sparks and burning butterflies
we're a chemistry set on fire
spilled beakers, lost intentions
we lost the directions
acid burning my lips
i have swallowed my share of poison
you exhale me, we laugh
we are the type to love broken glass
the innocence of the trying
the simplicity of electrons
attraction, improper fraction
rubber gloves weren't made for love
and your hands always seem
too damn far away

My greatest fear is to die without anyone ever hearing all that I had to say. Or worse, never have anyone listening craving more. You should always leave them craving more. I want to be the key lime pie of the soul. I no longer want to be mourned or worshipped, mostly at the end of the day, I just want to compel.

But is there anything about me that is that compelling?

Lately I feel like I have so much to say that if anyone were to let me speak unfettered, my tongue would roll out of my mouth and strangle the world with swallowed then regurgitated poetry. I fear I will peel paint off walls and talk off ears. Dogs and cats will rain down and daylight would break and I'd still not be able to rid myself of this constant desperation to touch another soul, to matter, to make a difference.

To be indelible. Delicious. And welcomed in.

home by sheryl crow

(I'm not in a loveless marriage, but still some of this is ringing true to me tonight)


I woke up this morning
Now I understand
What it means to give your life
To just one man
Afraid of feeling nothing
No bees or butterflies
My head is full of voices
And my house is full of lies

[chorus]
This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

I found your standing there
When I was seventeen
Now I'm thirty-two
And I can't remember what I'd seen in you
I made a promise
Said it everyday
Now I'm reading romance novels
And I'm dreaming of yesterday

Chorus

I'd like to see the Riviera
And slowdance underneath the stars
I'd like to watch the sun come up
In a stranger's arms

Chorus

I'm going crazy
A little at a time
And everything I wanted
Is now driving me away
I woke this morning
To the sound of beating hearts
Mine is full of questions
And it's tearing yours apart...

wrist
overhead
out stretched
bound and inked
skin breathes
i am heat
meat and bone
caging 21 grams
8 balls of self
your teeth
slide along
paths once
razor-bound
tongue touch
exploring rivets
ditches and ravines
long white stretches
of pale, poor girl skin
to that spot
in the center of my arm
crook of my elbow
puddle i become.

and onward
christian soldier
to the shoulder
more ink
seered into the
nerve neighborhood
reds and taste similar
and strange along
mountain ranges
down backs
cool and expansive
and enraptured
your arms
free and hungry
make a meal
out of me

i am not your sister
in pretention

i am not the other side
of your bed nor the cool
side of your pillow

i lie in ditches and
occasionally need to
be pulled to my feet
and i write verse
free and ridiculous

i make up words
and skin my knees
an illusion-chaser
a drug of choice pusher

i am not half of anything
and certainly not a whole

blue eyed
insecticide
you catch me
offsides
render the poet
speechless

then scramble
mumble
recover
stumble
i can miss no step
when speaking
with you

roachlike
i scurry
with me i am constantly
sweeping up my insides
i leave bread crumbs
wherever I go
I forget to lock my doors
and I crave life to happen
to me in all its horrors
and concrete seductions

i am not one to be
locked up in small boxes
in padded rooms
in halcyon haldol nightmares

drinking the windex
i discover i can do back flips
and with you i do not contort
but japanese fan dance
consider which color
stimulates your gaze
and i wonder if i could ever
speak til i spoke myself to sleep
and at what point you might stop listening