So I eat my own heart
because the grind of my teeth against my flesh,
the feel of my own muscle tearing through my body,
and the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth,
could never compare to the pain of you losing me.
I will devour myself so that no one else can
and I will stake my claim because no one else deserves
to claim me.
I am not your anchor.
I can barely keep myself at bay,
I can’t keep you grounded, too.
You say, “Beauty is when you realize something important.”
So then, Beauty is tax season?
Every year I realize I have no money;
I’d say that’s pretty important.
“Beauty is something that stirs something up.”
Beauty, then, must be a spoon
Or, if you’re the technological sort,
An electric mixer.
She says, “Beauty is dependent on people.”
Apparently, Beauty is a toddler,
Seemingly one that requires
Hourly diaper changes.
You try again, “Beauty is something that provokes thought.”
All these times I’d seen Star Wars,
I assumed Obi-wan was using celestial energy,
When really, he was just smacking Stormtroopers upside the head with Beauty.
One last shot in the dark, “Beauty is something that captures people’s attention.”
I’m sorry, but what I’m hearing is,
Beauty is a fart?
When gas is passed,
One way or another.
No, Beauty is a thing that is not a thing,
A science that cannot be measured,
Abstract, yet concrete.
Beauty is a contradiction.
A zombie, if you will.
I am not fragile
I am not a princess hiding behind
slithering dresses and frilly words.
You cannot impress me with strength and brutality.
You cannot fight for my honor because
I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.
I am not meek and mild and respectable
and I don’t need you to fight for me.
I am a warrior,
and I need you to fight with me.
My hands are bloodied from the
demons I fight every day,
but still I am surrounded,
so grab your sword and fight with me.
Stand by my side.
Bandage my skin when it bleeds,
wrap up my mind when it breaks,
encase my heart when it shatters.
I don’t need a hero, I need a healer.
I am fierce, unbent and unbroken.
So please, be gentle, unwavering and unrelenting.
Blue foil floating with helium
A bloated star
Stark against the snow,
Given to a young boy by adoring parents
With whom he’d spent long hours.
Talked. Laughed. Played.
His blue balloon carries the dreams
He no longer can.
Its silver string tied to the flowers
At the foot of his tombstone.
I am smoke
Invisible but that I
obscure things more important.
No more than the warning of
Desire, Destruction, and Desperation.
Let me permeate your lungs
swim through your veins
corrupting your blood
until it flows ink.
Somehow purer than I was before.
I left my evil
caked to the inside of your lungs
Even now, I scar you.
I inhabit your nerves
Until I’m all you think of
and you hold me inside
knowing I will destroy you.
At last, relief.
When you can keep me no longer
and I escape, floating to heights of which
you can only dream.
like a grenade I scar
every part of your being
until at last I realize
I don’t need you.
So clean you can’t differentiate me
from the clouds I reach for.
You eat and taste me,
Sniff your clothes and smell me,
Listen to a melody and hear me,
but I am not there
to obscure things less important.
Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, Exhale
Until you can breathe no more.
I can’t feel a damn thing.
Shatter my obsidian armor,
let the shards shred my soul.
The walls of my world come crashing around me.
Blood clots hang from the walls, the ceiling, my hands.
And even covered in blood,
the sticky steam coiling off me
like the sunrise mist,
Still I feel
I like to write it down until I burst,
and words come bleeding out of me
with no way to stop them