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my life

is such a mess

the dust

has no place

to lay

i keep my mind

cluttered

so that there is no

room for you

m.l. awad

your teeth

crooked

against taut flesh,

like the inside

of my thigh

was a peach-skin

on the verge

of breaking

there was an apple

in your throat,

and i created sin

trying to wrap

my mouth

around it

i tried to

resist,

but my legs

held like

boa constrictors

about your waist

i cried out for

the lord but

he wasn't the one

who came

it was a tuesday

your fingers

smelled of lilacs

and peppermint

and the inside

of my body

you bought me

easter candy

for valentine's day

so commenced

the excavation

you set a blanket

down

started at the center

hollowed a tunnel out

belly button deep

hoping

to unearth something

i was moth-eaten

and dusty

when you coughed

it echoed

my walls

bouncing the sound

back into

your mouth

i vibrated with

your breathing

if you hadn't gotten

tired

if you had dug

a little further

you would have found it

fossilized in iron

and nickel

preserved in amber

calcified like a tumor at my

core

the reason

i wrote this

maybe you'd have

understood

had you been able

to study it

to look at it

under a microscope

to hold it

maybe you'd finally know

where it originates

maybe you'd see

where all this comes from

and how it came

to rest

inside me

where hatred

is loud,

the whispers

of love

will permeate

the masses

love will

rise up

love will

drown it

out

m.l. awad

{my pulse keeps

tempo.

my veins branch off

into a staff and quarter-

note blood cells

in the space

that needs

filling.

your hand slides down

the chord of my

spine like a giant

violin string.

the sound echoes in

my empty ribcage;

my body becomes

a melody.

my breathing

crescendos.

your tongue trails my teeth

like a finger along

piano keys,

there is a bass drum

behind my belly button

that you are trying

to reach.

when i read

sheet music,

i see your

F

A

C

E

in all the spaces

in between.

i always loved you

off pitch

and out of key.}

Gatsby had
the green light.

i had the lights
all down bourbon street.
i had the howls
of passersby and the
blare of bar music.
i had the sweet
autumn air and
the cobblestone under
my boot heels,
so that for a few
beautiful nights
i lived in the past,
present,
and future.
for a few
sacred days
i transcended my own soul,
poured my guts into
a storm drain on the corner
of Chartres and
ground my bones
into fine powder for the sake
of the city.

i sang without saying
a word.
i danced without
moving.

If I was in therapy

right now,

they would be blaming it all

on my mother.

I am 25 going on

60, sometimes I think she's there

when I hear myself laugh,

I bet my nose moves the same way

hers does

when I'm talking.

I only inherited

her bad traits.

Our optometrist says

we have the same

astigmatism.

Sometimes,

we complain in unison.

Every so often

I'll look in the mirror

and I'll see her

resilience

in my own face.

I only really clean

when people are

coming over.

I don't care for

macaroni and cheese,

or mushrooms,

or men who

don't stay.

I talk a big game,

but really I

care deeply

about everything.

They say

as women get older,

they all turn into

their mothers.

They say it

like it's a bad thing.

i slept

in your bathroom

floor, dressed in

crumpled lace.

your back was turned

the next morning,

and you were humming

that tune they play

in movies after somebody

dies.

my ears started ringing,

the energy in the

room

changed frequencies.

i gathered my things,

red shoes, red lips,

red face,

and i walked to my car,

like a pool of blood

in the snow,

and i screamed at my

steering wheel

to teach me how

to let go.

but it didn't say anything.

he said

in a world of black and white

my words are the color

but i can't stay

inside the lines.

i told him about the

night i showed up at

his doorstep wearing nothing but a

trench coat and how my

ankles were cold but his

apartment was warm

and that's the last time

he let me

come inside.

he started talking about how

her perfume permeates

and her makeup stains

and he can't bring himself

to wash his pillow case

because he'll know he's

sleeping alone.

he can't talk about her without

wetting his lips,

like it sucks the moisture

from his mouth just

saying her name, and i can

relate.

we'll take it one day at a

time, he touches a cold hand

to the base of my spine,

and he apologizes but i say

"oh no it's fine"

so he leaves it.