the mapmakeryou said it's a long drive home as you drew the dotted lines and dashed freeways that would take me away from you. it was always cartographythe mapmaker
with you shading graphite mountain ranges on maps
that marked the spaces between you and i.
it wasn't the distance that was tearing us apart. it was you.
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and when it wasn't maps it was letters ending in love you forevers and missing you to deaths and wishing you were heres. until those tired words gave way to cardiac arrest and paper cuts
and silence.
they were only words. and
recognition and reactionAs a daughter of America I have been blinded, coddled, grown fat on the luxuries of fast food and our staggering, ill-defined 'freedom' so easily unappreciated. I have felt poverty, lived in group homes, been the rag doll orphan of Birmingham, lived through beatings and been broken by the hands of my father. And even so, I cannot imagine, not even fathom the screams ignored in Bosnia, Afghanistan, Kosovo.recognition and reaction
"This is overplayed, nobody wants to hear this," recites our editors, our news anchors, our country. This is where you tune out, where your heart either falls or turns away. This i
pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think I’m just a mess of badly drawn lines. I’m just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice. my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I can’t see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.pretty boys break hearts.
‘why do you love me?’
‘you make me happy.’
I never could figure out just how. was it
countdown.five.countdown.
i wish to disappear between the cracks in cement, the stars in the sky and the spaces between seconds. i wish to disappear from the world; hide and become nothing.
but i'm too terrified that no one will bother to remember me.
four.
everything is fading. light is less bright, the colors of the world less vibrant. life and hope and happiness feel like the
stars - close enough to see; too far to ever reach.
three.
i am at the door to your heart. i
--
I'd like to be one of your tears; to be born in your eyes, walk around your cheeks, and die in your lips
--
I don't care if it's Automatic, Systematic, Veg-o-matic I don't give a shit-o-matic!
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