Another Long-Distance Exorcism

You hid the letter thinking the hardly ripped envelope would off-put wandering eyes. Hoping things would be easier as they settled within your occupied heart.

Little did you know, the battle began when you left the letter opener on the dining room table. Everyone knew something was up when you didn't turn up to announce how things were going.

So you holed up in your room painting by candle light, knowing you'd be better for it in the morning when no one else saw the tear stains dying the light behind your eyes. Don't worry, tomorrow will be better. 

DIzzy Up the Girl

So I have a problem, and I am going to admit it

across these wires and into these pages of pulp

and regret, of memories and dreams, anyway,


I guess it's time for me to quit

dragging these goddamn feet of mine

and just come out with it already.


So here it goes, now that I've got your attention,

both fully and half-heartedly, I have a problem


where if what I am writing cannot

be dedicated to someone or help another

feel better about themselves or a pain

plaguing them as it once plagued me, then


I feel as though I should not write at all.


So when I miss the calming feel of ink

on my skin as it also courses through my veins

and when I miss the cruel yet friendly laughter

of the page I reach out to those I met during

our darkest hours. It is a faulty attempt to

cleanse the ache that one of us is bound to hold

within our soul far too tightly for help to enter.


Which makes it sound as though

I'm using you love, but this is not the case -


you are simply a muse I cannot give up.

You are a strawberry I can neither pick

or dip in chocolate after the bottle of wine

has been totally drained by the both of us.


You are too many untitled pieces and

a drawer full of letters I can't bring

myself to send until after your address

changes for the hundredth time this year.


And now that I've told the whole world

of my problem, my addiction, my shame,


I hope you can forgive me for making it sound

as though I've used you all these years


just to cry enough for my heart

to see clearly again -


just for my blood to return

to these veins of mine

and purge some of this

excess ink building up


til the point of maximum


dizziness.

Visiting the Darkside

I don't want to know anymore angels,

I'm through with writing ballads

about heaven just to be forgotten.

And wishes on stars stopped

coming true way too long ago.


Next time send God himself for a chat.


It'll be one for the history books.


Or you could have me befriend demons

that just can't die instead. The kind that

promise you the world but only manage

to leave you presents of dead things

and wilted flowers by the door.

Whispers and Wind

I would like you to know that you will not be alone in this. Ever again. 

Unmanageable Mana

This madness is malaise malapropism

malfunctioning non-malevolently

and my malignant mind just can't

manage a malnutritioned soul


as well as a homeless poet

trapped within the helpless confines

of her own thoughts. Indeed -

it's a tragedy the likes of Shakespeare

wouldn't even dare to touch because

the melodrama of my "mal"crazed mind

as I fall even more deeply in love

with a mere dictionary


is far too much for anyone

to understand sanely.

Homework assignment for my English class. He took an outdated dictionary and tore a page out for each of us and said our homework assignment was to make something out of the page or be inspired by the page. Mine was obviously a page of M words.


Some kids drew definitions of words on the page, others wrote black out poetry, one even made origami out of his page. It was an awesome assignment.

Witnessed and Remembered

Beaten by the toaster for a failed test wasn't a joke and the warmth of your heart was really someone burning your soul alive at the stake. Sorry doesn't mean shit, but I'm so sorry I couldn't see what was really going on when I had the chance. 

Circles not Bee Lines Away

If this one is dedicated to you as well, then so be it. 

Still Up to Interpretation

Starling songs cradle unborn stars

the way your gypsy mother did for you -

I hope she kept you as warm

as you deserve. Cool milk and fresh cookies


promise comfort as we stand in

the doorway much like angels resting

in the pews of a service-less stained glass

church in someone's greatest time of need.


Roses unfurl as daisies bloom,

you're never going to see anything so beautiful

until you find your way back here to me -

I planted seeds of hope in my heart


as a present intended


for you. . .

Unneeded Necessities

I don't need your words

Your battles or sticks and stones

I am better than that

and stronger than you will ever know.


Nothing you can do will break me

I beat you to that

Once upon a time i could stand

i can't anymore though


i was beautiful once before

then i grew up- everything changed.

I was able to fly

Someone clipped my wings...


Because i was not good enough

I was weak.

Nobody ever seemed to love me

I just wasn't sweet.


I grew up though

now you can't hold me down.

I wish you luck

finding yourself like i did.

When I lie to You

I am a compulsive liar.


Not because I want to hurt people

or for the glory of bloody hands,

but because I am an artist and

I have witnessed far too many things

to remember which were done to me


and which were to others.


I am a compulsive liar.


