Air

your body shakes
with each pump of your heart.
pushing what must be diseased blood,
considering what it has been doing to you.

Self awareness is not a good thing.
stopping to stare at nothing,
trying not to think about anything,
to keep the tears back.

you need to get this blood out of your system.

one small cut,
two small cuts,
four small cuts.

one long cut,
two long cuts,
four long cuts.

one deep cut,
two deep cuts,
four deep cuts.

four shallow breaths,
two shallow breaths,
one deep breath.

and you’ve used up
the rest of your air to breathe.

To my friend, Emily.

you are my lighthouse,
after a long and tiresome day,
to come to shore and not worry
about the waves pushing my ship over.

you are my sunshine,
to my flower,
vital for survival.

though I was fine before I met you,
I won’t be if you left.

let me be your lighthouse,
calling you to shore.
and your sunshine,
bathing you in warmth.

Words

your words pry my eyes open at 4am.
they push the finger down my throat after every meal.
tips the bottle of pills into my mouth.
they pick at my skin,
they are etched on my thighs.

sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will make me do that myself.

Alcohol

clammy fingers close tightly
around a bottle of artificial happiness.
lips choke the opening
and the contents drip down the throat.
a fire lights in the heart
and burns the baggage that weighed it down.

Disease

I always looked up to you.
up to those big eyes
swimming with excitement
and pure joy
topped with a layer of chocolate icing.
up to that beautiful smile
that could have lit a way for the homeless
to find their home.
up to those freckles
that mapped the universe.
I always looked up to you.

you were always what I yearned to be.
I yearned to be as happy,
and to catch that excitement
swirling in those deep brown eyes
because they always say
happiness is contagious.
so I always yearned to talk to you
in hopes that your happiness would
rub off
and turn my blue-grey eyes
into light blues you’d be surprised
that you didn’t see any
big fluffy clouds in them.

Little did I know that sadness
is as contagious
as happiness.
maybe I would have stayed away,
I could have saved you from
myself.
for the more words that spilled from my mouth,
stuttering and clumsily falling from my lips,
the sadness would jump from my syllables
and leap into those big eyes.
but when you talked,
your words would dive gracefully from your tongue,
your happiness sitting joyfully upon your syllables.

I know you must have tried to fight
this disease I never meant to give you.
I guess you lost because although
your happiness is large in number,
and all of them equal in strength,
my sadness had nothing to loose.
I’m sad to say you never had a chance.
I should have never spoken a word,
never let a thought escape my diseased mind.

now when I look up into those big eyes,
I see your mind at war,
bombs being dropped on your soul.
when I search fro your smile,
I find your lips sewn tight
with the knowledge of how this disease was given to you.
You freckles still map the universe, though.
I pray to a god that I don’t even believe in,
that it means there’s still hope.

delight

vibrant with bright colors
of bone wings.
the word cage couldn’t be more wrong.
for my rib cage is the wing
to my heart fluttering
down into my stomach,
not sinking
but flying
and hitting the walls of my belly,
and then back up to my mind,
where creativity flows
like crystal waters
and ideas bloom like
roses.
beautiful but painful
if you don’t hold them right.
and my butterfly heart
soars to my eyes,
where the blue skies reflect
onto my iris.
wonder and beauty
Polish my bright eyes
and turn them up to the galaxies.
where everything glows with bright stars
to ground us to earth,
to take what we have and stare into
the unknown with awe.
butterfly wings of bone
graze the muscle of my arm,
then lands on my fingertips.
where I can feel the heartbeat-
the rapid flaps of those bone wings-
of another by simply placing
it on another.
down
down
down
to my feet where the cold grass grazes
my toes,
where hot pavement meets
soothing water,
where they feel the inside of my bed,
sleeping.
my heart goes back to the garden in my head
and directs my sky colored irises to a mirror.
I see the galaxies in my freckles,
the clouds in my eyes,
the rose tinted cheeks,
the beauty in my smile.
my butterfly heart takes it’s rightful
place between my rib bones,
it stretches it’s wings and guides me to
love
and beauty
and happiness,
and the galaxies
and everything I can ever want to be.

get over it (spoken word poetry)

“get over it”
like my mind
is a mere hill.
like I can simply
walk past my pain.
the pain that keeps me up at night
sobbing
and fantasizing a way out of my own skin.

“get over it”
okay,
let’s see you
climb up and down
the mountains if scar tissue,
trenches or fresh wounds,
the blade to my skin.

“get over it”
over the fact I cannot
honestly laugh
without a bottle to my hand?
or the nights I stand in front of my mirror,
and realize I don’t know the person staring back at me.
the fact I feel like I need to see the bones
through my skin
to feel worth anything,
although I know that I’m only wasting away.

“get over it”
“get over it”
“get over it”
“get over it”

“get over it”
yeah, I’ll get over it.
I’ll plaster that smile to my face,
a mask heavy with cement
dripping with tears
no one will see.