‘Unanswered, Bared, Where?’

You stole me from this house,

to find home,

find heat,

in this hearth.

but we didn’t know

that you are the heat,

and I am the wintered hands

and you sound like cracks in the cusp

of the flickering tendrils

that hold my face

in firefly fervour.

•

I look at carpets,

couches and stone parking lots,

coated with hope and despair,

and beg for something

that I cannot have,

cannot even begin to imagine to have.

how can I find home

if I’ve never been in one?

how can I give myself to you

if I am only half present?

how can anyone love this?

•

I stand behind a counter,

hello, how are you,

anything I can do for you?

and hope to find your face

behind all of it,

no longer hope for home,

but hope for the fire

that ignites my bones

and shatters this cold in my claws.

•

how do I balance

this dichotomous heart?

fly too close and burn,

swallow my hurt and spurn?

where is entry to peace?

•

why do I call for answers

when I know how this ends?

•

1/28/19

‘Corpse he Found in his Covers (was it 2am?)’

do not look at me,

for I do not exist

I am skin and bone marrow

and oxygen tendrils

and you cannot touch what is not there.

•

so often I find

myself encased in glass,

in tones of grey and tones of song

and a husk under a blanket

is the only thing keeping it all bound

to this plane.

•

do not say you care for me

because I am a ghost

and you’ve attached yourself

to something dead,

something intangible,

something that is missing.

•

let me go,

because I am gone.

•

1/23/19

‘Soft Speaker’

You taste like cold smoke in my lungs,

frigid groves and that knitted sweater,

caffeinated mornings and evenings inside,

gripping onto falsehoods to beg them to die,

and blueberries, sweet on my tongue,

wrist on my waist and leg between mine

sweat on your pillow and laughter chiming

in tune with the sound of your voice

and tell your mom they loved the gift,

and would you please hold me, dear?

•

You are visions of stars above skyscrapers,

thick bubbles, sore with affection and sleep,

bursting amongst the dark veins that glisten amongst the tired, lonely sky

white rooms and red hands,

medicine in my throat and cancelling an interview

and you are mine.

and you hold me like I am yours.

•

and I am so fucking tired of being second to last

bruised fruit underfoot and deeply-grooved seashells

but you pick me out, a whisper in the storm

an indefinite sprawling of tendons and tendrils

across my husk and my heart

and grant me respite, grant me hope.

grant me a hell of a good time.

•

1/17/19

‘Depths’

it is deep

cavernous and cold

against my bones and my soul

rivets against pure gold

quiet longing and quiet despair

crept into skin

as thin as wire

bare-chest and alone

matched two, a pair

left once, burnt twice,

quiet despair

let him in, she begs

pure hope and pure faith ensnared

but he bristles and laughs

burnt rubber, no care

when will the fool learn,

time after time

left to devices

she has yet to unwind

spurn both time and space

find a place to grieve

within herself she will find

affection and trust to retrieve

enter this pit of pure black,

where she smiles from her to you

enter with care

and join the depth too.

•

12/30/18

‘The Home I Find in the 8th of October’

i. you’ve taught me darkness,

sour pain and rotten tongues laid bare

silence, then a sudden cacophony

ringing and the smell of burnt caramel

and get your fucking hands off of me,

you do not own me anymore.

•

you called for me,

begged, spurned everything for my favour

and I felt the shards

of what you left behind

twist and dance inside of me.

you held my past in your palms,

and bargained it for my future

and I was never good at business,

but I knew I needed

this.

needed closed blinds and coffee holders

and bare hearts and look at me from across the room, and hold me in public and don’t fucking act like I don’t mean anything and why the fuck couldn’t you do that for me

•

your caramel used to be sweet,

but with the flame that licked my feet,

it has turned black and impossible to eat.

•

ii. you are a porch light on the shoreline,

moths against your back

and seawater rinsing your toes,

where I float, head under,

waiting to succumb.

•

at first, it was a jolt –

a tense brush against,

gazing, alcohol wetting our teeth,

share a seatbelt and a sofa.

now, it is a current,

streaming within and without,

and you know I am insecure,

and I know you are too,

but we know we are here,

and this is reason enough to be,

and we share the same seatbelt

under the same car roof.

•

your hands are home.

I can’t go back.

•

12/27/18

‘The Sputterings of a Servant of Dust’

I am the skip of a disc,

a song stuttering and chirping

caught toe in carpet,

layer of ice on concrete,

wrapped ankles in lace

and hands holding wrists in place

and I am a mistake.

•

you hold me like I am complete.

•

I am a broken television,

crisp vision turned sour

and static burns the ledges

where I seep from,

when I sleep standing,

leave my corpse,

end up on the floor,

and begin anew

with the rise of the lights

and I am a mistake.

•

you hold me like that’s okay.

•

I can’t hold onto anything,

my fingers loosen

and my claws recede

and my hands swelter and pulse,

everyone leaves, eventually.

no amount of thick, black noise

escaping my tongue

could ever change that.

fate, god, nature and destiny –

intertwined in the way

that the world holds me,

and my struggle is fading.

•

you hold me

even though I don’t know

how to do the same.

•

12/23/18