I Feel You

I miss you
in my bones,
in my skin and blood.

I feel you
swimming through my body
even though we haven’t touched
in ages,
even though we are adrift
instead of anchored.

I feel you
swimming towards me
even now
as I lie in this desert,
this tundra of quiet,
of anticipation never reached,
I feel you draw nearer still
even amongst the empty.



Don’t Stop Believing or Maybe I Should Start 

I wish I could actually
believe in myself.
At least a little.

I have no confidence.
Or what I do have is in tatters.

I can’t find the good.
At all.

And it’s so stupid
because part of me is like,
“Of course, I’m fucking amazing.
How dare you think otherwise?”

But then I think,
“Oh wait.
No, you’re not.
You’re ordinary,
Nothing special
or significant.
Just a sort of
wasted human
taking up the space
others could use.”

One half of me
thinks I’m great
and the other
can never keep up,
can never be good enough.

I’ve always been
a disappointed disappointment.

It’s so fucking sad,
and I can’t seem
to climb out of it.




I think I crave structure
because I have none.

I need
because I always feel like
a car about to careen
off the road.

I wanted your directions
because I’m so tired
of making my own.

If I give up control,
then I’m free from deciding
and I’m so tired of deciding.

I want
to breathe
and run
and fall
knowing that someone else
will catch me,
stop me,
tell me
when I’m off course
so that I can stop guessing
and trying to figure out
how to make sense
of a world
that doesn’t make sense.

And while you led,
you also asked.

It was as if you wanted
to know what made me
and no one wants to know that.

I could show you my broken
and you’d still want to see more.

The loss of this,
of you,
is why I’m sad.

I want someone
to want to know me,
to want to see me
even when I’m shattered,
and you’re the only one
who ever did.


If I could
wish things
into being
by just a sense of need,
by just wanting it badly enough,
if I could will it into reality,
I would be,
could be

If I could make you
talk to me
just because I wanted it enough,
because I didn’t give up
wanting it,
then I could know,
what’s in your head,
your heart.

I’d understand the silence.

If only I could wish hard enough,
the light would flash
and I would no longer be alone.




A Little Truth 

I always feel so alone even when there are people everywhere. I always feel unwanted, broken, discarded, no matter the situation, and I’m not sure how to shake the negative self-talk, to use an overused buzz word. I’ve never felt strong even though I know I am, and that’s insane, right? To know yet not believe? 

I’m tiny, tinkling pieces, only shadows instead of solid people. And I do feel like people, so much more than one or two. Maybe three or four all tied up in this body, and I don’t really know which one is real, which one is the phantom, which one is the whole person. Lonely and multiple and never alone. Never stitched, only shattered, and always on my own.





People desire
what destroys them.

It’s all the dopamine
in our brains.
It triggers
insatiable cravings
for that high
that love provides.

We know better,
don’t we?

We know the drug
will only lead
to needing more,
and what happens
when it’s gone?


Crawling skin
and hot flashes,
that burning ache
in your chest.
Stomach pains
and restlessness.

And your thoughts
go nowhere else.

You are trapped
by your own desires
even though you know
each moment,
every dose,
destroys you
just a little more.




These words are
an empty room,
a desert–
in its vacancy.

I am hollow
and so are these lines
and all those
which walked this space before.

We are vast
and void of all
that means anything,
so we wait,
and hope
above all
that something will come,
arrive with something
to fill us up,
to make whole
these caverns echoing
with longing
that have done nothing
but starve our broken hearts.




I’d let you
destroy me,
devour me,
pick me clean.

I’d waste away
as you bleed me,
your knives
slicing shallow cuts
in my armor,

and I’d beg for more.

I’d crawl to you
on my knees
and ask for new wounds,
new injuries to endure
for you.

I’d let you burn me,
scar me until
I’m blind and blackened,
until my fingers,
my face blur
into nothing,

and I’d plead for more.

You ruin me
with every word

and I will always crave more.





Photo Credit: gilad at deviantart.com

We burned
on the edge
of beautiful,
our flames
raging against
the dying light.

You held my hand,
your skin warm against me,
and the witchcraft
in your lips
lit my skin on fire.

We built an inferno
in homage to our love
knowing only embers would remain
even when everything else
was gone.




Someone Else 

Photo Credit: Olga-Zervou at deviantart.com

I’m lost
and the pieces I leave
pile up,
fan out,
confuse and rearrange.

I’m broken
and I wish I could be
someone else,
someone like Maria,
like the girl
who talks to angels,
Diana or Maggie Mae,
instead of me,
this half person
who keeps
until nothing is left
but smoke and ash,
dust in heaps
masquerading as loss.

I keep reaching
for straws
hoping one
will reach back,
hold me for awhile
while I dream
of days
where running was okay
and sleep was frequent.

I’m blind
and falling
and you can’t seem
to catch me
so I’ll let someone else
just so I can feel like
someone else
for a second.