Unlace

I have tied too many ribbons to my ribcage
spending my nights pulling bows into knots
and interlacing lovers into my bones
until I was all string and no substance
I have sacrificed myself on altars of my own making
giving away everything, taking too much in return
and I have been all desperation and waiting
for someone to see me crying
just so they could help me stop

I have put pressure on points that were too sore
to hold the weight of my expectations
but I am ready to start untangling the snarl in my chest
to stop painting fictional saviors inside my eyelids
and keeping them shut tightly enough
to block out the sunlight

I am ready to unlace the streamers from my breast
and mend my bones before asking
anything of you

Some Nights (Still)

burrs still sticking to my skin, I am trying
I am trying, I am trying
to move forward

some nights I still taste like
boxed wine and lamplight at 4 am
some nights I am still twelve months ago

some nights I am still wading
through the translucent gauze of nostalgia
peeling its layers from my shoulders
or pulling its blindfold from my eyes

and some nights I am still waiting
for the cracks in my ribs to stop scraping
against my lungs when I inhale
still holding my breath
and counting to ten
hoping the pain will have gone this time

I am barbed-wire tethered
but I am struggling against my own fences
because some mornings
there is a gray light dawning behind my eyes
and I am trying, I am trying

I am trying to pluck the sharp grass from my mouth
to fill it with cool water instead
or enough air to tell you

that I want to be more than just
a ledger of goodbyes and failed attempts
that I don't want to be last year anymore

some nights I want to taste
less cigarettes and more spearmint
less like the blood from my bitten tongue
and more like the way it is healing

some nights I am trying,
I am trying.

Hindsight Will Kill You

go back and look at old pictures of yourself
the ones where you were thinner
wore tighter clothing and lighter makeup
flip through them like an addict with an itch
go through old pictures remind yourself
of when you were much thinner, made of much less
more wisp and less hips and you were
so much happier then, weren't you?
back when you could fit into those shorts just
to watch dark hands peeling them off without asking
go look at the pictures of yourself from all the times
you leaned your head on cold shoulders
and took selfies with selfish assholes
go back through those pictures
try to give yourself a reason
to hate where you are today
because yesterday was so much better, wasn't it?
back when your fists held bottles
of pills in the morning and liquor at night
and your waist was so much smaller from all the
sucking-it-up you had to do to survive
go through those pictures of parties you don't remember
and partners you wish you could forget
breathe in the bile that rises in your throat
every time you see what you used to look like
lose your breath and catch it again
when you remember that you threw out your road map
and convince yourself that you are so much worse off now
because you wake up without a headache these days
and your lover is kind and your lungs breathe freely
and you have a place to live and a steady income
and more of a shot at happiness than you have ever had
and more fear twisted into your gut than you have ever felt
go look at those old pictures and find a reason
to turn this good life into a prison
remind yourself that you wouldn't have to be so
terrified of tomorrow if you went back in time
and lost the weight
and started drinking again
and slept around some more
and quit your job
maybe you'd be better off, because
at least you'd be comfortable, right?
at least you'd know
what to expect

115.

I know I promised you
that I would not write instead of speaking
but my tongue is too rough and dry
to smooth your skin
the way my fingers can

so all I can do
is draw the curves of your name
on notebook paper

I know that I should
let your eyes bathe me in clean water
instead of sidling out of your line of vision
but you are too honest, and I am
not accustomed to this

what matters most
is that I am saving my pennies
to take a trip to the center of you

I promise
I will hold what I find there
with gentle hands

Strange Sickness

it must have been only some misfiring synapse
some faulty wiring, disconnected fuses in my brain
that caused this sadness to stick like sour honey to my bones

they tell me it can be treated but not cured
so I take sick days like anyone else, swallow pills to soothe the pain
and hope that the sunlight will not be too harsh tomorrow
because my eyes are salt-stained and red
and dusk is about the only time I can see straight
so I sit on my back porch at 7 PM and take gulps of evening air
fingers crossed to the point of breaking, hoping that tonight will be the night
that something will crack open in me
and I will become limber and free again

and memories of old loves feel like pinpricks on cold wrists
recalling the nights that I shared my sadness with the wrong people
or tried to cover it with someone else's lips
laughing a little too hard or drinking a little too much wine
trying on happiness like an ill-fitting dress and convincing myself
that if I just keep wearing it, maybe
it will stop feeling so tight and uncomfortable
but the ice spreads in my lungs even still
and I find myself locking bathroom doors even when lovers are over
because the pauses between pieces of conversation last too long
and the chances of my smile slipping are too great
and I cannot risk it

it is a strange sickness, this slow descent
that leaves the sky more gray than glowing
some nights, I am a moth with oiled wings inside a jam jar
no holes poked into the lid
and other nights I am cave-deep in darkness
or still-born quiet
and I rub coconut oil on my neck and in my hair
in some small attempt to mask my own scent
which is something like old pine needles drying in summer

I am trying to take cover from this storm
folding deeper into myself as the rain beats down inside my skin
and there is not much I can find by way of shelter
so I am beginning to think that I am inescapable
and that is what scares me most

But I Won't

I could love you if I let myself -
if the creases in your hands did not look like ravines I'd fall into
if you did not get my wheels spinning so fast that my feet lose traction
and when I fall, my face is too slathered in blood
to see you clearly

I could love you if I let myself
love myself (a little)
so that the sand of me does not fall through your fingers so easily
so that I am enough to hold onto, to pull toward you
but I am the fog and you are the trees
and we surround each other without touching
and sometimes that is all I am capable of

maybe I could love you if I let go of my own fists
but the air in my lungs is cold, and breathing on my hands
only helps the ice crystals to grow, I swear
I could love you if I just
opened my heart up a little, but I tend to open my legs instead
and the only thing I have to show for that
is a list of strangers' names and a stomach ache

but I could love you if I let myself
see past myself
and trust that you might be trustworthy
or at least, a little less dangerous than what I am used to
because I have been in love that feels like getting drunk on poison
and asking for more
and it has left scars in my veins from the nights that I thought
I had to abandon myself instead of him

but I promise, I could love you if I let myself
stop writing poems about the things that have ripped me open
if I started to use my own words to stitch myself up instead
I could love you if I let myself
repair myself
instead of replicating toxic patterns and repeating myself again
instead of beating my head against the brick walls I've built
instead of hoping for new results while I am still
listening to old tapes and
playing old games and
drinking old poison and staying fog-thin
and letting the blood on my face dry to a paste
and keeping my fists curled
and pushing away when I'm pulled
I'm so sorry

I promise
I could love you
if I let myself love anything at all, really

114.

we dreamed and we built and we blazed ember-bright
we roamed and we drank and we twined
and we loved but you lied

and I broke too soon
but I balanced and breathed
I pulled and I asked and I tried
and I tried and I tried

and I loved but you lied

so you cradled and crooned
and you brushed my hair as it grew
you wanted me the best way you could
and you gathered me up when I fell
and you loved but you lied

so we shook and we wept
and we splintered and cracked
we held our own hands and I cried
and we loved but you lied

I burned and I twisted and broke
and you rolled your eyes as I folded in two
and we wanted and wished
and we swept ourselves out to sea
and we loved
and you loved
and I loved
and I loved
and I loved

but you lied.