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turn the music up loud enough.
I want the music loud enough
that I can feel it reverberate through me
At a cellular level.
I find myself lost in the rhythms,
full of emotions
I don't have words for,
wrapped up in the complexity of lyrics.
Every breath rises with a joy
That threatens to split me
As though I've grown too small
To contain it.
Play it again
So all of me can hear.
Play it loud
So I can feel.
"This is...Do you copy? Over."
sometimes love is so bewildering
that I can feel so much
for a soul dwelling
outside the skin I live in
just because the other exists.
Joy in mundane coexistence.
"This...me...DO YOU COPY?"
close enough to conduct electricity
between us, across that miniscule gap
the words just aren't flowing
and I'm failing to reach you
and I'm falling apart
like a broken walkie
or a radio station broadcasting
at the stars in hopes that the right ears
will catch the signal
before the last star blinks out
I blink tears away.
Screaming on the inside
"YOU DAMNED FOOL! I LOVE YOU!
THIS IS ME LOVING YOU!"
because action isn't as you had imagined
"This is me...DO YOU COPY?"
and I love you with force and fierceness
and not being heard
across that chasm
though my love is action
and action and reaction
and I get out of bed each day
to show you with my
echoes through my bones-
not old bones
not young bones
but somewhere between the birthing
and the dying,
middle ground, middle grown?
The creak and grind
as I try to simply
Things don't heal like they did.
If they ever truly did.
S l o w i n g down
grinding and clicking,
those old-ish bones
the creaks and groans
skin marred with stories
I may or may not have told
and stories yet to appear
but not yet marking me.
Grey hair no longer sneaking
bones, damn bones with their
empath.It was your choice.
I let you choose.
I sit here and watch you
flinch and grimace.
you over did it again.
and now I sit
unable to help
unable to fix
and I'd take all the pain
absorb it all
to see those blue eyes
instead of agonized squinting.
My heart breaks daily,
is really overrated some days.
AtlasI can tell you all day
how amazing you are
but you can't hear me over the voices
you've heard first, telling you over and over
quite the opposite.
and I want to silence them.
I can't silence my own, you know.
I want to counter every negative
with something positive.
I want to see you experience joy.
you deserve that much
after saving me.
You deserve better
than life has brought.
You carry so much pain with you
from the days before this one.
I fear you might break
if one more thing falls on
but then, maybe I can return the favor.
maybe I can help save you.
first birthWithin an inflatable pool,
levity exists in the form of cartoon-fish
painted upon the sides
as I find myself gripped
by the replication of my species
In that primal zone
between lizard and human brain
I bring forth
the voice of a hurricane
into the stillness of the room
shouting him into being--
Willing him into existance.
Willing it to be over.
Tapping into the force
of my foremothers with all the intensity
I FAIL TO SEE THE BEAUTY IN THIS MOMENT
...then I do.
and then the pain comes around again
deep and primal
until I feel myself s p l i t t i n g open
to reveal that tender new self
still yet unaware of his being separate
pulsing cord connected
purple and blinking and pissed
knowing cold for the first time
but here, earthside. Mine.
Together we rest, spent.
mother did not hang the moonthe shallow craters
beneath her cheekbones yawn.
creamy round features glow,
basking in the light of her son.
ripe for the pickingJuice stained fingers clutch,
roll over pocked and pitted skin.
Pinch, twist, flick.
Leafy locks ruffled by tiny hands
which bruise the soft and supple skin
of he who has aged just enough.
six thousand four hundred and forty-one(10366 kilometers, you remind gently)
even from that length
ardent arms never smother,
grant me asylum
your voice resonates from
the tenderest of ghosts
i am old as the dawn,
caretakers far beyond my tenure,
yet your sighs
your butterfly kisses
tuck me in nightly
and i would not trade you for
spider-girl aches for you
more than she can say
in your favored tongue
I can't wait to leaveI can't wait to leave
To leave and feel the fear become swallowed by reality
The reality of leaving
For so long, I've been tortured and beaten
I wish I could show someone what they've done to me without making me share the blame of why Doctors declare I'm not "Mentally stable"
That I can't be left home alone
That I can't be trusted with knives
That I have to take pills to be happy
But I'll never be happy.
Not as long as I live here
I'm scared of messing up and doing something wrong because then they'll find a reason to hit me
To beat me till I can barely talk
So I won't have to tell anyone what they do
What they've done
And what they still do
One time, I couldn't carry a gallon of milk because it was heavier than me and I spilled my cup all over the kitchen table
Then she grabbed me by arm and smacked anywhere that I would let her until I was left with hand marks and couldn't get up
She made me clean it and I just decided to try and sleep the pain away
I was thirsty for days.
"You're smile is grand."
"You look great."
It's all lies.
I'm none of those things.
I'm a mutt.
A lost dog without known heritage
looking for acceptance from it's "family"
The process is long.
It's a bitter, cold war that no one wins
And that acceptance is never going to be there
Because I'm not good enough.
I can't reach those standards set for me.
"You aren't pansexual,
don't tell anyone that."
"You aren't an atheist,
You just haven't found God, yet."
"You aren't anyone's friend,
You haven't been fixed.."
"You aren't accept,
You aren't good enough, yet."
When will families just accept their children?
No parent hears the cries,
No parent wants to accept these things,
No parent wants a failure of child.
Yet, I'm here.
Lie after lie after lie is told.
Mother treats me like I'm a roach,
Father disregards me.
I'm the housemate.
I'm the failure
Part of me screams:
I give up.
Yet, the other part knows everyth
VowsWhy is it always this way?
We maintain that we can contort ourselves
Into pearly oyster shells
Draped in pure white silk
Expecting the sky
To rain down its praises
All the while denying
Our limbs are twisted
Mangled by bonds of gold.
We come to this,
An inevitable destination
The clichéd conjunction of destitute facades.
Your sunshine is the only thing
That illuminates my grave.
vi.he lights candles in the night
not to keep his dark away,
but to burn away the scent of decay.
in the mornings he says hello with
skin & breath that still smell like tar.
I shall never date.Too many heartbreaks.
Too many let downs.
Too much friends gone.
I shall never date.
Something I am sure to regret in the future.
But not while I am in the past.
You're Not My FamilyI was kept blissfully ignorant while
worlds tumbled down around me.
They have the audacity to keep things
from me until I find out when I'm
not supposed to.
He was arrested in the summer &
they kept up the facade that everything
was fine even as
his eyes grew dark & his fists clenched.
He was always ready for a fight.
They only thought to tell me after
he ran out of the house screaming
one sentence that shattered my fragile world.
Those words still play on repeat in my head & nightmares.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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