rebirth comes to me

like a fire being stoked

I am being brought alive,

always

I cannot picture you

with your lonely birdcage words

dying, like it is an art

I am dying,

always

and like you

out of the ash, I rise

But I cannot imagine

how it screams to you;

a miracle,

when I am so

exceptionally tired

of returning out of the fire

unendingly

Living is caked to me like dried mud

on a summer day

I crave death

like a stream on my muddied flesh

you itch for your nine lives

but don't forget

every death will carry you away again

like a river to the ocean

smiling woman,

don't you ever tire

of devouring yourself whole?

signed,

a dying phoenix 

I live in the middle

Hanging on the post

Engraved like Lady liberty

On a scale

The Libra sign pressed into my skin

Like constellations

from a young age

I am the center

The middle

While the real work gets done

I keep the peace

I am the one

that helps people

find the inspiration

i am the one

that carries

the burden of the world

so others can move forward

atlas was cursed

because he wanted to help humanity

selflessness is rewarded

with a weight like no other

taking care of others means they

will ask you to carry their bags

and the only response is

the smiles on their faces

it takes a lot of strength

to hold the world on slender shoulders

but all of our strength keeps him going

for we are all holding our own world

and there are those who are always willing

to help someone carry

the weight

I have built so many homes

each one is made for a different purpose

but they are all mine

For the butterflies in my life

I have a home

in a gold wagon

with a missing metal heart

but it smells like cigarettes (roses) and hope

and i found myself on the highway

with only the life inside an engine to guide me

so its became a home

When the weight of exisiting

bares down on me

like the curse

brought down on atlas

I have a home

in the three bullets

that are woven

on a necklace

above my lungs

they remind me

of a girl with blue hair

and a heart so big

and warm

who survived because of love

and these bullets

are all the times

i almost didn't

For the lonely days

i have a home

in the sky;

the soft milky colors of the sunrise,

the infinity of the stars,

the company of the moon,

and the taste of a cigarette (joint) on my lips

as i watch the sunset

from my favorite hill

made of history

and a cross that shines

on me no matter where i go

My favorite home

is inside

a maroon jacket

its warm and large

and drapes over me

like sunlight

it feels like a hug

from the person i love the most

and inside its many pockets

i store my heart 

I

the first time i chased death

to ask him 

why it was like this

it was a bottle of rubbing alcohol

a sip pulling against my lips

the cool burn on my taste buds

like vodka 

if it was trying to kill you

and death told me to try again

i wasn't ready for the answer

II

the second time 

i was in my backyard

and i thought of how judas 

felt what he had done

i wondered if the knives 

under my ribcage

would hurt

the monsters 

if i pulled them out

i felt a lions claws on my hip

like three months prior

i felt the way my insides 

were left empty

and the sharp marks across 

hipbones

and thighs

i asked death again

in a message under 

a bottle of hydrocodone

a few white pills that slipped

one by one

down my throat

11 total

after death left me alone to think

and the hospital dragged the life back in me 

i told them it would never happen again

III

i was being pulled 

in every direction

and no one was listening to the screams 

plaguing my sleep

i screamed one last time and said 

done

I was empty

of feeling

of hope

of care

Apathy handed me 40 pills

and down they went

every pill I could find

was filling the emptiness

i was made to tell

and damn did i fight and scream and sobb

i fussed until a needle was stuck in my arm for a week

and I still felt numb

this time i wasn't looking for death

but he found me

and told me 

the truth

winter:

a sense of community

friends

the way sun hits on tan skin

his face

snow

small dogs

home

spring:

fog

europe

adventures

him

being taken care of

the calm before the storm

apologies

gifts

freckles

being honest

therapy

lying

letting someone help me heal

(wrong person)

telling myself lies

listening to lies

forgetting

disassociating

summer:

not remember the bad thing

hurting

blood (across my wrists and thighs)

singing to the Monster in my closet

finding the lies

punching things

people taking care of me

(who's fault is that again?)

recklessness

living

feeling

mania

fall:

Not being in the hospital 

(I got out quick)

Soccer

Panting, sweating, racing

Scoring

Aspens

Piercings

My hipbones

Thigh gaps

real friends

Mari

Dying

The hospital 

(it started to grow on me)

Cigarettes

Weed, 

everywhere always

Her

So much her it hurt

Hospital 

(again)

