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
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
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.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org for details. hope that some of you can make it!
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
that you do not remember the name of but reminds you of my mother's china cabinet
and how the most precious things
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.
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.