We make everything permanent and finite and at the end, we wish we had more time. I remember every day that I thought the sun only slid through the sky because I asked it to, every night that I prayed for light in the morning. We think we make time move forward by sheer force of will, and we lose track of its indifference to us. I know I will see you in two weeks’ time, and yet I am still saying goodbye as though we only ever had yesterday, and the future is a lie our parents told us to stop the crying. We forget about things like second chances, like flowers that sleep all winter and bloom again in the spring. We build concrete boxes in the ground or metal boxes on wheels. We avoid direct sunlight. We avoid everything. We smoke, we drink, we only come out at night. We continually refuse to acknowledge the passage of days, and then we wake up with longer limbs or beards on our faces or families, and we wonder where we’ve been this whole time. As though tomorrow only comes if we ask it to. We forget that there is always plenty, there is always room. We forget that more time means more chances, more goodbyes, more hellos. We are foolish and wasteful, and we will find ourselves at the end of everything, asking for more time, as if we had never been given enough.

Unparalleled Recklessness

throw my head back into dust
swirling in the glow of Saturday night
with honeyed whiskey in red cups and
so much that gleamed

and the only thing left from it
is the flush in my cheeks
and a headache

because I remember too much
like your careless breeze
against my face
and a smile that slides sideways slightly
when you've had too much to drink
(which is often almost
 every night)

that honeyed whiskey wasn't
quite sweet enough
to wash you from my mouth, and
nothing really ever is,
apparently

I found out too late
when they pulled my arms aside
to whisper at me urgently and kind
that you have hooked me
line and sinker
still

and they could see me
struggling

see, Saturday night
had me all starry-eyed until
they told me
that I had made a fool of myself

(because when you come at me
 with that careless sideways smile I always
 make a fool of myself)

and the sloppy edges of my mouth
must have looked horribly undone
like I had somehow lost my lips
in my frenzied search
for yours

I have always asked
too much of you

you are warm and thoughtless
and I have pursued your indifference
with unparalleled recklessness
since the last day
you kissed me, but

the only thing left from it
is the flush in my cheeks
and a headache

Gaining Weight Isn't So Bad

when the edges of my skin blurred
I thought I was bloated
from the secrets you kept inside me
but now my curves are wide
enough to ski across, and I feel
broad like summer birds

I have sweated you out
and now the hips I hated so hard
are cultivating fruit trees and sloping
into arches under which
feral cats curl up
and honeycombs grow

my body has expanded
since you last saw it

and I can no longer
feel ashamed of that

Loaded Gun

clouds are forming and I am realizing
that I will always be a loaded gun
pointed toward your chest

it is nobody's fault but mine

and I am sorry
that I was only ever cactus skin
when you needed rainfall

A Mild But Unrequited Ache

dreary, dreary
I have been all cigarette-toothed
and smiling at you, and
I have been a fool

I have been waiting
for your eyes to send sparks
through my skin
and electrify
the sweat on my hips

(and you say I am worth
 painting, me with my
 soot-caked soles)

but dreary, the dust
has settled
and I have found you
out

so the day looks dark
sunbeams seeming
like moonlight under the clouds
streaming reminders
of histrionic histories I tried
to eclipse, but

even still
I made a promise

woven circles into my wrists
silver vows that I would
never
again smash
under a stranger's hands

(and you
 have done nothing
 so terrible to me, you
 are no criminal

 the only hurt here
 is a mild but unrequited
 ache)

so I will not remain
love-stained
today, no
I will open under the
moonlit sun and blossom
for myself this time

only for myself this time

because I am ready
to love me more
than I loved
loving you

Close Yourself Enough To Open Well This Time

cut it up

burn it down
stop the flow

your love is leaking
out from your fingers
into strangers’ mouths

the wrong people
are drinking your water
you are becoming

dehydrated, so

shut it down
break it off
let it go

kiss your own feet for a day
teach yourself to touch
your own skin

you deserve to begin
again, as often as it takes
to grow new moss

and breathe

Cutting Curves

my frame has rounded
like a flour sack filling up
through the years
and I have become
curved

I suppose that makes me
a "real woman"

but I felt real
before
and I did not hate
my reflection so much

my insides were on fire and they twisted
into angry knots when I slept
I know that I disliked
what was underneath my skin, but
my skin itself
looked alright, at least

and nowadays I am told
to keep my chin
up more often than
when I was thin

(so I must assume that my chin
 has justifiable cause
 to sink
 now that I am
 rounder)

I will admit that I would gladly
spend my evenings
cutting curves
from my hips and belly
even though I know

that souls do not grow more beautiful
when they diet -
they only waste into bone matter
with nothing warm or kind to hold onto

so I suppose a thick soul is best
but if I could look
just a little bit
littler
around the edges
and still keep a nice fat heart
I cannot help but think

it would feel better