my identity is a graveyard overgrown

and it is difficult to differentiate between my own existence and the entity who you swore to love

for she and I shared nothing but a heart beat

and you and I shared nothing but our bed sheets

and yet here I kneel digging my own grave and lining it with the skin you traced so thoroughly

I tuck myself in beneath layers of heartache and comfort myself with my dirt caked nails

satisfied next time your eyes meet mine you'll find nothing of the girl you left behind

she is in her grave and I am the shovel

and you are the stone

but I am the one writing the inscription

and it will read

"she who lies here has died"

As we grow up we begin to fear silence

Afraid to be alone with ourselves

As kids silence was a time for imagination

Now it's an internal examination

Ever wonder why so little take the time to pray

Probably because we're trained to keep our thoughts at bay

We are constantly staring at screens

Or engaging in shallow conversations

We hardly notice the time fly by

Rarely stop and ponder "who am I"

So worried about our image that the surrounding eyes reflect

That we don't self reflect and behind our own eyes inspect

With others opinions we'd be less concerned

If we took the time to look within and learn

Who we are and who we want to be for ourselves

And quit letting others determine our self wealth

This was one of those nights

A few years ago

When they were first getting

To know each other

Before he quit listening

And became angry

Before she quit caring

And became cold

Before the kids came along

And changed everything

This was one of those nights

When the stars and moon

Told them where to walk

Leaving out every superstition

They carelessly stepped

On every crack

Laid out in front of them

Kicking the leaves as they went

Clearing a path they thought

Would lead to Eden

All the trees were alive

Where the darkness had opened

These moments were

As simple as eating fruit

Simple as sharing the desire

Held within their warm mouths

That came pouring out

As they talked

And as they engaged

In long breathless kisses

Neither one of them

Looking into the future

That knew them better

Than they knew themselves

I think what hurts the worst is the way you knew me

every scar every secret every crevice I hid my dreams in

and when you cut me down to size

you couldn't help but realize

that you weren't the first to take your fist to my face

that you weren't the first to twist my wrist

that you weren't the first to inflict

the kind of pain that doesn't fade with time

you healed my wounds and so you knew exactly what scabs to pick you knew exactly what makes me tick and how to bust me open

I showed you every weakness every loose thread and when you were done you tugged and tugged and here I am

undone

you knew what you were doing you know what you've done

and here you are with upturned palms whispering lies like

"I didn't mean to"

"I'm sorry"

"let's restart"

and I'm melting because all my skin remembers is the way you sewed me back together the way you held me like a cast til I healed

but my mind knows better and it's all I can do not to sink to my knees in defeat

you were my last chance

my final stand

reluctant trust

and here I am right back where I started

but worse off because you knew

you knew me

if I were an honest person

I would tell you

the tea bags beneath my eyes

were soaked in salt water

and the only reason

my lips still taste sweet

is because I drink honey

in an attempt to stick

my insides back together

without tearing myself apart

the way I used to

but I was never honest

so instead I claim

that there hang

two separate midnights

like ornaments to decorate

the foliage of my lashes

and my lips taste sweet

because nothing bitter

has ever passed through them

if I told the truth

the way that good girls do

I'd admit to you

that my face is red

from crying and my hands

are red from dying my skin

the color of strawberries with

my own insides and my

lips are red with lust and my

feet are red from

running away from my past

and my knuckles are red

from it catching up

but I've never been a very good girl

and I keep convincing you

that my eyes are raw from

allergies and my hands

are tinted from writing in ink

and my lips are pink

with the taste of your lips only and

my feet are swollen from

bad circulations and my knuckles

well that was an accident

really

it was

if I loved you

the way you love me

I could honestly say my skin

is bruised from tripping

and my clothes are mussed

by the wind alone and

you're the only man

I dream about kissing

but I think you know

although I've never said

that my skin is speckled

by someone else's love bites

and my outer layer

has been rearranged

by his greedy hands

and I long to be wrapped up in him

sometimes even

when I'm wrapped up in you

if I were a descent person

I would let you know

and let you go

but you and I both

hold on even when

I'm in his bed

and you come running in

to tangled sheets and broken dreams

even when my hands

are wrapped around his neck

we lock eyes

and everything is alright

because sometimes lies

feel honest

when we believe them

ourselves

For those of you

Who struggle with muse

This is what you should do.

Take that little bastard,

By the neck and

Slam it's head into the wall

Until it's creativity

Is splattered about the room

Then gather the juice and

Use it to your advantage.

Until there is absolutely nothing

Left.

My body stopped hemorrhaging.

I have dreamt of you every night

for the last three sleeps and

it's never different.

I wake up sick and unsatisfied and like something's

missing.

My bed is three feet from the wall

the next morning, and

I have to move it back.

I'm not kidding.

I always wondered why I never wake

feeling rested.

I went to bed at eight fucking o'clock

and eleven hours later

I still hated leaving.

I don't know if I can ever

be my own again.

Even my subconscious mind

still feels like it's yours.

The ocean turned over in beats and bass, and the sand moved in the roll of a tongue beneath her stomach and hips, and the rest of the beach gazed at her there while her headphones blasted Modern English and other post punk ’80s bubblegum resurrections. The smell of Coppertone and Pacific had married above her body and pinned my vision on the horizon behind the top of her perfection. I ran my middle finger down her knuckle and she smiled beneath a shroud of wild hair with sweat at the roots.

Back at the house we made it halfway up the stairs before my tongue was up her ass and she was grabbing my hair. Her palms leaned forward and pressed into the carpet while I held her legs off the ground, the grip of my hands on her hips, and I watched her body bounce off our sex while she bucked and came, her hair in her face, her perfections hard at their tips. I arched my back and shot into her and we were frozen there like statues bleeding sweat, my love for her a poem I could never write.   

Inhaling sweet,

sweaty breaths

Your belly, firm yet pliable,

your sun-starved places, shy yet delighting

How can I endure another bend

before my dam fissures, crumbles,

And I am all over inside you?

But I do –

you are unlike any love I've ever made,

we do not simply dance with gravity at our points of entry

We spread the pleasure wealth

out into our eyes, up into our brows,

down into pressure points we never knew we had

As we roll in a blur together

like hummingbirds that know the words

to each other's magic spells