Wednesday, December 3, 2014

swallowing fire
to keep your coals warm

Sunday, November 16, 2014

i got lost in brooklyn a few months ago, wandered
no-number streets and warehouses that all looked
nothing like home, home is a door frame painted over so many times 
you'd have to gouge 
your way to it's original shade, home is a slightly sloped room, home is a feeling of uncomfortable
comfort, home is the exact buzzing of the exact weight in and on and all over-
home is not drunk in brooklyn.
i realize that every time i have taken the L train 
i have been with her 
or without her.

staring at my iphone screen, scanning for any 
landmark or building or ethereal sign, my little glowing "here" dot
jumping from street corner to street corner, leg burn from whiskey and unfair inaccuracy, screaming up to some GPS satellite-god that
"tell heaven that i might be late, i am lost and waiting to be found, i cannot tell you where i am, just that it is 
here 
and i really need you to come pick me up, okay?
i am stumbling through your alleyways like a desert exodus interspersed with intimate warm water oases of touching her face before finding myself alone, thirsty, again.
heaven, forgive me for craving, it's just that
i do not know how else 
to get this need
outside of my body."
brooklyn, 1 AM, still displaced.
i wish it was 8PM and raining, i wish my dot would calibrate


google maps, as hard as it tried, couldn't tell me
the wrong turn i had made
from the L train

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

mania

i think i am changing into something electric, something humming and
volatile- the first atoms smashing into each other like angry
bees or trapped flies against the window pane, my insides
have returned to primordial radio frequency, static noise
and magnetic. my heart has been racing for
a very long time and i worry that it might
just stop and
i worry that it might
not

i want you to hit me as hard as you can,
i want to taste the blood
of your knuckles and the throb of my jaw like the throb
between your legs, a fluttering moth against
the burning wet sun.
there is an altar inside of you and i whimper my penance for all the
horrible things i have done to myself
occasionally you find yourself fighting the urge to
ruin everything good in your life. 
you plot it out, what bank accounts would be
closed, the fastest way to deconstruction, leap from cathedral windows and
spread shadow out like a cross, emerge through 
a stained-glass curtain and black out the sun with the crow
of your falling body, sprinkle back down like some sort of fucking 
confetti. 

occasionally i imagine 
everyone naked, everyone as a dog, everyone as a child

my pulse hurts, 
the pounding of it 
as an alarm clock or a 
time bomb.
you are hungry, ravenous, a machine built for
devouring, absorbing. you are made of conveyor belts, 
keyboards, quicksand, black holes
and the exhaustion of constant involuntary motion

mania comes stomping through my front door and doesn't remove
her boots, she has viper teeth and crawls on my lap.
i bury myself in her neck like a bone in the yard, whisper
"darling, I've missed you so much"
and she bites.

Monday, October 20, 2014

quick note

NYC followers,

if you would be interested in seeing an awesome spoken word poetry show and open mic (i may or may not be performing...and so could you!), email me at blets5013@gmail.com for details. hope that some of you can make it!

xx
b

Friday, October 17, 2014

i am so in love
with the world, she cradles me to sleep and i kiss the top of her
continents, run my fingers through her deltas until her spinning
turns rhythmic
like the up and down of a thermometer or a rising chest-
i am so in love
that i find it hard to grieve, i am picking it from my clothes like
pieces of dust, i am nudging it away from my door like an unruly cat- i am not ready for the
gravity of this but am drawn to it like
a moth to the porch light my mother always left on-
"in case someone is ever lost"
oh darling, i think i am lost

hope can be a poison, i think about you nearly all of the time.
i am pushing it into the bottom of the garbage can, i am stubbing it out on my windowsill and
frantically holding it to my lips six hours later
i am pulling it over me like
six comforters and waking, sweat-covered, shaking, and hot in the night
but don't dare kick the covers off
in fear of waking her up.

i am sitting under the porch light, mostly
muscle and strong now, my hip bones are sharp, my eyebrows are sharp-
i need something drastic and boiling and big, soon because
i am so in love and trying to convince myself,
sitting under the porch light,
that it's not a miracle.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

today a professor stood in front of me, pursed his lips and told my class that 
self injury is attention seeking behavior
he says this without malice, without judgement
with certainty-
"immediately report to your supervisor"
he is calm, he is explaining, they are rapt with attention and it is unearthly to me, 
it is terrifying to see someone you respect 
speak 
about you in clinical terms as if you are an unfortunate by-product of hyperbolic human desperation, 
"suicidal inclinations"
i stare at him, mouth open, try with every ounce of myself to 
transmit the pain, to force my experiences inside of his chest until they
bruise and bleed and stop his fucking
voice. 
i want to stand up;

"Sir, i once had an alter made of dried towels and flimsy razors that i 
slid under my bed in a cardboard box, Sir, i am covered 
in old scriptures that you couldn't begin to read
in our tongue, you should not speak 
of languages you will never learn. Sir, 
i worshipped on myself, 
i sacrificed skin to those same Gods of Overreaction with one prayer on my lips- 
to never be found-
i hid in the temples so they could not stop my prayers, Sir
i stood naked while they strip searched me for religion.
so please,
do not tell me that i meant to do anything other than hurt myself
when i hurt myself."

but i 
say nothing
after all,
i don't want to draw 
too much attention.

