Overwatering -- 1 May 2016

I still remember

When I was the little girl

That always overwatered plants

Filling their pots to the brim

And watching the water overflow to the floor

Making small droplets on the carpet

That would soak into my socks as I ran away.

Yesterday, my potted cactus dried up and died.

I’ve become less nurturing than the desert.
My love withers and slaughters.

What happened to the little girl

Overwatering because she didn’t know when to stop giving?

Who did this to me

And why did I let them?

You Were Always Supposed To Be A Warning -- 2 May 2015

You were always supposed to be a warning
A wildfire can never hold the ocean
But you make me want to try

I was told that love can be so destructive
The kind of force that rots and levels cities
Leaving only deteriorated carcasses of what used to be

My mother brought me to several such cities
Places where she thought no hope could dwell
But I never heeded any advice she gave

I felt no dysphoria in these lonely, forgotten places
Any warnings from my mother have faded in my head
I was too busy archiving architecture and dreaming

You were always supposed to be a warning
There can be beauty to be found in the aftermath of chaos
Even if I'm the only one to see it

Archaic Misfortune of Men -- 13 February 2015

Sailors used to tell stories
That a woman on board was bad luck
So go ahead and throw me overboard
As I drown my legs will entwine
Slowly becoming one
The salt will scrape at my lungs
Watery depths will lull me to sleep
And I'll know I'm home
And breathe again
I'll come back stronger
Pissed as hell
With a voice husky from betrayal
And strained from screaming
My siren call burdened with revenge
Beautiful and dangerous and tragic
Designed to lure only those
That want to make more like me
Never again will I be silenced

He's Peppermint Tea You Steeped for Too Long and Rips in Your Favorite Jeans

He’s peppermint tea you steeped for too long and rips in your favorite jeans. He’s the butterscotch candy that just appears in the purses of little old ladies. He’s drive-thru diners and licking greasy fingers. He’s a melody stuck in your head but you never know the words. He’s the word on the tip of your tongue and the things you say without thinking. He’s anxiety and caution and angst. He’s the slightly pulpy last sip of lemonade when it’s a scorching hundred degrees. He’s the pennies in your pockets in exchange for a thought and the sprint to beat the parking meter. He’s cold coffee and sleepy conversations and the umbrella that breaks in the rain. He’s puddles and wet socks and the thump of your tennis shoes in the dryer. He’s leftover Easter candy, chalky and stale, and the stomachache you can’t seem to regret.  

He’s too much and never enough.

He’s killing you softly and you don’t even care. 

She's Curse Words and Eating Peanut Butter Straight from the Jar

She’s curse words and eating peanut butter straight from the jar. She’s rolling the windows down on a hot summer day. She’s the dirt underneath your fingernails and the sand castle you never finish. She’s everything you can’t say and the things you can’t admit. She’s the poetry you want to write and the stacks of unread books beside your bed. She’s sarcasm and the laugh you can’t hold back. She’s the snorts and the giggles and the cackles and the shakes. She’s burnt marshmallows and campfires and menthols. She’s the thunder when it rains and the earthworms coming out to play. She’s the cold feet in your bed and the pop-rocks feeling when she touches you. She’s the dragons in your breath on cold days and crackling ice.

She is everything you love.

She burns you alive and you don’t want her to stop.