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this line between

sensitivity & fragility.

think on it.

be it lust or coal

the sweeter end of the deal

"happy" in quotes

land i didn't know.

i was in love with how in love my parents were. when they decided to stop, i don't think i ever recovered.

i pantomime desire

blood from a turnip, love from a narcissist

is grace simply the ability not to flinch?

i buy sweatshirts on the internet in an attempt to save my own life.

"New York City Slut"

hair still grimy with yesterday's rain.

or last week's.

real

or imagined.

be it lust or coal

a line is drawn.

a line is ignored.

resentments harboured

a daughter

watching her father's house fall to shambles.

haunted arches

windows without glass

a roof full of holes

trash in the trees & all over the yard.

a sunken flag.

a broken branch.

the pain in both my thimbs becomes a helpful reminder that i was once a participant in a moment of violence.

habits of sadness & excess

rich with oblivion, fat on fuck ups

the whispers one life contains.

a line is drawn.

a line is erased. 

fact #16

sometimes it's important to look in the mirror, pretend you're talking to your mother or father or any other authority figure/oppressor and say: i didn't build my life for you, i built it for me.

fact #15

specificities, rather than generalities, create desire. 

fact #14

swallowing pain for too long a time, on too regular a basis, seems to encourage the development of a hard to sate appetite for revenge 

my sister named me

honest nods not so pretty not always quite so thick with integrity blood-heavy as a tick the suck of old love old hate long-standing feuds resentments left to fester grudges grown large in the dark of sorrow and shame a cluster of blisters the tattered pillowcase full of baby teeth scars hidden below the sock line diaries in the underwear drawer the jewellery i stole from my father's girlfriend and later handfuls of condoms spermicidal foam hatred so much hatred my sister says WATCH YOUR MOUTH via text and my hidden hatred explodes her egg shells all around me tired of tip-toeing i erupt shrapnel flung from every wound every pore the old barbs darts and arrows once slung into my large and easy heart if we were sisters once it was a long time ago now we're on our own roads i'll admit it hurt my feelings when she called me a drunk flinging at me the name our step-daddy flung at our mother 7 hours after she died bludgeoning me with our father's title whispered behind his broken back in the aftermath of the accident suddenly i felt the deep twisting scorch of the word a label unfurling and flapping wildly about my shoulders for the whole world to see a bright banner bigger than starling my sister named me and i shuddered blocked her number hid the key called her TRAITOR dove back into my bottle and set my sights on a life somewhere beyond the reach and echo of old names shouted down the hall

fact #13

to be without anchor is to be adrift.

is that so?

one by one, my black and white definitions are being proven wrong. 

fact #12

tomorrow scares the shit out of me

shame poem

bereft is the word.

my mistakes have been many.

and there will be more.

and so my heart aches 

and my eyes flood 

tears born of regret and embarrassment 

a fair helping of self-pity. 

i cannot undo my fuck ups.

my apologies do not assuage my guilt.

i want to hide from everyone.

there is even the small, dark, persistent 

wish to be dead.

done with the test. 

my fragility is winning. 

and my ignorance. 

fact #11

they truly do love to see you break