androgyny

    thoughts of two
        thick slabs of meat,
     raw and
      tenderized by a sinewy
               rope of muscle

          thoughts of
        tensor bandages cutting
               into sensitive flesh,
            compressing
                  piles of fat, nerves, and
         swollen glands

                   thoughts of my
                 square jaw and
                     wide shoulders

     thoughts of long hands on
         large hips or covering
                 the peak of breasts

            thoughts of the smell
       of sulfur, of congealed blood, of
                rotting eggs.

blue eyes

        i remember them
        so clear and sharp

        i remember them
        so overcast
        and drifting

crossing the road

            i used to be so scared when adults
                 would guide me to cross in front of cars

        but now i've learned how to
          judge speeds and distances

               so i stare straight ahead
            as i step off of the sidewalk

                  in my periferal vision, i see
                the driver frown and prepare to brake

                    i walk steadily but i surprise myself by thinking
                hit me

                                 hit me



                 i dare you to hit me

disappear

    sometimes i wonder
    if life would be
    any easier if i just

    torched my house,
    hopped on a bus,
    and started again

    somewhere
    different.

erin

        (what more
            can be said?)

fingers

                                       thoughts of
                                    falling and crushing
                                          every bone in my hand

                                 thoughts of
                                        never being able to play
                                     piano
                                       or guitar
                                            or anything at all
                                         ever again

                                               thoughts of
                                            sitting in front of my keyboard,
                                                 staring at the letters
                                                          and hearing the words
                                                       but not being able
                                                            to get them out

green

                 is showing through
            the gray and i am
              terrified because

      it doesn't make me feel better



                             just older.

haiku

         haiku haiku and
         a little more haiku and
         i guess more haiku?

insomnia

      i start to wonder if
            my sleeplessness
         is a case of

                "can't"
           or
             "won't".


justice

        always has
          an exclamation point
      attached

knowledge

                       i speak so much more
                       intelligently than i think
                       that people actually believe
                          i'm smart

                       (i don't know a lot but i
                       know very well how to bullshit
                       my way through in and out of things)

lonely

                                            thoughts of
                                               reaching out
                                         to anyone at all

                                         thoughts of
                                       how needy i am

                                                thoughts of
                                                     how i always predicted
                                                    something like this

moon

                 its cheshire cat grin
               beckons me to

       rip off all of my clothes,
                    throw them into the trees,

          and run, screaming, into
                     the lake,

             splash and holler generally cause
        a ruckus


                      and then disappear
                      into its turbulent, black
                      depths.

nude

            sometimes i walk around naked.

                 partially because it feels liberating

        and partially because i've been told all of my life that
        my body is an imperfect, shameful thing. i'm supposed to
        be apologetic for my scars and lumps and unsightly bumps

                     but the thing is:
                           iam
                           not
                           m y
                         b o d y

                                   and i am very bad at
                                   doing what i am told.

orchids

bring me
no inspiration.

playing pretend

                                 thoughts of
                                imagining that i'm
                                   not pathetic

                                thoughts of
                                  cutting my bangs
                            to frame my face
                                   a little better

                                    thoughts of
                                   my best efforts
                                      crumbling under
                                 the reassurance
                                      that it's totally fine

                               thoughts of
                                  a constantly ticking
                                 clock, counting
                              down until i do
                                   something stupid

queer

           there are boys who make me
           question my sexuality

           but only temporarily

           like when you pick up a knife and think
           "i could totally turn around stab someone right now"



           "they'd never see it coming"

revolution

        thoughts of changing
            the world

              thoughts of
             fixing
                  everything

sorry

       i never meant
       to screw it up

       i never wanted
       to bring you down

       i never asked
       for any of this

things that i always write about

   ...
   nicotine   butterflies   flesh   wrinkles   calluses
   hands   pronouncs   gray   arthritis   writing   flight
   oral fixation   music   walking   strangers   eyes
   ...

ukulele

           aren't i
              just so
             delightfully

                   fucking

                quirky.

violet

    since we sang last, i've

    developed a heavy internal sense

    of and need for harmony

worried

                the closest i
              ever get to
                 cracking is
             on the day
                i sit down at
                   the piano and
                 can't muster
               the urge to play

xerox

        is this who i really am
              or is it just who i have made myself to be
           after cutting out parts of other people

                    and pasting them together?

                                     is there a difference
                                        between being myself
                                and being a collage of
                                  photocopies from
                                            poetry compliations,
                                       news articles, and
                                    novels?

            does it mean
               anything
                    that i feel
                  like i am
          at least two people?

you

                                    (
                                    what
                                    more
                                    can
                                    be
                                    said
                                    ?
                                    )

zombies

    thoughts of a
      thick blade
          slicing through
        rotting flesh

      thoughts of
    that constant,
         aching hunger

   terrified
    thoughts
      of
     death
         being
       exactly
          like
        life