Come a little closer
and I’ll show you
a broken superhero
tangled in a web of my making
caught in the light
of the kryptonite
all hubris
no hero
Following line after line with barely a breath between, through burning nostrils, passed the pain of a raw throat, under the pressure of two eyes resembling open blisters, she pushed on. She pressed on, confident there must be pleasure after all this pain. There must be something on the other side of these lines.
We’re all meant for something bigger. Some of us just need to get small in order to get there.
I’ve been broken down, torn apart, masticated, digested, and shat out by the ugliest of beasts.
Most of us have.
I’m not afraid to show my scars if it’s means you won’t cut yourself anymore.
I’ll show that I can bleed to death if it can be your tourniquet.
I can admit that I hate being ugly, yet it’s my natural state.
Tell me what you want and I’ll do my best to oblige.
I cannot lie, honesty is the only thing I know.
after the rain of words
has fallen
soaking you in
a sheath of self-doubt
stupid, weird, unwanted
among the best
not sexy, or good or obedient
but brilliant
it’s like sunshine
the best kind of warm
One of the best compliments an addict can give someone is, “You make me forget about drugs.”
For the moment, you helped me remember who I am and forget about drugs.
And that’s not an easy thing to do.
I was raised
waiting for the other shoe to
drop
For the landlord to kick us out
My uncle’s schizophrenia told him
we were cursed because we
lived on 13th Street
unlucky because two of the cats were black
Grandpa drank to temper the nightmares of
being a coroner,
dealing with death for a living
Grandma cleaned the house on her
hands and knees
high on diet pills and martyrdom.
Uncle would sneak in to the room
where she, mom and I slept
three in the waterbed, me in the middle
and steal Grandma’s Vicodin
glancing over like a child stealing candy
he poured the white pills
in to his trembling palm
creeping away in the darkness
back to his
smoke-filled room with the
electrical cord maze and tinfoil accents
Clad in robe and agoraphobia,
letting the Xanax speak for her
mom kept court on the bed that
would leak when one of the cats
punctured it with a too-sharp claw
somewhere under her sadness was the smile I needed
My grandmother used too much salt in her cooking
My mother didn’t use enough
if she cooked at all
Now
Thirteen is my lucky number
I always keep a black cat
and I use just right amount of salt.
Your love has had to scream
to get me to hear
Pushed me away
in order to embrace me
You’ve had to tell me
how easy it is to hate me
so I could see your love
You’re the man
that will hold up the mirror
and show me my demon
rather than put it under my nose
letting me take my blows
You gave me the hardest pill
I’ve ever had to swallow
because I kept choking
on my own medicine.
I was raised
waiting for the other shoe to
drop
For the landlord to kick us out
My uncle’s schizophrenia told him
we were cursed because we
lived on 13th Street
unlucky because two of the cats were black
Grandpa drank to temper the nightmares of
being a coroner,
dealing with death for a living
Grandma cleaned the house on her
hands and knees
high on diet pills and martyrdom.
Uncle would sneak in to the room
where she, mom and I slept
three in the waterbed, me in the middle
and steal Grandma’s Vicodin
glancing over like a child stealing candy
he poured the white pills
in to his trembling palm
creeping away in the darkness
back to his
smoke-filled room with the
electrical cord maze and tinfoil accents
Clad in robe and agoraphobia,
letting the Xanax speak for her
mom kept court on the bed that
would leak when one of the cats
punctured it with a too-sharp claw
somewhere under her sadness was the smile I needed
My grandmother used too much salt in her cooking
My mother didn’t use enough
(if she cooked at all)
Now
Thirteen is my lucky number
I always keep a black cat
and I use just right amount of salt
Hitting the Ground While Dreaming 