Backwards I'm the girl that dancedAnd now look at me.A year, three thousand miles,And I'm still not free.I'm the girl that imagined,But nothing came true.And now there isn't much leftExcept a poem or two.
Circus of Fleeting BreathI worshiped you,Madly thrumming against the walls.You looked past me,Unaffected by my broken rhythm.You summoned darkness to surround meIn my naivete, strangling the lightTo mock my vain attemptsAt earning your attention,But, in striking contrast to my flailing limbsDrumming out my desperationAgainst your cold stone,You did not move.Dance. Dance. Dance with me--The repetition of my futility.You wouldn't even do me the honorOf holding me at arm's length.People stared,Mesmerized by my disjointed movements,As random nerve endings fired.They saw only my self-destructing.You were the constant--So constant that, to them,You became the sceneryUnnoticed by my motion.They didn’t know the reasonFor my dissonant beating against the concrete;Trying to change what is certain,But I was their little circus of fleeting breath.They, too happy to observeThe funny sight that didn't concern them,Would not bestow the gift of death,And so, I danced.
crosswords + dot-to-dots.two a.m,in your kitchen,lighting cigarettes on your stove.i'm thankful foryour addictionor your arms wouldn't beholding me close.time is as long asthis cigarette will allow -the present,the future,is here & now.with each flickof my wrist,my eyes do the same -from your clothesto your oceanic eyesto your sunken in face.you knowi want your taste -but ashes lingerin my mouth& your hand headed south& i guess we were playingdifferent games.i searched for the wordsto fill yourunsaid thoughtsbut you searched formy body's beginningto connect its dots.
For every goodbye I ever gave,there is a void that has yet to be filled.Youprobably don't remember when we stayed up all night counting stars or how this worldwasn't actuallyreal.We were our own gods.The day your faith diedwas the day your mother whispered"He's living with her now" and youstopped breathinglong enough to forget I was standing there,too.Fast forward to too many years later, we locked eyes in whitewashedhalls. Amnesia was written in the creases of your skin like narcoticborderlines between living and acting and you could onlypretend like I wasn't there—just awhisper in the wind that reminded youof being human once upon achildhood dream.For the love of all the smoke in your lungs and the ache in my heart,I hope you know who you are now.