Sunday, March 31, 2013

dear body (pt.2)

dear toes,
thank you for carrying me all the way home (like the little pigs you are)

dear ankles, 
you are not weak. 
I'm sorry I call you that sometimes. 

dear knees, 
knobby or not, you still let me bend without letting prying eyes see up my skirt. 

dear thighs, 
I think your stretch marks are like road maps. 
it lets me know I've been places. 

dear tummy, 
I'm sorry for the ridiculous diet of whole vegetables and sweets I feed you. 
I promise to try and eat like a normal person in the future. you're a champ. 

dear breasts, 
you're still mine. that is all. 

dear arms, 
still can't lift a car. 
but that's okay, because I can lift a guitar. 

dear fingers, 
I'm sorry I bite you. they are love bites, I swear. 

dear neck, 
the likeness of a swan's, you allow me to crane over crowds in theatres. 

dear lips, 
also, I'm sorry I bite you. you deserve more chapstick. 

dear nose, 
sorry I poked a hole through you. but if it's any consolation, everyone says you look badass. 

dear eyes, 
I'm sorry I don't wear my glasses all the time, but
glasses or no, you let the beautiful in. 

dear ears, 
I'm sorry I listen to music too loudly at times. 

dear hair, 
sometimes I think you're against me. 
but at the end of the day you curl like a cat at my neck,
the ultimate comfort.
you are never talking to me, see your
eyes cast down, looking like you're looking
for something on the ground, but it isn't
a blossom of spring, because it snowed
yesterday, it snowed all over our blooming

you are never talking to me, shifting gaze to the right
because you are sincere about avoiding mine, you
are sincere about letting my eyes slip by yours
without a second

no chance.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

you are not a good girl.
my neck is burning.
the ends of my nerves are frayed and brushing against one another to create
this warmth that creeps along my breastplate, swelling like a marshmallow
in the microwave, I am 
jealous, so so jealous. 

and then I deflate, realizing that I 
am not the only person alive and I 
am not the only person, not
the only one who is made up
of darting feet and frantic

I am not
the only one who wishes to be 
a moment of the bursting 
beautiful in you. 
everything is trashed.

I know I am.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

I will not end for you, no.
I will begin, and I will keep
on beginning.

I will lick peach juices from
my fingertips like mama's milk
dripping from the teat. I will wrap myself in
silk sarongs and stay that way for days,
marveling at the texture of my own skin.
I will run naked through the rain and
liberate myself in knowing that
what will happen will happen and
there is no safe way out. I will sit close
and listen. I will breathe water lying still
in a stream. I will eat poems for
breakfast and I
will slowly learn
how to die.

Monday, March 11, 2013

it would be so 
much easier if 
I could just 
get some 
fucking SLEEP, if I 
could take a hint or
just go get

if I could
if I could
if I c

but that possibility falls away
like everything, like 


Tuesday, March 5, 2013

it is pointless, this mission
so many of us
are on, it seems

trying to turn each other into
mirrors so
we can make love to

when will we be real to each other,
I wonder?

Sunday, March 3, 2013

mostly the

fleeting thoughts, the passing
urges, passing itches of want are fueled
by a more sincere objective than you'd think.

in actuality, I want just
to keep you around.
to be friends for the foreseeable future.
to have you in my life.  

but I am very afraid you'll stop wanting me around if the relationship doesn't advance.

but you mean more
than that.

you mean more
than sex and
labels and
all of the
ever will.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

you are something, not
not every
physically - you remain in one
place at all times, be it here or
be it there

otherwise - you are carried in
the thoughts of those dear
bodies, several fleeting affections
drifting in and out of ears
that is
the difference
between, now
learn it