some days we are sinew and bone,

plucked from carcass like afterthoughts and wrapped in rotting linen,

sun-bleached and silent until the marrow is dry,

prettier at the precipice of being nothing at all.

in another room a man with cruel hands is talking about wishes,

wondering aloud if the sound of breaking bones is baptism enough,

knowing it won’t make him feel whole again

but at least he wouldn’t be the only broken one.

I keep reusing my old ideas

recyling words until they turn stale and plastic

I am blank, an empty white canvas

the longer I stare the more my words jumble

jagged phrases scraping the inside of my brain

They fumble aimlessly

attempting to recreate a feeble memory

It's been too long

my words are gone

It's summer and we're drunk on dandelion wine,

your fingers all chipped nail polish and calluses and perfection,

threading daisies into a crown you place on my head like a halo,

giggling as it falls.

I met a girl, once,

who would write poems on the backs of resturaunt napkins

because they were just a little bit magic

and I think this is a little bit magic, too,

this moment, pinned between fragility and forever,

where it's enough to not feel quite so alone anymore.

I don't know if I would call what we have obsession

but the sweetness on your tounge is my favorite poem.

At five foot three

I am

an oblong shape

finding a way

to love

the space I take

I am running barefoot on a wet track,

the red rubber biting into the soles of my feet,

lungs aching,

a metallic taste lacing my tongue,

trying- always trying- to be just a moment faster.

...

but when I'm done

I will wonder if I am enough

or if I have somehow stopped

a moment shy

of magnificence.

I would hide your broken body in the dip of my clavacle

and keep you safe from a world too sharp for your butterfly wings.

I would dry your tears with dandelions from the garden,

letting the yellow petals map constellations between each freckle on your cheeks.

I would teach you to dance in a field of wildflowers,

spinning and spinning and catching you in my arms when you stumble.

I would silence their words with the sound of songbirds

and we would sing along, letting our chirps of laughter join their symphony.

If I could

I would keep you safe.

A play of two acts

I.

Two children sit back to back in an empty room

You: Do you belive in heaven?

Me: I don’t know.

You: I’d like to see it, one day.

Me: I don’t think I’ll get the chance.

II.

We lay on a deathbed. My finger traces your lips.

You: I don’t think it matters anymore.

Me: What?

You: Heaven. I think we’re all sinners.

Me: ...

Then we will lay together and let sin drip from our lips like fine wine, and as the world fades to black we will laugh, drunk on the proof that we were once alive.

oh to sit atop a turret

away from prying eyes

patiently waiting

for prince charming to arrive.

and up he climbs,

sword in hand,

picture-book-perfect,

a dashing man.

"Monster," he screams,

but I only laugh,

my claws seeking skin,

my eyes burning black.

I'm sorry, my prince,

my paitience grew thin

so I leapt from this tower

and took to the winds.

You kept me up here,

fearing the fall,

but now I fear nothing,

you least of all.