done.

i am still so fucking full of care. last night on the bathroom floor all the tears and the booze made me puke while my brother broke apart with worry. his little sister is falling apart at the seams.

i can see your eyes

the smell of him is what did it. it wasn't his charm or his kindness, cause he had none of that, not which she could find at least. no, it was the soft, strong smell he threw all over her every night when she was falling asleep; it reminded her of what she left back home. she remembered the clarity of youth, how one smell could spin her coattails and march her right back into her high school love story. her new life was nothing compared to that year she spent learning how to love. but waking up next to this second-best prototype in a strange, new city was solace enough for her to keep calm and drugged up.

the scent of her new distraction over her made up for the sunday when she finally cut her losses, years ago, before she ever knew how to shut off. well now that's all she could ever do, turn off and tune out while he made up for "lost summer time." the padding of her bare feet across the linoleum at 3 am was her only way of turning back on, and she meant every step.

she was 100% the opposite of what he left back in his mom's house, and i think she knew that he'd planned it that way. she tried to be flattered, and she tried to see it from his hazel eyes, but i don't think she could, and i think she only saw it as false pretense. that's no one's fault but his, she thought, cause in all honesty she had indeed been able to leave her past completely behind. and for all of that, she was scared and brutalized by her own strength, afraid of what her emotions could abandon after so much time.

and everyday when she struggled to see inside him, he turned the lock tighter, and in a sense, she wanted to give up on him like he gave up on her. 'cause he did, he swore to her that she was just like all the others, even though she knew she wasn't, not at all. he told her every night, "you'll never be able to read my mind." he told her, he confided in her, "i will never believe a fucking word you say." in bed, he called her a harlot, a charlatan, a masochist. but she knew herself, she knew she'd keep trying until it tore her apart. and everyday his cruelty would bring her to the front door, but her feet would turn around and return to him. maybe she wanted to prove that she could stand it, she'd stay cause what if it was all a test to begin with? she'd never know, and that cut her up all over.

9.1.08 - The Dust of Retreat

i am solely to blame. Such a vision i was, on my scabbing knees, begging for tears to come so ink could set into 99 cent paper. this gift, this ailment, i asked for it with all of me, and now with my severed strings and my miscalculations, i am reduced to lonely gasps in the back room.
in each swaying movement of my hopeful forgiveness, my cerebellum screams back at me what i already know:
"HE CAN'T LOVE YOU."
well, i know, i know, i know. but i will give into the pretty apologies; "bring your body back to mine." i will, of course, despite the shame it will take to peel off my clothes and say goodnight.
the great irony of my wishful-thinking optimistic curses is how fast i will fall into the confusion of a seasons change.

fall: i will, for a little while.

winter: forget my face.

spring: i'm here, if you need me.

summer: i want to come home to your storm

now press the repeat button on my forehead and you may continue to humiliate me, isn't that what you said i deserved?

next to you is a song i keep singing, a word on the tip of my tongue, or the fire alarm across the street. and i'm tired because it's nearly fall and we spent too much time in bed--"it's been you all along, please believe me, what was her name again?"--convincing each other of things we both know are false. and i will sit here and listen for as long as it takes you to convince me that i am not worth trusting or loving, i swear i will listen. your words sound like the sea and i just want to split that bottom lip in two.

now i ask as you stand to leave, "how am i supposed to feel when you're not here?" Well, i promise to go out quietly, and i promise i will be here waiting when you come back for me.

You Can't Love Me - 9.20.08

I can make myself dinner.I can dress myself. I can pay my bills, I can tie my shoes. I can join a gym, and i can drive to work. I can drink myself into oblivion, and i can put you on your knees in our bedroom. So, when i am out on his porch, do not sting me with that smile--i know what it means. ( "You're just as guilty as me now, I can catch you like you caught me.") Don't stare at me with those double-standard eyes, and don't you lie to me. ("Baby, I don't mind.") So your raps on the window, your eyes all over me and him, they can't matter anymore. I am on the move. I know what you're thinking--("She's just like the rest of them, now i see her lies.")--well, Shut The Fuck Up, dear. If you had heard me, you'd know that i promised this would happen if you took us down this road. His fingertips are allowed to press into my lower back, and my hands in his hair, they can belong there if i'd like them to. I am repeating myself again, but i am so filled with joyful anxiety when the thought of rubbing your lying little face into this braces me. Just when you thought you'd won, well, here i am, the victory's all over my face, my lips, my back; wearing my skin like a veil.

fat lip

last night when you caught us kissing on the porch, i was so scared of you, baby. but this morning when i finally stripped off my alcohol armor, i realized:
i still want his lips all over me.

to the girl with saturn for skin:

God, how I miss the subdued glow of the History Channel sign behind our heads on that girl's Harlem rooftop. It is so fucking cold up here, without our bulky winter coats, but we've got our alcohol to keep us warm, and me and you are chain smoking off the side of the roof, screaming "I LOVE THIS CITY." this city where our faces blend with everyone else's on the F train, it's so wonderful to keep to myself. And back in Brooklyn, that loft bed saved my life when my drunken appendages collapsed all over it after too much dancing. or in tiny dorm rooms, we have to squeeze to fit and our backs remember in the morning. in that screaming city, i am so happy to stand next to my best friend, noses and lungs and stomachs full, eyes wide and laughing until it's too early to stay awake. Now in my own city, sleepy and sorry, i need her to control my head again. last night in the comfort of an abandoned stairwell, i cried my fucking eyeballs out, but she was on the other end at 3AM to knock them back into their sockets. i love her, and i love her city.

Here, this city makes me sick. The broken brick sidewalks are so silent when i drunkenly stumble home at 2AM without her or the necessity of a metro card. And in the mornings, this city welcomes you too easily into it's sweet arms, it's so kind i can't control myself. my hands are worn and bleeding from dragging this pen across paper, and my legs ache from walking as fast as i can from his apartment to mine.

I'd cut my feet open to get back to that school where we chain smoke and fall asleep at 6AM if i could.

damage control.

i am stoned, and worthless. today i will fill my head with smoke and drown out all my common sense while you leave me here to invite her inside. this is damage control.

i am stuffed to the brim with absolution like a 15 pound turkey on thanksgiving. in a few hours i will fill my nose with more common slander and go shot-for-shot with the tallest kid in the room, but my eyes will be searching the floor plan of this apartment to find you. 'cause i'm wondering if i run off with this redhead girl, will you be there when i come back or will you be undressing her in the dark? my throne has been capsized, and here i am, seeping into the grout of this tile floor, i am a mess of hair and pills and from here you look like someone worth saving.

that mattress belongs to me; my intestine are the coils of springs, my brain matter is the stuffing, and the sheets stretch across it's perimeter like my skin. i will bury myself inside the plaster walls until i am ready to come out and let go.
"You are holding on because this is comfortable."
Yes.
But i will run every red light to get back home. this city, my hands. every night i fall asleep in a bed too big for one, and every waking morning the sheets bind my hands and feet, and when my ankles struggle to break out, i am gagged back and restrained by the pillow case and the dreamy color of your bedroom eyes, i must suffer in silence.
"TELL HIM"
i don't expect him to understand.
this morning i flew off the fucking handle and into the grime below. face first, all the clouds above me change to rain and then to shine, and my eyes can't handle the strain of all the cumulus clouds. i am hypnotized by how cheap this is, you can't love me and you won't turn around to face me. i am owed that bland honesty.
this time, i've gotta peel off all my tissue and blood from the closet door where it splattered, and i'll put it all back to together peace by peace. because when i fly solo, i fly so high.