neverhave welts on her heart)
they told me no one could love a girl with scars.i told them that i could love myself.
forgive me.forgive me for being pretty,because i'm always going to be a slut.forgive me for being ugly,well, no matter how little i wear,i'll never be beautiful enough.forgive me for being skinny,because i'm fragile and weak.forgive me for being fat,well, no matter what i've been throughi'll never be able to speak.forgive me for being strong,because no one will even let me fight.forgive me for being weak,well, no matter how much you yell at me,i'll never be right.forgive me for loving a man,because i'll never be under attack.forgive me for loving a woman,well, no matter what i love,i'll never be loved back.forgive me for being educated,because i can't have power.forgive me for being ignorant,because i was giving birth during school hours.forgive me for being a feminist,because i have no right to speak.forgive me for fighting for equality,because my voice is dainty and weak.forgive me for being a daughter,because i don't deserve an education.forgive me for being
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
wishesi am not a flower,if youtear outa piece of me,stomp ithalfway between cracks in the sidewalk,it will only die.butour lips fit togetherperfectly, likeall the broken pieces.[maybe it was just a dream.]
.your heart is a houseand i am screaming atthe front door
never become a writeri.never become a writer.you will become a perfectionist,picking life apartwith a magpie's eye,hunting for the beautiful bits until you can make yourselfa sparkling thronein the center of a junkyard.ii.you will write when you're sad.you will write when you're happy.whenever you feel something,you will vomit the emotion outinto some sort of literature.when you're finished,you'll be emptyand surrounded by pages and pages of everything you once were.iii.you will try to make pain sound delicious,painting over the ragged woundswith pink paintand candy-coat lies.you will learnhow to decorate graveyards.everyone will play in them,but you alone will see the headstones.iv.if you fall in love,you will turn your love into a poem,and you will always like your own wordsmore than you like the real person.you'll become so selfishyou'll disgust yourself,but you will not be ab
.sometimes faith slowlyprises open our ribsdecides to slip outquietlyand unseen
asteroidi.she is an asteroid,collisions coilingthrough belted dressesthat skim past stomachand smoothe her flawsand soothe her faults.an axis awakening;bend like this, flex like that,aspiration reminding herwith angry rotationsthat she is still presentin her heavy astrosphere.ii.she is seeking absolution,absolut and freefallenshe flirts with the night-club lights like aurora floatingjust out of reachunder an ashen skyatlas stained with atlantic salt,there is no hall unmarkedand these nights segueinto self-imposedalcho-asthenia.iii.she strips her face acousticno make-up, no need to wake upan hour early for this adagioaddiction to adding,always adding more to her skinto hide the parts thatgasp and poison her visionlike asp assassins.be quick or be dead,she moves so slow.iv.she measures minutesby an aftershock timeline;stunned autumnal by brickscrushed to powder,always underfootshe's stuck between the faultsas they line straight through her world;iv pie
the cultivation of neophiliai.give in to it:the insatiable restlessnessthat haunts, heavyin a familiar cornerof your eyeline.drive toward the night.halt only when youcan no longercontinue.ii.trace paths of neonfrom streetlight to fingertip;never quite reach theconstellations.eventually, stop trying.iii.look over the paper cityresting fragile below;tear it to shredswith vicious intentand forget,forget that you haveloved and hoped andfled.for a moment there is only you,the night, and the needto fly.iv.desire like you'venever wanted anything,search for the novel,for the fantasticaland the faintest hintof something newin the sky-glow.v.stand so high atop towering blank-facedmountain ranges;wonder how they do notbreakunder the weightof all this emptyancientlight.
untitled (broken records don't have names)my fingers flutter sunrise butterflies,floating in the morningas it breaks through the gloomthat came post-gloaming.but i confess,i have no graspon what to do with daylightthese days.you were a drop of sunlightreflected in my cloudy-sky eyeseventually you became toogood for me, and i gave upmy waxed wings are still intact, butmy shoulders are too sore fromcarrying this deadweight with anobnoxious, obstinate heartbeatand how are you faring this golden afternoon?you will never answer and yetmy mind loops broken records,asking as if you could hear.light halos the plain beneath my feetbut i shy away from sunshine,an icarus-inherited fear of fallingor just ofletting go.because we were supposed tobe something beautiful, somethingworth falling for(or you were, at least, and there isno way to ask if you fell hard enough)but shattered cds still lie on the floorcollecting the sunlight that idon't know what to do withbecause i can't spend it on you, anymore.listl
.you break freefrom the grip ofthe oceanjust to die inthe arms of the shorefrom exhaustion
.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.death has a wayof assuring youthat he is youronly friend;he's the onlyone that willstay with youwhenever youreach the end
DifferenceTo be lonely is painful,To be alone is liberating.
treasureI watched beauty die today.She said, "I've lived too longand now nobody knowswhat I really am."
.what doesn't kill youcomes back with something strongerto finish the job
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
Behind the WordsWe spill our pain across the pages.But we must smile when it is read.For we cannot show our true emotions.Not of suffering, anxiety, or dread.For we are the bringers of dreams to the world.Our words are tales of healing light.So hide your tears behind a mask,And save them for a quiet night.
fourdo not wish upona star, the starsare dead; the skyis filled with corpses
.listen to your heart;it is the one that knows bestof the inner dark
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.dig lifejust to get buried
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.