What strange clay, what soft hands, what soft lips, what marvelous heart

We become our words. We become the thing that shapes our words. What kind of words leave your lips? What kind of thoughts leave you? Is it poison or salve? Do you get hurt more and more as you speak? Harsh words cut our own lips as we speak them. If you were to cut me down you would only cut yourself down. If you were to build me up you would build yourself up. If you were to build yourself up you would build me up. Yes we must say what is in our hearts, but we are the hands that shape the pot already spinning along the wheel. We find ourselves in the middle of this act of creation. We find ourselves covered in clay, hands slick and sticky as if covered in blood, and the clay slips beneath our fingers as it spins in a circle. What kind of heart, what kind of pot are you building? What kind of thing are you becoming?

Are you happy with your pot? It is a shame that one cannot stop the wheel. But you can know the parts of your pot that you are happy with and you can refine them, encourage them. So my dears, let me say that I love your pots. Let me say that I am lucky to behold them. Let me say that I am grateful for the time that I have been blessed with. Let me say that I am grateful to have my pot. Let me say that I think both of our pots look beautiful together. Bless you. Thank you. 

Written 4/7/15, same reason as last post

Fire, thunder, big earthquake

You’re the one I cannot shake

Fearing that I’m not awake

Slap me kiss me fuck me feel me. 

Wake me take me break me make me. 

Written 6/5/16, published because you'll never read it

Every night before I go to sleep I try to scrape myself clean, on the inside, where my heart used to be, before I ripped it out and told you to go, I drag bags of broken glass through my veins, I pull them on a strong thin thread that I weave through my veins with a needle, you need to make sure that you do this because hearts can grow back, they're tenacious little fuckers that come back when you're not looking and they can start breaking and bleeding at any moment. Mine usually tries to come back when I'm lying in a bed without you. Without my arms wrapped around you, it pumps blood all over my sheets, and I lie there and sob into my pillows and wish that I had scraped myself clean by looking at pictures of you, and remembering the fights and not the softness of your skin and the smell of your hair and the way you'd look up at me, catching me looking at you and say "what?" In that way that you say it that just causes my heart to gush blood like the Deepwater Horizon well gushed oil into the Gulf of Mexico. I'd like to cut my heart from my chest and put it in a chest at the bottom of the sea, but it would pump blood into the ocean whenever I go to sleep, running my hands over the empty spaces where you used to fit so snugly against me. Pumping blood by the barrel full into the abyss while I stare up at my ceiling thinking about how you'd put your retainers in, and how I love your laugh, and your brown doe eyes and long lashes, and how I wish you could wrap your arms and legs around me and I wrap my arms and legs around you, and how I wish we were different people that matched up differently, and how maybe then we could have stayed together and I wouldn't have had to cut my own heart out of my chest and thrown it into the ocean. 

For You.

It snowed today. I thought of you all day. I'm filled with my sins and regrets, but loving you will never be either. I broke. I'm broken. I'm mending. I'm on the mend. I've got a week left of cigarettes. I've got a lifetime of push-ups ahead of me. I left you in your car. I cried at work all week. Going to the bathroom thinking of lying in bed with you. Thinking about how you kicked me out of bed. Thinking about how I couldn't stand up to you. Thinking about how I need to stand up for myself. I need to get myself together. This time next year I want to be happy. I want to match my insides and my outsides. I want to be healthy and free. I hurt myself on you and the pain was delicious and addictive and I want a thousand more cigarettes and a thousand more kisses. Sometimes you have to let things go. I'm not your villain, I'm my own villain. I'm not a hero. I'm not nice, although I really try to be. I've got a hatred for my body. I've got a soul full glass shards slowly turning into sea glass. I'm a box full of useless treasures that a run my hands through and hold up to God and hope that at the end they'll all be worth something, or at least worth the gathering. You said you don't know who I am. Well neither do I. I never have.

We start out as these beautiful little things screaming our heads off in laughter and pain and lately I haven't seen a change. I lifted my nephew on my shoulders and wished so hard I had someone to lift me up. I guess I have to learn to ride around on my own shoulders. 

Untitled Bullshit.

I am the mountain that weeps snow.
Burning brightly in the sun.
I am the forest that cries leaves.
Red flames falling gently.
I am the river whose tears burst its banks.
Brown and raging with white foam caps.
I am the prairie which bleeds flowers in the spring.


The wind is my lover and she has gone from me.
Taking with her all the scents of my youth.

Untitled: Garbage

Here I am. I loved you with all of me, and that wasn't enough. We split and I feel free and that is enough and I loved you and you kicked me out of bed because you saw demons in me that I did not. There are dark places that no one else could go to . You saw the end and it was filled with glycerine. I loved you as fire loves wood. You are my cold winter night. Goodbye forever. Good night and good luck. I hope the future brings you things that you want.

Your mornings are lighter.
Mine are filled with lead

I wake up to gray.
I sit in beige.

If my life is styrofoam then my mornings are lighter too.

Whatever can I do?
Are we forever through?