Buried.

The Earth

fills my veins

and I’ve never felt so alive

or so buried.

The sky

holds my soul

and I’ve never felt so free,

or so heavy.

All I want is to

fall

high and

uncontained

by my premature dreams

of destination.

And I guess,

when I sit here it’s easy

to feel empty

when I see your

adoration.

Words come hard

and fingers tremble

as you dig your hands in,

and

when you

retrieve

something I was so sure was lost,

may I ask that you

not

make it look

so easy?

Smile-Eyes.

For so long

it was only

in the far-off

barren

corners

of my freshly tortured

mind

that original ideas

were free

to rattleravage

in their

unwashed cages.

And yet

somehow

I knew better

beyond

those

fetters that

held my breath

and scratched

dirty words

into washed

filthy skin

and senses.

But what do we

know

beyond

that which

caged us all

for so long?

It became for

you

not slavery

but freedom

from the cold

outsidedoors.

So I look at you

with

distrustful

goodbyes

lurking

forever close,

always

waiting

for the fleeing that goes

with your snake smile eyes.

Worms

Worms

Crawl

And dig deep

Under the freckles that

Mar

My dirty skin.

 

They all watch me

With speaking eyes,

With expectation,

Under a fool’s

Unconvincing disguise.

 

I’m sorry

That I am so unclean,

I’m sorry

That I have something

You all look

To take from me.

I’m breathless

At the thought

Of battles yet

To be

fought

To retain

What

I have every right to be.

I’m sorry, sir,

I’m already empty.

Don’t call.

When you call

I hear

the tears

bubble

in your throat.

When you call

I know

you need

to get

out.

When you call

I do try to listen,

but it’s hard without

getting so attached

it takes me back

to times not worth

remembering,

not worth dwelling

over and in;

it already threatens

to swallow

me

without you here.

 

Can you hear

the distance I force

in my laugh

when you call?

 

When you call

I know you love me,

but it baffles me still

how you sit right in the middle,

and it all springs from you

that none of you are –

none of your best is –

quite good enough.

And you have

no idea

of your own

inadequacy.

Yet you cry in tandem

over how life

has always

failed

you, .

how it has never been

fair.

 

And so I say with heartless

disgust:

yes, we all do our best,

but some of you

need to do better

to earn my

respect,

to earn

your own

place,

to be worth still

less trouble

than

you cause.

Learn to clean up your own mess.

Maybe next time,

don’t call.

 

Oh, I remember.

Remember

dishes in the kitchen,

and hiding scared

on the stairs?

 

Remember parties – too loud –

on tiny,

wide eyes and
ears?

 

Remember pressure

never ceasing

over heartbeat
and chest,

To be someone

more

just because she is

so much
less?

 

I remember

being tired –
endlessly so –

but I always produced
bounding energy

only for you.

 

I remember
when you asked me
with swimmingnightsky eyes

why, when they asked me,

would I daredream to lie?

And I remember

that it killed me

to hurt you so deep

Out of selfless preservation

for good sense to angels keep.

 

I remember when you demanded

I sacrifice my light

for your

thrilling darkness
that pervades even morning’s holy night.

I remember
when I heard

the bitterness

in that

accusation,

that I got more than I deserved

from that

carcass woman.

 

And I remember

when I knew

you’d hurt me one too many times

to let you in,

wielding your rope words

and his knife.

 

So tomorrow I will remember

not being sorry when I say

I will not sacrifice

another

single

day;

I am losing time already.

I no longer care

what you have

left

to

say.

 

 

 

 

Toying.

I toy with this idea

of you loving me.

It makes me smile

with its far-too-easy

glint.

I press these here eyelids closed

and whisper sweet wishes

that you know

I yearn to feel

your hand

clutch my waist

and your words

steal

this fragile heart,

buried,

hidden,

behind fractured but reinforced

glass.

Sometimes it would be so easy to just let go

and have faith

that you’ll know

to hold me close.

What a beautiful fallacy we are in my dreams.

 

On edge.

Can they see what I see?

I watch their faces as I walk close
past in the tunnels
under the rising heavy footstep city.
But do they see
that sadistic beast
in my rib cage?
Do they hear it laugh at me?

Do they hear the tears
as it rips at my windpipe
threatening with clawed hands
if I speak?
Do they see the nail marks
raked
in the sweat-soaked palms
of my being?
Do they see red pulsing terror
in lily skin
squeezing
to be free?

I daresay I hide it too well,
I’m not ready for them to know
that the morning light sets my teeth
on edge.

What would they think if they knew
I am terrified,
of silly things,
like attached strings
and vulnerability,
Of any more
than that
which already
scrapes and rattles
inside this empty skull?

I daresay I hide it far too well.