Work Text:
1.
I watched a man bleed to death, saw the white puffs of his breath in a New York Winter as they became smaller and smaller until the air was heavy with the absence
he had no name, they told me this when his body was carted away like a piece of furniture left on the curb
Jacob, I told them, his name was Jacob
they didn't listen, they never listen
I only wanted to bring him flowers
I was twelve
2.
four walls became a prison, slack gray paint laced with lead and cockroaches building armies while I slept
two square meals a day, condensed soup and peanut butter sandwiches washed down with cheap beer
music loud enough to drown out the screaming match down the hall
and I wondered if this would be the last time
if this would be the cracked window that let the light in
it never was
3.
when children are sleeping on stoops with raindrops collecting on hunched shoulders
when icicles become the knife that you impale yourself with
when books are cheaper than therapy so you use pages as a pillow in hopes that they'll save you
when teaching yourself how to hot wire a car trumps formal education
when you're not sure if living is worth the hassle
that's when you'll see me
4.
his name was apollo, destroyer of worlds
but his eyes carried rivers of forgiveness, ages of pain
skin wrinkled and marred from the sun
creased palm with scars from stories he'll never tell
he was a professor with no students
had ended up on the other end of desperation when he lost his wife
he taught me about the classics, about the bluebird in Bukowski's heart
waxed poetic about the unethical trial of Kafka's Josef K and how we all end up in the gutter in the end
and I finally understood what other students meant when they bragged about their fathers
because he was mine in every way but biological
he did not destroy my world, he created it
5.
fresh dirt tastes like cookie dough if you close your eyes tight enough and grit your teeth until they nearly crack in two
it tastes like the sickening sound of fist to skin, skin to blood
tastes like the bitter tang of her boyfriends (which one is it this week?) name on my tongue when he insists that one day I'll call him dad
and I keep bracing myself for impact - wondering how many times an arm can be broken before it gives up the ghost
because I am haunting my own bones and I've forgotten the taste of love
6.
his voice is creaky like the hinge of an unoiled screen door when I was so sure I locked it behind me
"good boys don't pick fights they can't win" he says and I know this - know that detention exists for societies lowest
and I don't have the energy to tell him that boys like me have no choice but to fend off the predators that gnaw on our bones with razor sharp teeth
because we're born in steel cages instead of a womb - the key tossed upon conception
if we do not fight, we will die
we were not built to live, we were built to survive
7.
I am the weary traveler your mother warned you against
I've pockets filled to the brim with empty dreams, shoes full of sand and boulder tied to sharp shoulder blades
my insides are coated with black sludge and all I can offer is pollution and notes between the margins of your favorite books
but you stay
you stay and I'm terrified
8.
let it be me
let it be me
9.
if there's one thing I want you to know about me it's that my love is a war zone laced with grenades, painted crimson red and hemorrhaging on the inside
sew me up, I will still bleed
touch me, I will still want
love me, I will still ask for more than you can give
my love is a war zone and you're the casualty
I'm sorry
10.
you tell me you love me and suddenly I can't breathe
lungs collapse under the weight of being someone you could adore
because I don't understand how this works and I want to give you the world
but I can't even give you myself