i.
he's ranting and
raving again
i wonder if it will ever just

stop

ii.
i count the seconds until the
door slams, until the pain seeps into
his drunk smirk of a smile and
god, i wish
i wish that i could remove
what makes him
hurt

iii.
in turn, she screams and pleads
with him to come down from his
high
to look sobriety in the face,
and declare himself a winner
once and for all

iv.
he will never push past his
stubborn ways, his childhood
still raw and i know his wounds,
because i am a part of him

"you're confused,
isn't that why you're here?"
he speaks in quiet tongues,
always so gentle,
but sincerity lacking
i don't want to talk about the
things that brought us here
the things that have broken us
down... in the quiet,
and in the dark,
it was always the same


i'm here because
i want to be held*

it's as simple as that
i have no other explanation
for the way things are,
or should be,
or could have been

i'm tired,
i'm tired and i'm fed up,
i'm tired and i'm fed up and
i'm sorry,
i could have been more
for you, for us
i could have told you what you
wanted to hear,
that you were the sun and the moon
and every single star in the sky
that held a wish
but i'm tired,
i'm tired of the nights
where i laid beside you
and felt your hands inside of my
hair, and inside of my heart
reaching,
it hurt me
i tried to pull you up,
i tried to pull you out
your burdens were heavy,
and yet, my shoulders bore the weight
for you

and now,
there's nothing left
for me to give

...

She called me




She called me
a little *****

in which five knuckles
and four spaces
were the only faces
that ever turned a light on for me.
Or off, as a matter of fact.

Write it on a flier, or
tie her up in the back of a limousine,
ask her to give you some sugar
and send you to sleep.

Just don't be weird about it.
And seriously,

pay attention,

you just might


burn something.

I think my voice is changing.

I press four fingers into my forehead
and smoke a cigarette like that one writer
I was too cool to ever read. You know,
they treat you like a ******* drug?
A ******* drug!

Past lovers,
and their coat hangars,
I don't wanna talk to 'em,
I don't wanna touch 'em.

But I do;
it's easy to cut into
those veins once you've
found 'em.


*I'm sorry,
so prone
to wasting time,
I love when my head
spins on an axis
all of its own.

dad, i stumble over the words
just as i did as a child,
and you took me in your arms
and rocked me to sleep
numerous nights,
i've cried,
and you've left,
and you keep leaving
me

a child needs her daddy,
a young girl needs her daddy,
a grown woman needs her daddy,
you were never...
present

why,
i could have begged ten times over
for you to put down that can of beer
that whole case completely demolished
i tried to empty the cans into the sink
one by one,
i never got far,
and there was still some left over...

why,
couldn't you have loved me
more, better,
just love me

here i am, 23,
and still longing for your
presence in my life,
instead i try to fill with addiction
and voids,
boys who try too hard for
all the wrong reasons,
and dad,
tell me
why i am so dependent
on the ways of this world
that haven't ever mattered?

were you ever present in my life,
or were you always drunk,
slurring your words and stumbling over
the memories,
like you always have,
as i count the beer cans,
find the beer cans
crush the beer cans,
the **** same beer
that you have been drinking since
i can remember

you used to tell me so many stories,
you used to make them up,
entertain me with your sense of humor
hold me a little closer
dad,
where are you?
where have you been?
your little girl
still
misses
you

“You’re overweight,” he says, tapping his finger against his chart of heights and measurements, thighs too big and fingers too plump. I already know. I nod, and continue nodding, listening to the word echo and then fall onto the ground, bouncing and bounding, restrictions that have surrounded my whole life, my whole curvy figure. If I could be like the girls with the flesh wrapped tight and the bones loose and caving in on one another, I would grab the chance before it had a chance to flutter away from my desperately aching hands. When I look in the mirror, I try to remind myself that flaws are flaws and yet they were made to be beautiful, but I see what I see and what I see makes me want to *****, makes me want to close my eyes, makes me want to pull and tug and rip until there is nothing left but a pile of rotting decay. I am stuck, I am back on the playground in sixth grade where the boys would taunt and laugh, point and gasp, as I tried to pretend I looked like everyone else, every other small, petite little girl who didn’t have to worry about these types of things. My clothes don’t fit, I’ve gone through seven pairs of jeans in the last month alone, I look back at the pictures when I thought I was fat, but I wasn’t, I was fine then, why did I think that? I lay in bed beside the man I’m supposed to be with, fully clothed and pushing his hands away from my hips, away from my lips, don’t touch me then if you can’t handle all that I have to give. I’m not her, and she never wished to be me.