Thursday, August 21, 2014

Turn That Down

I wouldn't play music this late
If you weren't sitting downstairs talking about me
I have to drown you out somehow

And all I am you hate
Even if its fabricated
I have to leave this place somehow

You stopped caring if I was okay
So I stopped sharing when things were broken
And we don't talk about it anyways
Remember this is "all a phase"
Teenage girl throws life away

Thursday, July 31, 2014


She's got no use for dreams or wistful thinking
You can't bring back the dead with only backward glances
She lives in slow motion
She lives for yesterday
And all the shattered futures
Crushed by one mistake

But he will not move again
What did this prove again?

Emotions dissolve on the back of her tongue
Her lips are chapped and broken crying "dead religion"
And she walks on a razor blade
Hanging over nothing
Broken hearts still beat
When they've been robbed of something
Like a love song

She lives to break the glass in picture frames
Burning the photographs
To take their lives back
And she engraves her own gospels on her arms
Shuts off the alarms

But he will not move again
What did this prove again?

Emotions dissolve on the back of her tongue
Her wrists are scarred and broken from a dead religion
And she walks on a razor blade
Hanging over nothing
Broken hearts still beat
When they've been robbed of something like a
Love song

Something in her dreams before the darkness comes again
Collecting the tears from a split second decision
Wiping out the stop lights
In her blurry vision
But the broken glass is flying 
And she is lying on the concrete 


I need a cigarette
Before I care
I need to stop breathing air
To spin
To spike
To scrape
Before I can pull my heart out on its chain
And watch it glistening
Alongside yours

And there it is
That nervous little flutter
That I told myself a thousand times I didn't need
Here it is again
Just below where it should be in my chest
Somewhere between the stomach
The brain
And all the rest
But fuck this
And fuck you
And you and you and you too
You're beautiful
And isn't that what this world does...
To beautiful things?


It’s been two years
Since I last saw your face & it was streaked with tears
Its been 3 days
Since newspapers
Brought light to my whispered fears

Evelyn, didn't you know
Psycho girls can't just wake up to be normal.
We never win didn't you hear?

Whoa Evelyn
Your scars hold on forever but your eyes are so far away
And oh Evelyn
We bled out together in the rain
Scabs and stains
So far away

Only four more
And my head hits the floor
I cannot face my fears this way
So now five times
We can’t change what’s past
But all of that comes last
(When I think of)

Evelyn I've always know,
Little girls can't just wake up to be angels 
We never win didn't you hear?

Whoa Evelyn
Your scars hold on forever but your eyes are so far away
And oh Evelyn
We bled out together in the rain
Scabs and stains
So far away

Are You Okay?

Are you okay?
I hate that phrase.
It makes you wonder if you seem...faded.
If you've ruined someone's day.

Tight Knits, Hard Knocks

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with cute feet.
Little pink toes with perfect cuticles to peek out from sandals, the kind with beads on them, that wink and sparkle in the sun.
But girls who walk around barefoot have dirty feet.
Calloused and smudged with grime,
We step on broken glass and jump back, bash our hip bones and get bruises there too.

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with pretty hands.
Willow fingers with perfect half moons, to rest lightly on the strap of a bag, or a friend's shoulder.
But girls who feel their ways forward have dirty hands.
Scraped and smeared with yesterday's inked reminders,
We scorch our fingers on other's flames before we think to look for the light, jerk back and smack our elbows and get bruises there too.

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with a "skin care routine"
Creams and powders lined up in a row because we all know beauty comes from within...from within tubes and jars and compacts.
But girls who cannot look away have dirty skin.
Makeup left on overnight, a faded mark from the last fist fight,
We stick our necks out so far we nearly trip, fall back and crack our skulls and get bruises there too.

Mobius Strip

I figured it out!
I get it now you see.

The soul lives in a Mobius Strip
And you know what's the scariest part of that? 
The dip

The turn right before the drop
The rollercoaster loop
It's the snot
All over your chin and your shirt sleeves
After you cried every teardrop you've got
You are not immortal
But you are infinite
And this chance
It's the only one you've got


She pretends not to see
Over his shoulder to the screen
Where a blond woman unbuttons her shirt and smiles
Instead she asks him about his day
Proceeds to tell him about hers
Words flow better into that stiff and silent air
Than they would down his throat


Today I tried for you
Today I cried with you
Today I lied to you

It's so easy to deceive
Making up stories just so I can breathe
White noise on the stereo
White lies behind closed doors
Are you alright?
Are you okay now?
Watch what you do
Watch what you say
And how

