day 144

why i feel how i feel:

A small child

is learning how to grow

skin onto bad memories.

Healing.

I pick off scabs

like I'm 11 again.

When I pretended that

ugly scars didn't mean a thing

but they meant

two. They meant to

curse my growth with

ugliness.

Like I will somehow

mature into a beautiful

selfless

                            woman. Someday

these scars will haunt me.

Tonight they do.

They shine brighter than

a blue moon. Rare.

There are teenagers swimming

in flooded craters. They insist

love is just that. Seeing

everything blind.

And they glow. They glisten

the way scabs break

and blood boils.

You hear that broken blood

bubbling?

Tonight we will

pop.

Save an expecting woman

from bringing a lost soul into this universe.

Have you ever realized how many

stars there are? And how many

moments you are 

accounted for?

Mid day you will realize

that you will live

one day less. Nightmare.
Pops.
This is a daydream you
wasted five seconds
listening to. Pop.

Where was my father

when I needed to learn

about hidden beauty.

The kind of beauty

that sinks knee deep.

Skinny dipping under

blue moons except this beauty

is more frequent like we

all generate a surplus of

red blood cells. I can't

wet the bed with my own

liberty in a city

that doesn't give a fuck. Send me another

mother fuck you.

we share these same

mother fucks. This is a sea

only meant for sailors. I am filled

with regrets of the man's ocean.
See. We are all blind
in sea men's regret.
Ghost waves and dead
sharks. They swim around me.
Surrounding me with hungry
dog eyes. I'm blue and I'm

drowning in it, like

I expected to play some underwater
honey trombone.

I will hold my breath with

dignity. I will watch my

blood boil in warm

hometown fountains

until my own

lungs

explode. Pop.

Bring me your knives,

your rockets, I am swallowing

oceans just to stab my guts

to find bravery.

TO ALL THE MOTHER FUCKERS

WHO WERE BORN

LOST.

This is my home.

See these scars?

These scales play piano---skin me

alive, I want a reason

to

pray. I want a reason

to sew rocket ships

onto my heart. I will explode

into ten million

stars and land on a raft.

it pretends that it doesn't care

about being ugly.

But it does..

It's ugly as fuck

and it knows it. Like somehow

it will grow into a beautiful

selfless

      woman. But it's only

made of wood.

And wood is flammable..

wood becomes swollen

like it expects only the worst.

Good luck comes

once every teenage skinny dip.

I am naked under these clothes

but can you handle the

naked truth?

Can you hold her,

with arms of clouds and hands warm

enough to call Church.

Kiss her belly button crevices.

Swim into her. You are only

wood. Flammable, yes. Burn

into her with fingertips of

fake passion. She feels your pulse

now.

She feels your pulse now.

That is how two becomes one

grabbing onto broken cliffs

like these shoulder blades

will sprout wings for you.

I WILL NOT FLY FOR YOU.

I refuse to become a

beautiful

selfless 

woman...

I am full of self

with dignity

and its swaying out of me

like incense sweating the fucking

prayers from my

skin.

Somehow

I will numb the taste buds of

wandering sailors.

Saving sea men from

picking scabs off their scales. They

swim towards boiling

blood like sharks.
And sharks are indecisive.
Take a bite out of me.
Let me bleed my rights.
Sink your teeth into my bones, they
are wooden. I wouldn't
let the taste appall you but I
promised to burn wondering
taste buds with
knee deep regret. Pop.
That's the sound of your legs
breaking. Too much running,
too much falling. Bruises
on sweet nectarine knee caps. You are
dislocated. A lost soul eaten
by ghost sharks in dead waves.

This is five seconds wasted
on one day less lived.
But you will pretend that
you don't care about the scars.
About the ugly.