Flower Girl

lately much of my world has compressed to 60 by 80"

some broken springs, the book i can't seem to finish,

glaring laptop screen and phone alarms chiming minutes after i've already taken my medication

sometimes i curl into a hibernating beast

slow my heartbeat and drink recycled air until i'm away and dreaming

i hear far-off people talking to me, ghosts of crowds and chaos

the sound of my brothers voice becomes a heartbeat of our house

1) the day of the week that everything was reborn in a sticky mess of rose tinted jelly and how it tasted on my lips, tongue, teeth

2) which direction the shadows leaned and whether it mattered even though everything stretched towards me for recognition, (a soothing balm for the unseen) did the lights go out all at once or slowly? were we holding hands?

3) sundays did they burn as much as i remember? perhaps too much sun and not enough shade too many open wounds and of course those damned black fingertips (everything they desperately reached for)

4) how many steps to the hallway for the monsters in the closet though, they didn't stand a chance (angels in the doorway) (brother by my side)

5) perfect ratio of fruit to spices could i re-learn this one? (even though; -one lemon -3 bananas) has suited me fine lately

Stark “A” like a catalyst

Powdered power lines frame the moon like a puzzle

 Like a silk cord around your swan-like neck 

In the dark of winter I devour past sadnesses 

Growing teeth, chewing my old collars off 

I am unwoven in the light of dawn 

Trickling through curtains like sunlight 

You can’t hold me in a human hand 

I spill 

I blind 

keep them in a glass beside my bed like goldfish

flush them down the toilet when i wake up in the morning.

see i have never done well with loss

and you, don't often read

between

the lines

not the way i taught myself to so i could

keep from drowning in other peoples oceans.

stomach full of fishbowls

lungs choking on koi ribs

asphyxiation by minnow/guppy/tetra

my body is an aquarium of unsaid things.

i write exhibit descriptions for almost all of them

"over here, i remember how it felt"

"this is the part where i am okay with being alone"

spend my mornings swallowing neon lights

plastic plants and fish food

might as well make my body a better home

we deserve this, you know

the creature comforts

embroidered pillows on the sofa

multi-colored pebbles settled gently on my spine

when i dream, i can breathe underwater

and i am not afraid to speak every word i feel -

look people in the eyes and cut myself open

spill freshwater all over the floor until all of us are

somewhere between my skin and my restless bones.

you pool,

warm and sticky just beneath the surface

never one to wear your heart on your sleeve

that’s okay, i’ll wear it on mine instead.

my mother tells me - ice the welt

asks who hit me and i just say i slipped.

i slipped mom, it’s so icy outside

i slipped and fell but i didn’t mean to

(just like i don’t mean to lie)

don’t tell my mother but there’s something so nice

so comforting in a bruise on a body

so warm like a mug of heated milk

the sweetest twinge of pain when you press just right.

you look good under my skin, it’s so nice to hide you with

scarves, sweaters, snow-pants

so fascinating to watch you change every day

violets, sickly greens, a fanning of indigo

has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful before?

you fancy yourself secretive

but i caught a glimpse of all of you

how could i not upon impact?

beheld a sliver of everything in the blinding collision

Teeth flossed with tufts of glossy red

Tongue fuzzy like it’s coated with dandelion seeds

The fox and the hound

The fox and the hunter

Always the coat, the trophy, the foot dangling from your keychain

I - the caged animal

I - the conquered

I - the rabid beast

I think I’m wearing plaid and it’s winter (but warm) and feels almost good

Almost happy

Almost real

In a real dream, there’s a dark oak desk

The finality of silence after a moment that needed to happen

A sense of being maybe wanted, but knowing you can’t stay

In an almost real daydream I think about grapefruit trees that almost existed

A note I almost write

The irony behind the way things are and the way I almost wanted them to be

I can’t sleep lately

I almost call someone asking them to come over

I almost look at the clock

I almost think about warm colours colliding into cold

Ruby into navy

Yellow into indigo

White into black

Another real dream makes me wake up aching in the chest

I almost keep thinking about it

There are no vacancy’s in my mind for destructive thoughts

No queen sized bed for them to lay down and get comfortable in

No television to turn on and drown out the din of contentedness

I refuse to allow my insecurities free reign over my actions anymore

They do not get to demand I “put on eyeliner”

“Fix my hair”

“Wear a different shirt or I’ll look fat”

They don’t get to make me feel like my body isn’t my very own home

The ultimate safe haven in which to reside

Only kind houseguests are welcome here

And I’ll put their artwork up on the fridge

“A picture of that time I didn’t feel awkward without makeup”

A tribute to how I look in the morning, puffy eyes and flat bangs

Only the guests who write

Sonnets about the softness of my stomach after I eat a hearty meal, are allowed to come inside and

Kiss my ribs, dangle ornaments from them

“Baby’s First Christmas not counting calories”

It is a revolutionary statement to love your body wholly

But every scar I have is a story

Every ounce of fat is my body telling me it loves me enough to want me to stay alive

The hair I keep plucking from my chin is a persistent reminder of my own stubborn nature

There is nothing un beautiful about me

There is no single part of me that is not divinely perfect

It should not be a revolution to realize your body loves you

Grief all over again, condensed into a heartbeat

Enough to make you feel broken