So many miles across the lighted screens
So many breaths between our heartbeats
I give so much and you give nothing back
What's life like carrying a battle ax
Slung over your shoulder?
There's loves and there's hope here
But you'd rather attack

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Morning Noon & Night

Their voices are a steady hum downstairs
I don't pay them much attention anymore
They've become regular noises of the house
Like the air conditioner's dry rattle
Or the soft plip and roll of the aquarium filter
And I don't find it strange anymore
The hysteric notes 
nestled always under their conversation
How strained "good morning" can sound or "let's go" 
Most of the time I'm disconnected
An un-speaking presence upstairs
Safely behind the barrier
of a closed door, headphones, running water
And if someone is crying when I step out into the hall
I know it will go away in a few minutes' time
Perhaps the fuzzy grey imprint 
of the gentle hiccuping 
Will hang around the family-room for the rest of the day
But I will never put a name
 to the tear-streaked cheeks
I've learned not to connect
the frustrated sighs with anything relevant
They live between these four walls
And once--if--we get out the door
A checkpoint 
The chaos of the morning
                                                     Stemming from an unknown force
Will be sucked into the rest of the day
and muddled and mixed
Until the ache in her spine
 could have just been from her book bag
A long day on her feet
And if she is still in bed 
after the school buses have made their rounds
I've learned not to question that
Or even ask if she's okay
It's just another day with her head above water
If only just
These nighttime hours are mine
She's crying on the inside all the time 

Saturday, February 1, 2014


Tiny snappy specks. Float through the nostrils, zinging, tingling, making us sneeze. Mixing with the muggy steam that hovers about the kitchen, mother places checkered table mats in a soft pile, waiting to be set out. We do not turn three times in a circle when we spill the pepper, instead we curse, mutter and sweep it into our hands, the brown flakes mixed with dots of white and tan, like a cup of earth settled into the lines in our palms.What fortunes lie in pepper scattered across the countertop? We pinch it and toss it in the pot, where it sinks through hissing bubbles, boiling. And when we ladle soup into our earthenware bowls as the dinner bell sounds, “too hot, too spicy,” we ask for salt. The zing and zest of cracked black pepper, properly fulfilling its title “seasoning” floats atop a slick puddle of oil where men with prominent noses and tight curly hair place a tray of bread with a flourish. From warmer shores, from sunnier times, it comes to reside inside metallic sides, lives in little shaker houses, graces the starched collars of dinner time. Always set out in a pair, pepper is never alone. Dark woman wrapped in brightly brazen colors glide about, white white teeth shine out of the darkness as they stretch their lips wide to cry “gumbo, gumbo, hot n’ ready.” Later they will clasp hands, boas wrapped around their supple shoulders, and dance for Ms. Lou. There’s always a Lou. A wintertime friend, bringing heat and life to dishes while the snow flakes down, white white, against the skeleton trees. Frozen rivers and sheets of ice, no match for our gumbo hot and ready tonight and though a haze hangs over our kitchen table, we have checkered table cloths, we have boas in our basements, we have salt and pepper, pepper and salt. 

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Long Nights

There is always Grey under the eyes of young girls
You will note the spring in their steps
The pop and glitter of their lips
The mist that shimmers about their hair
But what you will not see
Is the Grey under their eyes
From long nights and fretting promises
It settles into lines
And lingers after faces are scrubbed clean.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Fitting In

Cannot be the first one in the room
Cannot be out standing in the hall
Lack of conversation
Bite fingernails
Smile at others down along the wall
Cannot be the sensitive and shy one
Cannot be the voice of common sense
So grab the wheel and steer clear off the road now
Change, change, rearrange, your face, your shape, your pain                            
Smiles hide the bile rising in your throat
Laughter chokes off screams of rage
Cannot be the one who really lives here
She’s off with her friends, doing okay

Monday, January 27, 2014

Licorice Lies

Do not let my sugar coated lips
Fool you into thinking I'm a sweetheart
This candy floss
Stuck and spun across my words
Will rot your mouth out
If you kiss me
And once I sink my teeth in you
Peel back your candy shell
I'll chew you up
And swallow

I have smiles and pretty words
Sprinkled through the filth I spew
And no one suspects
Since I'm wrapped in cellophane
They think they can see through me
They think they know my name
Twisted words taste better
Dipped in chocolate

Friday, January 17, 2014

Nighttime Musings

On silent padding feet you brush slowly past the bedroom door to slip between white pressed sheets.

You were perched on the windowsill staring, staring at the sky, frozen till your fingers began to tingle, itching to open the latch and run bare legged through the whispering grass that boarders the craggy road to your front door.

Every night you retreat, softly, into your room with a book of fairy tales and a cup of tea, chamomile, that flushes against your bruised fingertips, bruised from constantly rubbing tiny circle at your temples, tension headaches. 

