every poem an exorcism
much like beethoven
driven insane by the unheard

you can drown in thirst
and break under a caress
if blessed with propensity
curiousity
and the inability to sate.

these notes on my back
if you look very closely
you can play me like a french horn
with your mouth applied just right

these twisted nodules of self hate
that rise from my skin, these bunches of ugly
knots in my muscles break under your touch
and then you hear my song

i am most beautiful in my most weak
when my rose thorns fail and
my snake fangs break
I am the most beautiful in my most weak
when the well goes dry
and the plane falls from the sky

no need to be sad
it really ain't that bad
girl, you've got a flower in your hair
and your ass upright in your chain

i want to smash mailboxes with bats
I want to live in a pink house filled with cats
mostly I just want to be loved and wanted for my crazy
and not despite of my emotional and illogical and crazy

i play this acer laptop like tori amos and her piano
it's non melodic and my rhythm nonsensical and meth-like
i'm magic and out of my pretty mouth slithers truth, you know
I walk the halls, I sing, I cry, I whisper, always a night light

i bash you desperation and fear, i eat you and demolish you
i smash you in the nuts like these precious things, these hues of blue
I gauge your eyes and I tear at your guts, fucking insecurity
I say, how can you doubt the existence of God and the lack of your beauty
in the same breath?
in the same breath

I say
you pause
night falls between our words
the needle slides in
the blood begins
this transfusion
has to be necessary
it has to be, you see
it has to be, it has to be
you see
you see

I leave
you step
forward forty six paces
hands confused and twisted in contortions
knots
we cross
knotting our own braids
fall back, one arm
breast stroke
down beat
embrace and my intensity
burns you
I turn to ashes

to dust, to dust

fucking editing

i hate it

i scoff at it

i throw pencils and sock monkeys
at arrogant pink erasers

if i'm not my best in the immediate
if i'm not my most authentic off the tip of my
tongue
then what good am I to anyone?

why does writing make me so angry
why does it make me wanna scream
so much changes when it's just me and the screen

white pixels and blank pages hold no judgement
no fear in losing love
when sharing truth
no fear in having my hand dropped
when being vulnerable

and fuck it all
if i stopped making sense
or rhyming or
if i repeat words in a non artistic
non aurally or orally way

this is me slaming letters down with my fingers
nonsensically
shooting at the stars with a .22
and hoping to knock myself in the head
with some dust and rocks

I'm going to knit striped scarves
and learn to can my own jam
I'm going to buy me a pink bike with a basket
and I'll ride it all over from Brooklyn to casket

I'm going to learn all about microbrews
and retain my indie cred listening to Spotify
I'm going to decoupage old Ikea coffee tables
and I"ll listen to NPR while smoking in my car

I'm glad you're not in Afghanistan
Thirty people died this week, mostly soldiers
mostly uniformed clones of you
all the Taliban sees is camo and flags
rage and hate and retaliation and frustration

I see you
across the car from me
driving to the store
so we can get some chicken
and all I can think is

I'm so glad you're not in Afghanistan
I don't know how those Army girlfriends and wives do it
So often I feel so inadequate when your eyes go dark
Like I'm not patriotic or heroic or selfless or ... worthy
that I'd rather you be in my arms then at war

You say that I just don't understand
and I fall to silence

Maybe I really don't.

flight of thought
this speeding clumsy train of words
might be all i've got
in this moment
where i'm biting my lip
and burying my phone

why must i feel everything at once
and want to say all my words in one giant blah
I lose my mind and I lose my sense
and I'm supposed to be so damn talented
with these words
these goddamn words
but when I'm upset and you're turning away
they turn into loose letters
drooling down my lips
pooling on my chin
dripping onto the floor

darling i feel it all
i see twenty chess plays ahead
and someone's always ending up dead
crashed and burned and burned and crashed and

this rage, this rage, this goddamn rage
I wish I could put music to this rage, this rage
I play the wrong keys, i sing so out of my key

i sang opera with you
sing my angel
i sang opera with you
drunk in my parent's garage
one am and i was singing
opera with you
my voice so high
and there was no fear
or projections or reflections

this house is full of cats and past
i sit at the same desk where i sat at ten
and here I am still writing, still writing
still trying to be better, to be thinner
to be this girl that I probably, honestly already am

no mirrors here now
i left them all in jersey
and the air is so thick of nicotine
that is not mine
cancer without the pleasure

and I gotta ask
while I don't believe
necesarily in mistakes
did I mis-step or at least pounced
too quickly?

damn my impulsivity
my compulsion
this minor mania that sets off in my brain
and why don't I take my damn ADD meds
when I have a whole bottle
that could make me slower and saner?

I'm so dented and damaged and bruised
You are so dented and damaged and bruised
you said people can heal each other
I believe that, I believe that still

I play this laptop
like the piano
I never learned
never had the patience
to sit down
and try to play

I don't know Major C
from a Minor A
and when I'm with you
I strain my ear
to hear the magic
in the tuba, in the horns,
in the symphony of strings

You can play anything it seems
and hear I sit
swaying in my chair
typing but not composing
can't quite create the same
feeling

my own two hands
can't seem to do what yours can
and my own two ears
can't seem to hear what you can hear

but i can sing
and i can string
words
together
with just
my fingers

no knitting needles
needed
and we both know
I've never been one
to have the
patience
to read the recipe
or follow a pattern

i hit the space bar before words ar
-e finished and the enter key
comes at random times
and I lack rhythm I fear
I lack so many things, my dear

including a mute button
a self-cleaning set of teeth
an off switch for my emotions

god how i fail
i fail myself a thousand times
more than i could ever fail you
and this i know
this i know
i try
i try i try i try

i see, i spy where i trip
where my ankles twist and
where i always seem to fall

i can't play the guitar
and my voice is so often flat
i strive
i strive

to read notes on a page
to understand languages i do not speak
like you
like you

i want to be like you
and i want you to want to be like me
two plants, two tendrils of ivy
twirling and learning and growing
muscle fibers breaking
mending stronger
i am mending stronger

broken bones
heal like titanium
and it takes time
everything takes time
like writing poetry
like playing music
like falling in love

and on top of that
how to do it
perfectly?

or at least in a way that
lends gracefully and gently
to apologies and forgivings

i try,
i strive
I'll sit at this keyboard
and pretend it's making the music I hear
I'll take your hand
across the console of my car
and pretend I know what the fuck I'm doing
and that I'm not scared all the time lately
that I'm doing everything wrong

no, darling I don't know what I'm doing
but I'm going to strive
I'm going to strive
pound on this laptop
and find a syphony in my pathetic,
halting cacophony
that maybe if you don't love
I will
and it'll be enough