(she tried to kill herself)

loneliness

a new friendship from chaos

(surprising given our history)

being alone

independence

beauty

poetry

the moon

fairy lights

Myself

There's just something about nothing

the hollowness feels like being complete;

like your mother never hit your sister,

or your boyfriend didn't pour insults down your throat lungs like cigarettes smoke,

or the bruises on your arms are from 

something other than an ER room at 2 in the morning

it will turn your lungs inside out,

and make you crave frailty,

ivory bones,

and skin like sheer silk

You'll find

a body looks less like a battlefield

when there are hipbones peeking out

It feels more like your own

when the hips with handprint branding

shrink

and if you don't eat enough

they'll call you a bird

and never know how true it is

here's the thing about this bird,

under the soundproof skin,

diet coke thighs

and withering organs

there's a bluebird soaring

and the less you eat

the higher she flies

Emptiness feels like courage

when there's nothing inside you but yourself

you can be dangerous

with collarbones like iridescent switchblades

and a stomach that's been eating itself for 3 days straight

if you can stand that

what can they do to you;

nothing 

Let me tell You a secret:

I do not know what I'm doing

I move like fog

and I aim to be a rumor,

I want their eyes to dart towards me,

see me

-without the skeleton, amnesia and gunpowder-

and be infatuated

Let me define myself if only through a cryptogram:

I want to disappear before I can disappoint you with the etched graffiti on my hipbones

I want them to see a great blue bird in the mist,

free-spirited like a breeze,

and fall in love with her before she leaves

But I am a northern fox

with hazel eyes and blackberries on my mind

And fur far too dark to be arctic

but eyes far too wary to be anything but

*****

she hunts alone,

on mountain tops with the taste of a cigarette on our tongues 

and here is where she kills,

(or is it where I run away)

She dances around the timber in her constant analysis 

(I've been trying so hard to avoid the city lights, 

which burn grotesque figures from my nightmares onto my iris' every time I witness them,

that I'm not even sure what she's looking for anymore)

She's fighting to gain some insight into what occurred

(while I can only struggle against the monster with no eyes and so many teeth)

She tells me there is a race in my mind and I must always win

(if he catches me again I won't be strong enough to fight back)

so I will soar to catch the songbird 

and I will sprint until her freedom is mine 

Then the whispers can only gawk

They will want to qualify me, I'm sure

But there is no understanding how the fog and the moon

will take this cunning fox and turn it into a royal thrush

The only thing I can say for certain is the wartorn bone will still be there,

just more obscure

Because I only care what they think of my flesh

Underneath, the breathless girl 

with crushed lungs, a bittersweet butterscotch voice,

and a body too large and too small

and everything at once 

is not for them

(or for You)

she is cherished 

and the only ones allowed to witness her

are the animals that are thrown out by the group of Trolls 

that live under the water,

as she has been through the same treatment

*****

These Trolls will stop all travelers

because no one can leave their kin,

and if you do

You are the big bad wolf

and it doesn't matter what's growling for you in the woods,

because you mustn't leave something 

that wants so badly

to devour you

But no matter, Trolls won't stop me any longer,

I will run and hide from all those things I do not trust

and I have no apologies,

I will bare my body to whoever I want 

without remorse

and will not be told that it is wicked,

because I am an art museum 

with a great big sign that says "no touching"

*****

Long ago a big bad lion

with ash speckled on his face

like snowflakes

pawed at the artwork without asking

and now it's torn

You can't even see it unless you get close

but the cracks grow every day

and although I seal them shut with gold

my paint is chipping

I try to hide it in the things you won't notice:

A glimpse into untamed hearts,

letters to the moon and her army of stars,

smoke slipping from my lips into the streaks sunlight

and the thrill of a chase. 

But really, 

all I want you to see 

is the heart so big 

it bursts inside this tiny bird body

but instead 

I have an empty ribcage with a soul broken into bits and stored 

I keep my only part in the pocket 

always on me like that last bit of carmel 

its there 

but never where you'd think to look

The other parts have been gifted 

to the few deer I know will swallow it 

and keep it close to their lungs

*****

No one can ever get a complete piece

because if they stay too long

they'll see the hollowness that lives in my skin;

the ash falling from my eyelashes like tears

and the purple colored caves dug out under my coffee-colored lids

then again, the trickster is much better at hiding the cracks

but even if I could run home with my paws dirty from the pursuit,

if I could try to rinse them off 

and fit into the cage built of my obligations,

she does not like to be stuck in a home like a jail cell,

even now, I can barely stand it some days

The animal will listen to few

(and I am usually not one of them),

her feral instincts do not like being confined

in floral bedsheets like the noose on my death sentence

****

So here's my confession:

