This is how we existI exist, right at the tip
of each of your fingers
ready to pour out, every time
and every time,
you tell me what it is that I am.
I exist, (to you) as each perception
a new layer, forms
a thought-infant, this new part of me, being born
is never self-aware, but always
present enough to earn my disgust.
So I exist, but help me forget
that I exist in two separate forms
the same as you do
and the two of us, our sparring pairs
are only the constructs we made
when we thought of each other.
You know I’m down because I flew up
way too high, all at once
and you realize that, so you arm yourself
and come prepared with your perceptions
you built your own ideal of me, so she can stand in my view
blocking the view
so she can pour off of your lips, and be held by you
as the truth a comparison.
I exist, but it’s in the way you wrote me
so write me this way:
I coalesce, with this ball
of blue-black stress, as I rip off
my dress, your skin
and find that beneath these designs
AA day 15"I love you, for enduring"
she says, as though she's never
endured being a mother to a screaming, frantic bundle
of anger and obscenities
as if she never had the broken skin
of bite marks
and the wasted days that piled up
to prove the chemical unbalance of her progeny
"I love you, for keeping me grounded"
she repeats it; she's said it before
as though she's never done the same
for her husband, her daughter
her friends and everyone
who leans on her so heavily when she's breaking the most
and she thanks me
for being her strength
because she fails, again, to see
exactly where her strength is coming from
"I love you for being you,"
"You saved me, you all did,"
"You took care of me,"
but she hears the same
from everyone she thanks
"You are strong, look what you have
what you made"
yet she still fails to see her value.
existenceI put my hands tight over my ears
and chant a soothing reminder
(there's nothing there, there's nothing
to see, to smell, to hear)
but a smell of burnt straw housing
comes up around me with its companion,
the thickly gathering smoke
as my poorly made house of excuses
burns down, a fatality in the war
I declared on myself.
I press my hand tight against my mouth
to prevent myself from
(ever speaking again)
screaming out into the nothing that gathers
around the skeleton of my burning house
I do not want the answer to my question
my questions, my baby crows
that won't stop growing
and won't ever stop circling
looping around me, black wings sings
(all my questions singing)
so close to my head.
"What happens if you scream into the night
and the night screams back?"
one of my crows asks me.
I put my hands so tight over my ears
trying to make them melt into my flesh
wondering when finger bones
will start fusing with my skull
until they fusion is complete,
and there is no possible way
that I co