Don't trust a word I say because

sometimes I go into coffee shops

and use names I've never owned

or pretend I'm from places I've never been


because there are days when

I can't remember who I am

or which cities I've lived in.


All I can say for sure is that I have

called nearly 50 different things home

including a car, a friend's backyard,

and even a school; I am a compulsive liar


but I know I'm a female poet


with far too many stories and voices

floating around inside my veins.

So please don't be upset with me

when you ask me how I am and

it takes me longer than a minute to respond -


I am a compulsive liar


and I hate the way I feel when

I lie to you.

Visiting Home

There's a payphone ten feet away

I pat my pockets - no change,

twisting and turning my palm

beneath these florescent lights

it's been years since I've had

your number in cobalt Sharpie -


I've had it memorized for a while now.

Even when you left the digits burned

like as long as I knew your name

your ghost would be a permanent

resident within my broken heart.


So much of my strength is going to

fighting myself - doing everything

I can not to call you and tell you

I'm coming back for a few days.

Even if you wouldn't give a damn


I'd sure like for you to know

just how close I'll be and

just how pathetic I feel for

waging war against a payphone.


A god damned payphone and nothing more. . .
    

When it Rains...

When it rains the Earth is throwing a tantrum.

When she fights, kicks and screams, her tears

become our rain.

When she stomps her feet make the ground tremble

becoming our thunder.

When she gets brilliant ideas her face lights up

becoming our lightning.

When she does get mad though,

the plants are dancing,

grass is shimmering,

trees are playing,

flashlights are flickering,

and friends are laughing.


Then if you are real still, you can hear

the flowers singing,

the drums beating,

the wind whispering,

and little babies crying

to their mothers for comfort.


So next time it begins to rain

just know that the Earth is throwing a tantrum,

know it will be over soon,

know all is fine,

and know that you will be safe forever under her protection.
    ehr

Virtual Reality Confession Sessions

Whenever people ask me about high school

I refer to you as my therapist

because together we talked poetically

and endlessly for two full years.


Neither of us held back our secrets,

but we refused to let the world

listen in on our conversations -


(even the walls were enemies)


afraid they'd call our bluff

or poison our names as the waltzed

across the tongues we'd never actually taste


because dreams of a future together

were sweeter than any moment side by side

could ever possibly be and we knew it;

so we shared life and love, but never


reality.


When people ask how therapy went

I tell them you saved my life

and killed me all in one swift motion.

But I am better off because of you.


Truly.
    

Weaker Links

Love, as beautiful as you are

ensconced in countless layers

of Salvation Army clothes

against this cold, unforgiving dump

of grey sky tears, you've

become the most


vulnerable.

Where's the Hangover?

Find your own slaughtered love.


Your own strawberry-dipped stains

in someone else's cup. Swear on

the scars you left and the muddy

footprints in another's heart -


gaze fondly across my lips

and know we've shared our

final imaginary kiss. Find your own

slaughtered love, just know -


it isn't like wine that

gets better with time,

like you once told me.

Where the Moon Nests it Serenades

I don't know why I am here,

I don't see how I got to this place.

I am confused because now,

I don't see anyone crying just a happy face.


They welcomed me with open arms,

Treated me as though I too was one.

They look out for me and make me feel I belong,

There is one who smiles down upon me like the fabulous sun.


All they have done is show me who it is I am,

And what it is I can become.

Abandoning me is something then never would do,

All are kind and smart to name some.


Where did I go right?

When did my blacks run away to return again never?

Why did they accept me even though I was different?

Will I get to stay this way forever?


I can be happy now,

I can smile and laugh without care.

I will not return to the shadows of anything,

I have no more worries cause they are so fair.


So thank you for being my friends,

Thank you for fitting me in.

Thanks for opening my eyes to this world,

Thanks for everything, once again.
    

Away with the Mist

When you were once somebody's everything

and then you become a ghost

lingering, haunting their every move

then you make the space between their heart

and their mind even greater than it already was.


But of course this is just another rant

with all the things I will never say

to your face the way I always wanted to,

so this is my declaration of moving on:


As much as I love you, I do not miss you at all;

our dreams have become water from the moon,

and from this moment on my every thought

of you shall turn to smoke and mist

only to later d .r .i .f .t away


almost


completely.

You Died Saving Me

Your ink was every shade

of blue the mind can taste,

just like my eyes. My mind


was a glass rainbow shattered

across the floor. Your's a

never-ending galaxy of inspiration -

ebony like my favorite pen.


The more we tried to capture

each other  our failed attempts

and gorgeous scribbles only

brought us closer to being able

to truly define ourselves.I know you're not around

I hope you found yourself,

and just so you knowI still love you.

