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 
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
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
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
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

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

now i am
unmuzzled, i am a wolf,
full of urge and instinct and winter, i am starving
for (flesh and panting),
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

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
covered, as i am
no longer.

the energy of heart beats, you burn
2000 calories everyday by just
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
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