theres no place like home
“You feel like home” his hands slid to the valley between hips and breasts
we used to hold hands when his grandmother took us
to the mall on Saturdays. So we wouldn’t lose each other
in the crowd. She’d say.
The first time we did it, his fingers slid in and out of here
And there. I took them in my mouth and kissed his palms,
Laid them on my breasts, let them run through the nest
Of my hair and they were careful, not to break the naps or
Pull too hard, careful not to hurt me unless I
Wanted him to and even then. Before I pushed. They’d
So I know his hands well, I’ve hated his hands so I’d
Best know how to love his hands and how his hands
He was crying.
I haven’t cried in months. Maybe a year.
But doubts I didn’t know I had about him filled
In the spaces between my soul and my skin and
All I could think of was how strange. How strange
To love someone who I knew I could break that could
Break me. Im ashamed but I’m already thinking of ways
I could leave.
“There’s no place like home,
especially not me,” I said,
but he was already asleep
listening to my heart,
but I was wondering if he could hear,
in between the beats.
How much I wanted to run.
some people you love;
you give them your bloody entrails, your brain,
heart, pulled out by cracked fingernails,
shit guts and blood, your heat, your fire
your clothes, your money, your time,
and your times new roman:
the words and font you tell
your stories with! and then,
then they tell you they never wanted it
to begin with.
and then there’s the people that didnt ask;
but took it anyway. they brought you coffee,
your favorite book,
and left you the hell alone.
night sky in the city
I spent most of my
last twenty years looking at
burnt out, memories,
stars were dead out there in space
but here their headstones
were lights that wouldnt go out
for another billion or so years.
they were dead out there but here,
we knew their names, wrote songs
of their brightness, had them in our eyes,
in our hair, in our dreams, in our tabloids,
stayed out late, necks craned to
watch them turn with the seasons.
the past staring out at us with dead bright eyes
that didnt see us, didn’t care.
we were all bearing witness to galactic fire,
to whole lives and worlds in the time’s blinking eyes
every night and all we could say was that
they were beautiful?
it took moving somewhere
where stars were a myth,
where midnight was like death to me
that they were inside of me
the whole time
ive outgrown the fields that bore me
the tangled weed,
the budding seed.
the girl now within me.
somewhere beneath her lungs,
smoking out all the things
that probably don’t need to be said
it flickers in her rolling eyes,
sulfur on her flicking tongue,
deft, equipped with language,
and words as precise
and misleading as her talons, bronzed.
Gold flecked and purple eyes
She borrows and mimics the light
trickling from the stars, and watching
the green of the earth
spin, wilt and sway.
then her deep breath of rage
blew black and gray and
this isn’t really a story or poem.
this is me, fifteen, and my beautiful talented amazing best friend of eight years who I accidentally fell in love with, ending our friendship and causing me to spin into a spiral of self hatred, identity issues, substance abuse, lots of smoking, sleeplessness and some decent poetry and the drive to finally start working on my novel.
i’ll always love her and believe in her and be here for her, even if she can’t believe me, even if she has the tendency to say and do the worst thing possible in any situation involving my feelings for her, even if im over emotional and pathetic and dependent sometimes. i can never hate her. I just wish she’d see this because it doesn’t matter how many times i tell her. if she saw it on my blog for too many people to see, she’ll get that i just need a break from us so I can figure out who I am without her.I never meant it to be this way. even if we never speak again. she’ll always be my muse. and that’s probably the best and worst part. she’ll live forever, being everything, everything i always knew she could be.
I remember once our feet touched while sleeping next to each. You woke up, jerked away. I stared into the velvet darkness of my eyelids, and after moment’s hesitation and with held breath, I rolled a little closer to you, letting the side of my right foot graze against your left. We both froze and then through the dark, you said, sounding half-amused but annoyed all the same
It was too early for the morning’s onset of general anxiety and paranoia to kick in. I exhaled and found a chuckle in my lungs that was more like a cough. My face hurt my from crying. You rolled over, your back to me. I sighed.
Outside, the birds celebrated my epic fail. But they don’t know anything about being human, about being stupid, about having hope, about the symbolism of the way we all spent some nights, eating too much and laughing hysterically, and while they knew of me and my breakdowns, they didn’t how I cried into your shoulder once or twice, having permanently lost the ability to stop drinking and be properly ashamed of my emotions. They didn’t know and they didn’t ask, born from an egg up high, born always knowing the danger of the fall.
Why else would they flirt with death when they kamikaze through the falling leaves toward speeding cars?
I rolled over and tried, but I wouldn’t sleep.