Monday, September 29, 2014

i feel an ocean lull, i feel a sense of calm that has no connection to
storms
coming or passed- my mind is at
rest, a tired dog full of nothing but authentic adoration,
last night i had a dream that my mother was cooking
vegetable lasagna and i was nine years old,
i woke up hungry and
called her, she was full of authentic
adoration.
 
i feel calm because
i am her favorite creation.
 
things have been very, very, very hard but
even alone, i feel the parts you left with me- i look forward to the day that
i see you smile
again.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

i grew soft in warm hands, enough tugging and i 
unraveled like a string on
a sweater, i was a dog-
let up on the bed, begging and
round from years of
sitting at the table.
i think that
somewhere along the way, i lost my teeth-
my growling bark, my jaw snap- (do not pet, i am
rabid)

now i am
unmuzzled, i am a wolf,
full of urge and instinct and winter, i am starving
for (flesh and panting),
wild.
i feel you pulse from 
a mile away and twitch
with the knowing

you know
what they say 
about a hungry dog, right?
it'll tear you apart
the second 
it can. 

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

healing 
itches,
oh sure, it aches too... like a bruise 
continually poked
until it starts
feeling good. my arm 
itched for two years 
from the inside out- scar tissue 
woven and stiff like 
berber carpet somehow relaxing, like worn towels
or loosening  
guitar strings.

healing itches
and aches-
and you're never quite certain
if that carpet,
though softer now,
is really unwinding
or if you could 
stop it
at all.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

i wonder if my computer charger can reach
the far couch, in the corner
dust
covered, as i am
no longer.

the energy of heart beats, you burn
2000 calories everyday by just
existing. 
oh, how the passing of time
ravages our frail bodies. 

nothing i write makes sense
i shouldn't edit this
i wonder if my computer charger can reach
around the world and loop back
to the far couch, in the corner
i wonder if i can survive on 2000
volts,
empty lightbulbs
dust covered, as i am
no longer.


Monday, September 1, 2014


I am impossibly impatient each time I return to New York City. The last ten miles are hot coals, I am shifting uncomfortable in my seat. I am shaking, I am bursting out of the car. I offer to walk, my father says
"No" and I say,
"you can avoid the congealed afternoon traffic", my father says,
"I don't mind the traffic",
swears the entire length of it. A city is dried without it's blood supply and we are porcelain white cells. We are the immunities, the transplants, the city attacks us and we ride the waves of pain. My little brother breaks his leg and I say,
"ride the waves, bite into them" and he says,
"I don't mind the hurt",
winces for the next five months.

I had a pair of shoes that my mother threw out because they were "ratty". Rats are very clean animals. I am a rat. I am meticulous, I am violent, I am scabbed and barren for the length of my tail. I do not have a cool haircut. I do not have nails long enough to drag you down to keep you closer than a
sweater that you knitted for someone you do not remember the name of, looks an awful lot like
something astounding
that you do not remember the name of but reminds you of my mother's china cabinet
and how the most precious things
are delicate-

it is okay to be breakable 






Sunday, August 31, 2014

the night i was born

an old farmhouse in
middle america
burned to the ground
and i think i've been carrying around those ashes
a long time
i have glass wrists and you have see-through 
slivers from the shattering
of our resolve. 
we held hands with our fingers on the door and
my mother never told me that it was okay to be scared but 
Darling,
i need you and it is not a chain.

so we let spiderwebs 
form on the doorknob
again. 

Friday, August 29, 2014

i feel like a calendar flip, like the
fast forward button.
those hour talks turn to 
only flashes of sentences 
or her face
when she's not looking at anything
at all
"we've been having a conversation for 
nearly two years
and wouldn't you know,
i've still got things to say"

i am nervous in this storm,
my sickness dies only with my body so i guess
we're stuck this way 
for awhile. 
fighting the good fight-
the booming of canons never quite
leaving the sky
all the way, a ringing echo 
like the sound of throbbing
or
a sleeping computer hum, the shaking grind of cogs,
you put your head to my chest
and listen for the ocean
like empty seashells-
the ringing never quite
leaving your ears
all the way