You let the kettle whistle too long every time, fill your cup with boiling water too hot to drink for a while, clutch the handle but long to press your palms to the cup’s polished sides, press till your skin blisters with heat.

Instead you ripple the liquid’s surface with your steady breath out, breathe back in the steam.

You want to go out and drive in the night, the radio a low buzz so you might hear the starlight. You want to fly too fast around a corner and dip the nose of your car into the glassy lake by the side of the road, see how long your driver’s seat takes to fill with water, see who would pull you out, dripping pond water out the cuffs of your jeans
And your pockets,
And the hollow in your eyes.

And who might pull you out?
Might they then lace their fingers through yours, concerned, or intrigued, propose institutionalization…

Between your pressed white sheets you wonder what it might be like to drink, dance, and destroy yourself.
You wonder how to inhale nicotine, instead of steam.
You wonder what it’s like to cry so hard mascara tinged rivers run down your cheeks and into the corners of your mouth and afterwards
You know there is something lurking behind the edges of your reflection and knowing this, you do not rise to the windowsill. You do not try to fly.
Instead, you sleep.

Different Is A Special Case

Is interconnected
Caught on strings
The world is infected
Broken wings
Machines are defective

We have our office buildings
Like prisons of their own
If you smile at the right people
You'll be on your way to more
Be pretty but not too pretty
Lest you be called a slut
The way to play is not to let them know the game is up

And if one day you realize the burden of it all
They'll lock you up (for your own health)
It's just a simple call

And everyone will come out of the white rooms tame and cured
What matters it that every truth has been obscured?

Just take your pill

Take your pill

It'll do you good

The Dreamer's Gamble

Flip on a light
In a dark house
And all the shadows will double in length
When you're alone
You're so much more alone
When everything else is at stake
Talk to yourself in the mirror as the sky turns grey
Tell yourself whatever you want all the magic tricks are fake

The risks we take the lives we make
There's never been so much to fake
I think I'm just about to break
I do not know which road to take
The finish line's the starting gate
And what I love I also hate

Heartstrings (Love is a Parasite)

I have no home
So I’ll get lost in you
I have no heart
So I’ll take yours apart
I have no dreams
So I’ll unstitch your seams
I am not real
I have your soul to steal

We’re in too deep now
Back to the streets now
It’s time we shut down
Take a bow take a bow take a bow

Can you feel me scratching on the inside of your skull
There are filthy passages inside your crumbling walls
You let me in I locked you out we’ve got a lot to talk about
So why not now?
The night is long
I taught your demons all my songs

We’re in too deep now
Back to the streets now
It’s time we shut down
Take a bow take a bow take a bow

I won’t leave you darling when the light begins to fade
You cannot be lonely when you’re wrapped up in my game
We traded lies I sympathize I guess it’s really no surprise
I’ll be waiting just inside
When you close your eyes

I had no home
So I got lost in you
I had no heart
So I took yours apart
I had no dreams
So I unstitched your seams
 I am not real
I have your soul to steal

We’re in too deep now
Back to the streets now
It’s time we shut down
Take a bow take a bow take a bow


It’s time we panicked
It’s time we scream
The plastic people
Have split their seams
So raise your fists high
This is a war cry
To all the freaks and the monsters:
Come out to play tonight

I see them
For what they really are
Take my hand
Together we’ll show our scars
Is this the end?
Have we come so far?

It’s tragic how they’ve turned us
So we can barely stand
Wound up and drowned out
We call out we fall down
There’s still a pair of eyes
Behind the headlines

Inside this head there’s only crumpled paper
Inside this heart there’s only dust and dreams
We have the key we’re going to meet our maker

If eyes are the window to the soul
We sold our souls out long ago
It doesn’t matter the truth anymore
Just as long as they want more

But I see them
For what they really are
Take my hand
Together we’ll show our scars
Is this the end?
Have we come so far?
Battle scars, battle scars

So raise your voice up
Sing with me

Look at yourself
Can you look me in the eye
And look at me
Still perfectly hypnotized
These brilliant lights are blinding me
It’s really no surprise

That I see them
For what they really are
Take my hand
Together we’ll show our scars
Is this the end?
Have we come so far?

I Am Not My Father (But I Am My Father's Daughter)

This "poem" isn't about my own father. 

I am my father’s daughter
So I know his favorite song
Used to sing it as a lullaby when dark dreams came along

I am my father’s daughter
So we laugh in the same way
A grumbly little chuckle when I would ask to play

I am my father’s daughter
So we still share the same nose
We live together in this house that’s not a home

I know that he likes ice cream
And he knows that I like coke
And when we talk together now
I want to grab him by the throat and scream
But it’s easy
So much easier to walk through this world numb
To say “I love you Daddy” when we talk on the phone
And to murmur sympathetically when I know he’s wrong.

