shorts . . .

ugly stories fall out of my mouth
in the same tone I use to talk about the weather
he points it out, asks for more and
[...]

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It was like . . . actually

it was like blinking-
it was like standing outside in a lightning storm-
it was like falling down on your back when you were little, so hard you couldn’t breathe
but it was actually hot coffee on my arm
it was actually his fingers biting into my skin and flinging me into the wall, so hard I couldn’t breathe [...]

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Hands (written 2006)

dismal cesspit of sad sentiments
I’ve slowly filled to overflowing–
each flood spilling over
and in till I’m drowning
in my own ideas of
loneliness being the cost of freedom
your hand comes through
the inky stink of sorry thoughts
long rotten
but won’t find me hiding in myself
and feeling clever.
So you walk away,
a few steps
I get bored with clever
and tired of lonely
just desperate [...]

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—-

There is no center
no ending or beginning point
the memories stretch now
my first breath
to my fingers typing this poem
coffee, trees and jealousy
open palms, belts and insecurity
held to the floor for your reasons
I never understood
no matter how I bent
and watched while you broke me
your caustic blend
of implements and rage virus
laid against my
skin
negligent of what was beneath
you killed [...]

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Untitled

The walls mimick my shivering
as he crashes around
throwing doors at their frames
and yelling at no one.
There’s not a room in this house
big enough for his anger.
Even behind my locked door
I am pressed on all sides-
the weight of it straining my shoulders.
My tears deny him
My sympathy hates him
as he pins my mind to the floor
frustrated [...]

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Never Enough-edited

I tried–
his voice
a ride, a walk, a write
before
running
giving up
Turning up the music to hurt my ears
and feed my need to fight
drinking tequila to burn my throat
and muddle my throbbing mind
its never enough
I can still feel it–
the ache of the world
in my chest

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Untitled (written 2006)

His silence was weightless-
the silence of ignorance.
lips wasted-
still on his stone face, waiting
for thoughts he never had.
His hands did all the talking-
screaming fear and anger
into my face,
my arms-
desperate to
persuade me
with their strength
to believe
in my weakness.

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Glass

I’ve turned to glass inside
the flow of old pain
slowly cooling, hardening
obsidian edges
an opaque pool-
my past
lies unaffected by my present
mistrustful of this
impossibly smooth
and slippery surface
surrounding my soul
safe? finally safe?
I ask myself again and again
what does it mean
to not feel the pain?
who am I without the pain?
have I won this long and wasteful war?
or am I being [...]

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