Thursday, August 14, 2014

levels


it's the levels 
as if someone
tipped the plate too far, bumbling and
curious fingers 
in a museum, 

do not touch

lips on your neck like a 
wobbling ellipse,  magician's plate 
dipping [just a bit] too low

the crowd gasps

there are policemen firing bullets
into the cheeks of citizens.
an endless cycle of white men 
killing black men.
the levels, the tipping points-
the streets have cracked,
and there is no going back

shattered

thrown out of orbit and hurling towards 
a friendly star with heat rays and 
sunglasses
drawn on by tiny fingers that still believe 
that a sun
can smile.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

remembering New York, part I

the green lights
down York, perfect lined and crouching like giant
spiders or something kinder like
hens wings descending from above you, like an
awkward hug, you never felt
real
standing in the middle of the street, as if someone
sketched the City and you were living in the
quick black chalk marks, everyone else is
asleep. the green lights down
York-

birthday candles, an airport runway.

Monday, July 28, 2014

pillows

i'd collect all your old pillow cases- the
wrinkled balls shoved in the corners of your closet that
smelled too much like her neck to keep or to 
throw away
[so they sit in romantic purgatory, a Guantanamo of young heartbreak that
makes you so uncomfortable to remember
that you downright 
refuse to
and imprison your 15 year old heart in the house you
grew up in but no longer feel 
any connection to]; 

i'd collect the starched square 
folded ones, clean and cold and noble
in their precise emptiness- like unused napkins or
retired flags.
i'd collect the used ones,
warm with breath and worn 
nearly to the strings from head tossing and nightmare clenching,
the gentle smell of sweet sweat in the morning after hours of 
love.

the pillow cases that speak; "i was there when she
got her wisdom teeth out" 
"i braved the winter of 2003", 
the pillow cases that once held 
Halloween candy for your tiny hands or hid
a bottle of Smirnoff Ice from your parents or 
lasted through 3 apartments before catching bleach spots
and being thrown out somewhere in Brooklyn.

the pillow cases that are completely 
silent

i am a tornado, i am the flu, i am the picnic table that gouged a scar above
your right eyebrow, 
this is your warning,
you will never be the same in the places i have touched.




Sunday, July 20, 2014

the lifeline (sons and daughters)

our organization was founded when the CEO had her 
mother arrested for claiming to be the queen of Australia, 
for crying and kicking like an infant, for turning the gas on 
and her mind off-
violently catatonic.
the Lifeline's success rate is estimated at 85%, meaning 15% 
disappear 
after 8-12 minutes
into a place that we all know but don't dare say.

we see parents more helpless than their children, we see children who
are too old for this world, check themselves out like library books
in waiting rooms, full of too many long words that were not formed with the intention
of ever being spoken by gapped-teeth.

a man named "Richard" donates 38 dollars every month and I have to wonder
if it was his son's allowance money and if he cannot breathe 
with it in his bank account-

she worries that i will burn out, that i will
click silent with every dropped call, that i will speak at the dinner table for 8-12 minutes
and then disappear like the 15% but
i am not the queen of Australia,

our success rate is 85%, 
there is no winning in this field
but we're pretty fucking close-






sext: i'm writing sad things again- are you coming over or not?

sext: i am a blackhole and licking the milky way from your chin.

sext: remember when we lost the key to the handcuffs? i had to hide you under the blankets when your mother came home and you had these horrible bruises after. it seems strange to me that i can no longer recall your face but i can see those bright red scratches as if they were still throbbing your wrists.

sext: i thought your fingers were knives coring me, i have not been the same since.

sext: the expression on your face when you feel her, fingers grazing adjacent peaks, and are met with a flash flood. the fracture in your breathing, the dark overtaking your eyes like bleeding ink from her hips like kindling to yours... send nudes.

sext: i want to lap at your stream even if i die of Typhoid the next day. 

sext: i am Poland and you are Germany and i want you to invade me. take everything, hollow me as if you'd promised not to.

sext: when i lost my virginity, i couldn't stop thinking about whether my Amazon books would have been delivered by the time i got back to my house. i don't think it's supposed to be like that. let's try again. 

sext: my poetry is masturbatory, i'd like to see you read it.

sext: i used to have this nightmare, two girls would throw me in a hole and leave me to starve. i used to wake up writhing, i think you were one of them. 


Monday, July 14, 2014

i should write a web series
i should call my aunt
i should scrub the door frame
i should organize all my clothes
i should run 
and run
and run
there are so many hours in a day when you are not
battling yourself.

my brain is surging against the sandbags, i feel
fractured into the most basic
islands of myself

i am digging into the sand and there is an ocean 
to protect me from all the
dark
now.

the purest self, i am crystalized
and extracted, my heart is 
open and fluttering
i love her a thousand times with the energy
of a thousand suns. 
i love life 
a thousand times with the energy of a thousand 
blue
planets.

i am a better this way and i stumble
across the yard
trying to catch
hypomania
like fireflies. 

and i am happy
i am happy
i am happy