057

I can’t think anymore
you’ve finally taken me down
a cup tipped over,
stalled out on all roads,
full in all this space,
I cant,
there’s no room

I don’t bet on it, but
I bet you know this
I’m embroidered by this scar tissue,
the maps you left on me
leading me to empty streets

I know you left me first
I hear your plans from other people
bury you in my anger
I guess we ruined everything

I had my feet on the ground
so sure, had my arms to the wind
thought I was so free
but running brought no sheath
to the dagger that you leave

you’ve finally found your out
leave me responsible for myself
leave me cluttered and spent

I chase you in my dreams
a fractured sort of sleep
maybe we miss each other
even if we had to go,
maybe it’s never leaving
if I can’t let you go.

056

How do I always know
greed in your powerplay
always have to set it up
a certain way,
be the last one speaking,
have to light things up
in my face

I keep saying, “this is it,”
I keep saying
I can bury love into a rage
swear I’m done, slip away
I mean it this time,
but you’re a fire in my mind

I don’t trust my own eyes
in and out of love, surprise,
you take up space in me
hold your place in me

can’t take love beyond
the vibration of an eardrum,
silencing kindness, I know,
you remind me
I don’t deserve it

I’m still trying to be okay
when it comes to
unlearning what you say
always said you’d try again
force me to stay

Not sure how to be okay
when love feels this way
Not sure how to say
I still love you anyway.

055

I am on many lows
while you’re trying to go slow
now I’m kissed by sand and cold
bare skin flecked silver and gold

I keep my thumb against my throat
a blooming gun for my last note
flay to find the heart, so remote
miss it and I’d never really know

can’t find peace in my own head
tired enough to defer to you in bed
stay put so I’ll never make you cry.

Stories From Growing Up: like me despite your rage

Someone spilled Coke on the couch cushion. The wicker based, floral cushioned couch in the first rental we lived in. We had been left alone for a while.

I meant to be proactive and I was tired of the chaos of no one watching. I knocked on the door and it didn’t open. I mentioned the couch and went back to my things.

What the fuck.

Some for you,

Some for you,

He grabbed more Coke to pour over our heads, over toys on the floor, over everything.

Words, over and over. The way I started to laugh at first, thinking he was being funny. No.

I sat in the puddle, assessing the mess as he called us names. We damaged things, a tiny spill like the ocean I guess.

The puzzle in the floor was soaked, fraying picture from the wood, by the time he was done.

He said, clean it up.

So I tried to hide my shame and fault. I cleaned eagerly, trying for approval, coke still dripping out of my hair.

052

Seconds in time,
take your scornful kiss
with my body
thinking I’d taste your weakness
slowing down into honey
but your lips charr like forest fires
your jaw locked, feeling fuzzy

seamless from eye to eye
paranoia in your panorama
take your lack interest
with a glass of wine

bad taste in my mouth
pennies to the irony
lean in and make you sick
curl you up in my napkin

seconds in time,
take your scornful kiss
home to my intentions.

 

051

There is a break between words
that comes when we fight
a borderland we share alone

quiet wars over who suffers more
who gets the bed, who sleeps on the couch?
how long can we go without looking
to see if someone is letting up?

Is that sound a deliberate slight?
are you telling yourself it’s time to bow out?
I wonder each time, “Is this it?”
ending it all in my head
before he says it

I’m packing boxes in my head
while we’re sitting in bed,

I’m sitting on the curb in my head
even if we’re in bed

I’ll always be inside my head.

 

050

I need a break from all your feeling
don’t fall asleep, just keep breathing
thought if this is death,
I guess I’m grieving
if this is death,
why isn’t it freeing?

hand on the door, heart beating
forward motion from
thinking about leaving
trying to hold myself up
pressed down by the ceiling

listen for the clink in your chest
the currency you have left
your cliff face way of cutting off
always up and getting lost

I spill over a thousand calls
waiting to rest these arms
give them somewhere to fall
if this is death,
is this the last meeting?
if this is death,
will there ever be meaning?

God,
I’m so tired of feeling.

049

you taught me to swim
so I wouldn’t drown
just enough,
enough to keep my head up

I felt your hand on my stomach
holding me up
but you were king of letting go
so I hated you the most

I guess you were trying me out
just seeing if I could ride it out
and I did, but
you said I’d never be enough

I’ll always be skirting the edge
afraid you’ll stay away
afraid you wont come and stay

I’ll always be skirting the edge
just enough to keep my head up
skirting the edge,
trying to give you up.

047

Arms out the window
to feel the rain
salted wounds
I’d cut right through
this memory is all you

Blister in the warm spots
cemented blame
I’d hijack the season
drive you insane

salting your windows
to hold on your focus
if I keep you inside
I guess I’ll stay free

I don’t know what it is
didn’t know until I was gone
I really loved the breeze, but
couldn’t stand what was wrong

I was chasing licks of the sea
when you crashed into me
I was just passing by
when we became the sea.

Stories From Growing Up: Patchy Relationship

When I was young, I would pull my hair out until I had bald spots. It helped me feel in control when I was anxious during the day, but most aggressively it happened when I couldn’t sleep. I knew it wasn’t good, but I couldn’t stop.

She was willing to come with me to see the hairdresser in order to lie about what was going on. Usually, something to do with trying to get sand out of my hair from the beach and pulling too hard.

She spoke to me about it once, to capitalize on my shame and feign ignorance as to why it was happening. The rest of her words were for everyone else, to pacify their concern.

I wasn’t able to stop until I was an adult and moved away.