I've only ever loved you.And I like to think

you just died saving me.

While it Lasts

Every time I record a new poem,

I play it back to make sure

that you can't hear


my neighbor's baby crying

in the background or the

police sirens filling

this side of town.


And when I do this,

I imagine what it's like

for you to listen to the

recordings I send you.


I wonder if my face

replaces the text

on the screen

or if you hear

my voice


only to be flooded

by some emotion


that's been missing

in your own poetry.


Darling, I record my poems

in hopes they'll give us

one more thing to have

in common until the day

these wires between us

dissolve so much that we

are merely separated by

the goosebumps

crawling across our skin.
    

Wrong Type of Adventure - a prompt piece

Doodling hearts on my patella,

   coasting along Barksdale Boulevard,

        believing in miracles and unicorns,

              after a runaway rainbow -


I am a dreamer

    true to my nickname.


He was supposed to bring chocolate

but settled on coffee, instead.

While I was impersonating the equator

instead of remaining purely polar.


By now he's alone in bed

     feeling like a run-over possum

          too shattered for band-aids

               or Snuffleupagus hugs.


You're just a pixel

... right now...


Can you really forgive me so easily

      with your heart on MY sleeve

            and my name tattooed

                    across your fragile wrist?


Is this really so insignificant

      or are you trying to pass dinosaur

           fossils off as gigantic, ancient

                 puppy dog paws?

Writing challenge using the words:

rainbow

chocolate

possum

boulevard

patella

dinosaur

equator

wrist

snuffleupagus

pixelBut also, completely true.

You Didn't Realize

Today someone asked me to

pour my heart out to a piece of paper.


They told me to treat ink like blood

and emotions like fuel to the

burning beauty within me (my soul).


They said to pen exactly how I felt,

but how does a poet dry of ideas,

experienced by years, write


about numbness without giving you

a piece from another lifetime?
    

You Keep Coming Back

All I'll ever ask of you is to feel my love

oozing from every heart in the room

when I say those words, those

unnecessary things that are said

too much but mean nothing now anyway.


Don't look at me with those eyes,

or come 'round here wearing that cheap

cupcake perfume. One day the world's gonna

end and everyone's mind will be thinking of us

laughing on park benches and singing in allies

for dancing shadows as everything envied us

so very much.


You keep leaving without a second thought,

you keep coming back to lay the world at my feet.

And when you're here you're not. When you're

gone you're here.


Baby, don't look at me with those eyes,

you know I'd do anything for you,

but Baby, this time it's over,

we're through.


That's what you said, so if that's what you want

okay. Just know the world's gonna end

tonight

Your Tiny, Charring Heart

I know you remember the way my smile warmed you

from the inside out just by the way it spread

so effortlessly across countless wires from my screen

to yours. I know you can still read the story written in

my eyes any time you close your own. I know you've got

someone new and you are trying to love them with

as much of your heart as possible hopping they can make you

forget about me. But you know as well as I do that love

does not work that way Hun. 

Honey and Flax

Maybe the angels just got lonely without you and maybe the Beekeeper ran out of people to talk to. But either way - I hope you're happy where you are now.

You Still Need Help, Love

You always needed more help


than any single one of us could offer.

And I feel as though this is why

you were so addicted to sorrow filled

needles and alcohol running down

alongside the over used ink in your veins.


You always needed more help


than emergency rooms and knowledge

had to give anyone out there. But

goddamn it, Hun, I tried like hell

to give you everything I could.


You always needed more help


than doctors could prescribe,

more than scientists could even name.

And I tell myself day after day

that's the real reason you ran away.


You still need help, Love.
    

Your Brain is Lost

Sometimes, Love, I still


feel the scars that tremble

deep within my want,


like sticky caramel

sweet just for you.


Every time, they are still


there connecting this layer

to the previous, reminding me


that you are still


a part of my story, even if

you won't be on the next page.
    

Walking While Broken

Understand me when I say this,

because there's only so much

energy I have with which to explain

so much. I don't know what I'm doing

here or how the hell I'm going to


survive this.


I don't think I know where I am

or how to find my way back home

again. More than likely you are

going to see me wandering the

streets of this too big, wannabe city;


just ignore the tears rattling and

the blood dripping down my face

and body. And please listen with

every ounce of focus you have

because I've finally cracked and


I


need


help.

Widening the Roses

Do the dead love?


Is the last kiss

of delight really so

cold to blind,

leave, then save

us all over again.


Do the dead love?


Writing all their secrets down

as tombstones crumble

on top of them yet again.


Darling, do tell me,


do the dead love?