uh i write here

one day i hope to wake up and see
yellow, or white, or the off shade pink
of a girl’s fifth birthday party instead
of this never ending blue that is
beginning to stain my ribs, and
is willing me down, like a stone
tied around my neck

i hope to wake up and see the 
angel, but all i’ve seen are
mermaids, i’ve fallen for their song,
and i hope to wake up and 
hear nothing, because i miss the 
silence of it all

they say fold your hands together,
make your cathedral, make it nice
and big, for your regrets, for your
hardships, so that your forgiveness
can flood your tiny creased palms

they say, make a cathedral, cross
your heart, hope to die, scouts honor,
oh dear lord save me now, but
he never comes when your
cathedral isn’t set up, when he can
flood your forgiveness, take
your blood, your heart, your

and they say, make a steeple 
with your tiny plum round fingers,
watch them turn rosy, watch
as his blood becomes your blood,
he’s going to perform miracles,
but then your close your steeple,
you watch the cathedral crumble,
no more floods,
no more saving

good, who needs you, anyway?

i spent years sleeping inside
of your heart

and i had built my safety in the
porcelain of your ribs, strong and firm,
like the worn hands that shaped
birds, trees, creations
all of it

there was a time where i had learned to
swim inside of your blood, to
let my skin stain the color of
anger, the color of power,
the color of love,
isn’t that, funny?

but, then you treated me like a parasite,
like i were the poison that was making
you ill, to crack your strong steeple
ribs, your thick roped vein

but no, i was the antidote, and i realized
that all creators want to die after
they’ve built their own

and so, i spent the last night, sleeping
in your heart, to the poor
drum beat of your pulse, like a clumsy
10 year old picking up sticks
for the very first time

and the poison took over,
and the poison won, so
i do not sleep in your heart
any longer

do you ever wonder if ghosts are
blind? if they
can just tell who to haunt by the
familiarity in a heartbeat, or the
scent that reminds them of
friday evenings spent watching a doll
pretty themselves up
do you think ghosts know who to
haunt, or they just look for
a heartbeat that makes them think
of a life lost, a future not found, a
past lived with
too much regret

called me your little lioness, asked me to 
roar, to sharpen my claws, told me to take
care of the cubs, but
no, that’s not me, that’s not
what i want, i don’t to be your lioness,
i want to be the lion, i 
want to lick blood from my paws,
i want to rip muscle and 
veins, to fest on those 
hearts that are too weak to be
the king, like i am
meant to

told me that i would shape my bones right like
i’m made of clay and not glass, like i am meant
to be molded and shaped that i am
not granite or porcelain
i am not strong i am
weak, that is what you tell me 
with your fangs and your nails and your
bones, that construct mine with your
symphony of fingers, with your
orchestra that speaks to my mouth, my
heart, but 
i am not clay, i am porcelain, i am
granite, i am 
not meant to be molded by your
fangs any longer

you tell me about your dream you 
have every night, where you’re drowning, 
where your wings have been clipped 
where you’re struggling, and you say you find 
me, in the light, right before it
goes dark, right before 
you wake up.

and you ask me, every morning, with your elbow
pointed to the edge of the table, with your
tie still undone, with your hair
half made
if i would save you, 
and i think, no, 
because you wouldn’t do the same
for me, so i just  ask if you’d like 
more cream in your coffee, you
nod your head, and say, 
alright, kitten

i’m running out of words, they are drying
like the roses in the winter, they are leaving
me, like ghosts, like my nightlight tucked away
in a drawer long thrown away.

they called us ship wrecked lovers with
our heart stitched to our sleeves and we
found our own north star, between the
webs of our fingertips, the seam of our mouths,
the press of me, the slide of you

we weren’t so lost, in that space, in that
time where the haze of oblivion and
the open seam of space rocked us to
sleep, but

the mermaids found us, took us to
atlantis, and we’re not ship wrecked,
but we look through our kaleidoscope eyes
for the star that shone on us, but i find
it in the open seam of your sunburnt lips,
in the gaps of your star stitched fingers

and you found nirvana in the bird bones that
carved my chest, like i found nirvana in the
rhythm of your breathing, melodic as we sang
our song we we became
the shipwrecked lovers 
that never were

there’s something beautiful about
falling in love, like when you cut your hand
on the shard of a mirror, and wonder if you’ll
really get seven years bad luck. 

because falling in love is facing your biggest
fear, like getting thrown head first in the middle
of the ocean, with your hand still bleeding. or,
waking up to be tangled in the spider’s web and
it blinks, slowly, eight beady eyes at you. 
all you feel, though, are your ribs radiate hot heat,
like the sun, and we’re all most afraid of dying
alone. or maybe, we’re most afraid of the 
world ending.

but love dilutes everything until you feel stretch thin,
like your father’s collars that smell of cologne, even if
his ghost lingers. and it dilutes you until your vision
swims black, until you buck under the weight, and what’s
so good about love if it’s the reason we all die, in the end?