I am not my father
But I am my father’s daughter
And you are taking me for granted
Because I’m a Daddy’s girl
Safe sheltered and protected from the troubles of this world
I walk dream bridges made of stardust
With my head up in the clouds
And when Daddy asks me what I want from life
He sports a tiny frown

Father is a tidy man
Places his dreams on the curb
He walks away and leaves them to a fate they didn’t earn
He just wants what’s best for me
A real supporting role
And he’ll help me take the first steps
But he isn’t ever home

No I am NOT my father
I will NEVER be that way
So quick to say “I love you” and to cause all sorts of pain
Because only heads of households
Who can’t see past their nose
Could be so blind to all the hurt and grief they’ve raised and sown

I am not my father
But I am my father’s daughter
Whereas Daddy holds a bitter bitter
Hollow in his chest
I’m a sweet tooth, I digress
And instead of toiling to ferment
Sorrows from the past
I’d rather dream…
And whisper sugar coated lies
Behind this mask

Pink Slips

You covet the powder
Sealed firmly inside a
Petite capsule
For swallowing
Or crushing…poured out in a perfect line

The razor’s stinging edge
Slices through the fog
The cracking paper of the
Examination table
Just waiting to be torn and tossed
Into the air like newly fallen snow
For swallowing
A blissful reassurance you’re not normal
So don’t act like it…dearest

And you want their prescriptions and their diagnosis
So you can claim your Alice in Wonderland
Your Ophelia
Kissed by lapping waves
Begging: “Eat me, swallow”

In a pool of tears inside a bottle
Marked poison
And if one drinks very much…
Show your thigh
And throw the cards in their faces

Because you
You and me
Or is it three…?
WE aren’t crazy
Just hazy 
But perfectly summed up
We want their stares and their silence

So we can sing


It's only romantic 
When you can look back on it
"Those were the days, we've changed."
A slow smile
As focus slips 
To the ceiling
Its very healing
To think back...
In the sunshine there was a time we were so shy you and I butterflies...
In stomachs...
Are a lie

It's more of a stinging
Winging it
Till you know 
How deep to go
It grows
It flows
First from the toes
Up and down and down and up and 
Through every bone

And thinking back
Waaaaaaay back...
I made a slit
A little slash
Would you do that? Cat in the Hat step on a crack the nightlight's back--
So cut the crap
It's REAL life now
But, that's your act

I've only ever dated calendars
In my mind I'll find the time first touch should really chill the spine,we're in our prime its not a crime, to take that line...
And blur it.
Stir it.
Here's how you cure it:
Look backwards see? 
To you and me.

We've come so far
Each little scar
A tally mark
Red fades quickly into pink flush the tissues down the sink I think we've finally reached the brink
It's romantic when looking back
And all of that? 
It's in the past.

Cliché Introductory Poem

Oh! So you write Poetry?
How could that be?
So do we!
And he
Writes poetry
Is a poet
Did you know it?
I went there…stow it

Of course you write "poetry"
By candlelight
You faggot
You whore
You fucking emo goth bitch
Of course you release your emotions
Not with a razor blade
But with a paper cut
Vomit your soul out onto this page
Dot your I’s with broken hearts
Cross your T’s with barbed wire
And sign it all with a teardrop

Of course you write "poetry"
I understand
You artist
You schitzo
You user
You joke
Bastardize Shakespeare with your
“Free verse”
"Free love"
Free drum circle dreadlocks puff puff pass “poetry”

Well Poe, would like to Try
To gouge out all your lies
To put an end to crying
And Emily would rather listen to a fly
Buzzing by as she dies
Than contemplate the reasons why
You write a letter breaking up with some guy
Then stand before the mic and sigh

Its not for me
It isn’t “free”
It’s completely
Killing the art
When you trust your heart
To poetry.

These words to me
Will never be
What I really see

Cuz my eyes work in colors and in music notes swirls and loops and crescendos everything is a metaphor in my brain tantrums of thoughts floating around all interconnected with a deep deep moral but no evident meaning it’s all building up to one big point but it breaks before it gets there like I…

Can’t even say what I mean
I don’t know
Don’t know where to begin
Or how to lean in
To you
So you can really understand me
Brand me
Command me
Say god damn she
Doesn’t even have a clue, does she?
Doesn’t know where to begin or
How to find the words
But these words will never be
What I truly mean
What I really see
What it means to me…

Is poetry.