It is true that he wounded me…


It is true that he wounded me,

Left a six-inch slice in my heart,

And you may be like a bandage

That will cover my seeping cuts.

But we have all seemed to forget

That we are stronger than we look,

And these human bodies of ours

Just need a little bit of time.

When my injuries heal over,

You might call it a miracle.

But I was always capable

Of healing my own fucking wounds.

Three Girls I Cannot Be

I like to think…


I like to think I’d be enough,

If my eyes were a bit greener,

I had known you for five years,

And my collarbone sank deeper.

I’d be sad and soft and skinny;

That’s why you’d make a place for me.



I like to think I’d be enough,

If I was a burlesque dancer,

I was so much more outgoing,

And my thighs were a bit thicker.

I’d be shrouded in mystery;

That’s why you’d be obsessed with me.



I like to think I’d be enough,

If my hair was a new color,

And my face was filled with piercings,

And my fingernails were sharper.

I’d be something I cannot be;

That’s why you’d be in love with me.


I am a tangled piece of wire;

I am bent into these odd angles,

Retreating so far inside myself

That I have forgotten my own name.

They keep saying: “Untangle yourself”

And believe me, I want nothing else,

But tell me please, how do I unbend

Without shattering in the process?

These bones of mine have grown so brittle.

I am tired of the way I ache,

And my spine can only take so much

Of this self-inflicted inversion.

Once before, I had been all straight lines,

All my feelings perfectly sorted,

But then he left and I got tangled

Trying to hide from my own mistakes.

Still, some buried part of myself knows

I am not meant for these contortions.

I have spent far too much time this way,

All alone with my fear of the break.

If I must, then just let me shatter;

Let what was once taut become broken.

It is true that I am not sure when,

But one of these days, I’ll bend again.

Plot Twist.

I’m sure I’m going to end it.

I’m sure I’m going to end it;

This thing has gone on for far too long.

All week long, I promise myself

That when the time comes, I will be strong.

But the pictures that you send me

Make all of my insides shiver,

And the way you talk about me,

Still causes my resolve to quiver.

But the truth is, you don’t love me,

And I’m assured that you never could.

I’m sure that all the other girls

Will make you happier than I would.

So I decide that it’s over.

…I just have to say it to your face.

Or maybe I’ll just disappear

And watch as someone else takes my place.

I psych myself up to do it,

And I’m convinced that I really will,

But when I stand in front of you,

There are these feelings that I can’t kill.

So I let you hug and kiss me,

And we go on as we always do.

I’d really like to walk away,

But as it turns out, I’m into you.

The Chapel.

I waited until the sun was gone…

I waited until the sun was gone,

And my ribs were bleeding through my skin,

Bruises danced around my collarbone,

And those I knew had condemned my sin.

Only then did I get on my knees,

And to the nearest chapel did crawl.

My limbs ached in that holy place;

In front of the altar, I took a fall.

Demons peered at me through the windows,

Faces distorted by the stained glass.

A statue of the Virgin Mary

Had a gaze that would not let me pass.

I had once been of the praying kind,

But my faith had since then gone away.

I lay there, trembling and whispering,

“Oh, I will not pray, I will not pray.”

To pray would make me a hypocrite,

Who only believed in times of need.

It mattered not that I had stumbled,

And the son of man had made me bleed.

I was no longer meant for crosses,

And I would recite no Bible verse.

The rich scent of oil burned my lungs,

And the aching grew steadily worse.

Black saliva dribbled from my mouth

And splattered on the smooth marble floor.

My soul was stained by impurity;

The light in my eyes would shine no more.

Unwanted Visitor.

My conscience came a-knocking…

My conscience came a-knocking,

And he stood there at my door.

He was checking in with me

Just like all the times before.

Last time, I gave him crumpets,

And wished he was doing well.

He sat in my living room,

Chatting with me for a  spell.

But this time would be different,

And I knew it right away.

There he was at my peep-hole,

But I had nothing to say.

The timing wasn’t good then;

I had other things to do.

“Please come back another time.

I must kindly tell you: shoo!”

But Conscience wouldn’t have it,

And he pounded on the door.

He kept calling out my name

And it made my eardrums sore.

I’d boarded up the windows,

And locked every single room.

The air was getting musty;

My house had become a tomb.

I didn’t want him in there;

I just couldn’t let him see

The way things were decaying,

And what had become of me.

At long last, the pounding ceased,

And I thought he would relent.

I sank, crying, to the floor,

All of my energy spent.

But then I heard a whisper,

Barely an audible sound:

“Please just open up the door.

What is lost can still be found.”

I’d hid lies in my closet,

And foul deeds under the rug,

But these words of his were kind,

And they gave my heart a tug.

So I opened up the door,

And I let him come inside.

I brought out some stale crumpets,

And I swallowed down my pride.

He swept out all of the dust,

And mended what had decayed.

He took up in the guest room;

He settled here and he stayed.

Walking the Tightrope.

Welcome to the circus…

I decided to join the circus

Because it seemed like it would be fun.

The people were said to be magic;

The atmosphere was a loaded gun.

“I’m running away to the circus!”

I told both my parents with a grin.

They warned me to be oh so careful,

And make it back home to them again.

I wanted to learn how to juggle,

To walk a tight-rope and breathe fire.

I was lusting for an adventure;

Of magic I would never tire.

I never expected the falling,

The bruises, and the burns on my face.

I should have known right then and there

That the circus was not a safe place.

But the Ring-master was so charming,

And the old lions gave me no fright,

So I practiced walking the tight-rope,

Despite my growing fear of the height.

Confidence was like a second skin,

That I wore every time I’d rehearse.

Though what I did was nothing special,

There were certainly acts that were worse.

Time came for the circus to open;

I held my breath along with the crowd.

The glitter of the lights was too bright,

The cacophony of noise too loud.

My friends told me I shouldn’t go on,

And I should have heard their warning bell,

But I still went out on that tight-rope,

And I fell, and I fell, and I fell.