The museum won't let you touch art because 

as soon as you lay your polluted hands on it

it's less than before

Sometimes the thought of clean air frightens me

because without contamination

I do not know how my lungs should work,

How does my heart skip a beat 

when there is no fear of You,

how do I find a vision beautiful

when there is no chiaroscuro of panic to darken it 

*****

So darling,

all I can say is

I may love you

and promise you forever

but no matter how strong and warm the sun in my heart grows

every star has to die

and maybe this love will die with me,

but please remember dear:

I may not be a bird 

but God can I run from You like I'm soaring in the clouds,

and terror was only a tether to keep me on the ground

1) Hideaway 

A wet drizzle that

made way to snowflakes on pink noses

we walked with a wolf pup by our sides

She had snow on her dark coat like constellations in the night

and was frolicking through grass the color of burnt orange sunsets

and trees like mountains

the fog that morning made everything brighter

the yellow, orange, and green hues

shined on you face like magic

A cigarette in my fingers

and small smile on my lips

You said the snow fell on our hair

like fairy dust

And I thought we were walking through another realm

we stopped

climbed in a hole back to get back home

found out home looked like wonderland too

the snow falling so silently

through the mist

it was magic

when we got back inside

I put a record on

while you made hot chocolate

You came bundled up in a blanket just my color

and we sipped

like kittens do

with my favorite song on the stereo

and our hands together

2.) Living, together

Her horse moves like fog

she tells me when she was 5 

she'd point to the moon and call it hers

so now she wears it on her necklace

and after her moon drops and we slip to sleep

our dance begins

it's like this every weekend, but this time is special 

she rides a white horse like a cloud

he's spotted grey and looks like ash falling like rain on snow

He is lovely

And she says that a horse always knows what sort of people to keep around

which is why she knew he'd love me

he had a saddle stitched from starlight with a braided tail and granite colored joints

she rides him in braided pigtails and a smile

and she may not believe me but I've never seen her more beautiful 

than here 

3.) Tree skeletons

we found the wonderland again when fog fell over us

it's soft whisps like 

fingers

they danced across trees

and the occasional house

and we drove like this until a stream from along

the road with dark spotted shadows 

made it's soft waves

that called to our ears

The trees around us

had all lost their leaves

and the trunks moved

like skeletons in the wind

it was the perfect place

to hide away

we felt so fearless

we wondered from our wolf

her large frame worn out

from all the constellations in her eyes

soon the smoke twirled across our faces

like paint in water

beautiful like the rest of the day

the stream and the wind

melodic under our voices

I never wanted this moment to end

I am sad

So sad

I. When the honey drips-

falling slowly bit by bit

deliriously like a song off my lips

Like it’s trying to exist

on more than just tongue tips

-by then, it’s too late

II. Nothing feels better than when I forgot-

No more screaming obscenities, heartfelt obscurities that echo

Like cries for help in an empty parking lot

Words in the deep dark depths of a gunshot

Like these heartbeats are solely an afterthought

-that’s when I feel only hate

III. I am purely a clone-

The sickness that kissed my skin is growing alone

Yet still blooming in crossbows

Sunflowers grasping from hipbones

The wisteria howling postponed

for I have but one message to loan

-I may look like eden, but there is no god nor gate

IV. My smile is morphine, one hit and your mine-

you’re told I’m enthralling, I’ll make you blind

my presence non-threatening, for I’m much too kind

you can’t help but kill the scream in my throat, sigh

touch my cheek and whine

-“it’s your fault I’m addicted darling, you’re jailbait”

V. So to answer your question-

Every inch of my insides is sending a message

“Run, Run, Run from the mention

Stand on the edge and jump to heaven

Weave the blade in your skin as a lesson

Grasp the thread sewn into the pit of your stomach and experience its rejection”

-so my answer dear friend is a dismissal

And a reminder not to ask again of my fate

There are sunflowers growing out of my aorta

Seeds bleeding into my lungs

Where skin breaks open poppies sprout up

I am my own garden

Oak trees grow from my scalp

And hummingbirds fly from my ears

It's beautiful and awe inspiring

But I can't live with all this life coming from my skin

The budding flowers in my lungs are suffocating

And my heart doesn't pump quite right

My hair is jagged and knotted around tree stumps

And I cannot hear anything but hummingbird wings

This garden is swallowing me

And I don't know what will be left of my soul

When the flowers take root