Sunday, September 27, 2015

excerpt from "iphone notes 2014" [unpublished]

throwing a stress ball into a ceiling fan, let's pretend 

that shredded research papers are 
christmas eve snow, i still
don't sleep very well
in this graveyard bed.

when the sky crumbles away and we see
through this pin-pricked dome,
i hope they check
my GPA.

like disconnected cable cords, running your hands
over a light switch in the night and half praying that
you don't feel some other creature's fingers
already there.

missing, however, makes you wish for those fingers
in the faint hope
they might belong to a creature
you know.

Monday, September 21, 2015

i shut the door on a
friend and girlfriend of a friend.
there is a woman who still haunts my lips and she makes the shutters shake 
and house groan too loud 
to hear any other voices. 
i have had blood on my hands, 
but it is not inside of my mouth anymore.
the words do not stain the table but rather
chapped lips like desert floors, trying
to find water,
trying to find the Northern Star,
trying to find water, a place that feels
like home, i am utterly and completely 
lost, still, turning sentences into mile markers, trying to find
water, i don't remember what my legs look like without bruises,
wandering towards the shadow of the Northern Star, hoping
it leads to the ocean. 

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

to the life growing inside of my sister

little one,

i have often wished you into existence. dreamt of your sad blue eyes; i have known for a very long time that i will never have a you. the risk too great, it's like playing back alley dice with bipolar disorder. unfortunately, this time, they've got two aces up their sleeves and the odds are never in our favor.

i know that you are not a you, yet. a bundle of tissue paper, a bubbling break in the lava. growing, you are a seed. he is an egg, still covered in feather shoots but they're starting to come in a little darker. we call him "chirp" for his laugh but i think he will be a blackbird one day, you will be a blackbird. i've seen your nest, i don't think you'll be disappointed.

i am afraid that i could never save you in any of my dreams, i could never keep you. you were always a curling leaf or a spotted acorn (jake says thats how you know they've gone bad). you were always 13 and hurting, hiding, you were always too me and not enough her. the chance of the sickness, the idea of seeing you in pain was always too much to bear.

i am pretty sure that you are a girl but i do not know why, growing up is learning that things can true even if you can't explain them. that is one lesson i've learned, don't worry, you'll get them all.
little one, you will never be a spotted acorn, you will never be 13 and hiding. when you are old enough to understand, if your eyes are my deep blue, i will show you this. i will make you know how loved you are before and after. you will never face this alone. i've been crafting my deck of cards and now i know why, it's for you. i've been practicing all these years so that, when the time comes, i can teach you. 

i will never have a you but i will have a you, that is more than enough.

i am so glad you're here,
see you soon.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

the story

this is how the story goes, 
i see three lines from a poem spray-painted on the street, 
go home and realize that you had bought me the book
two years before. 
there is an inscription, it is more relevant now. 

this is how the story goes, 

two people enter a city but never 
exit, they twist together like wet sweaters in the wash, 
they become two different pieces of one thing and you
stop wearing one without the other.

this is how the story goes, 

i cut snowflakes into the ship's sail, i make paper dolls out of the only map. 
we get lost, i don't put any of my messages into a bottle this time,
i don't know if i should be found.

this is how the story goes, 

lowered myself into a well because the darkness
felt familiar, had to crawl back out. 
there is so much dirt under my fingernails, 
i am not sure that you would recognize my hands anymore. 
i learn to fear love like snapping jaws, this wasn't supposed to bleed so much,
i develop neuroses over your absence like keloid scars.

this is how the story goes, 

i can't stop putting my ear to your front door, hoping for 
the silence.

this is how the story goes,

i don't know how to catch up, i am scared to read the books 
on my shelf, the inscriptions you left are land mines, 
scared they won't come true,
scared they will.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

my body is too acidic.
it seems to be a pattern;
i fill myself with things that burn,
coffee, carbonation, vinegar.

type out each message, let it sting.
wait for midnight, hope they turn into pumpkins or wooden limbs,
things too heavy for me to lift.