Beat

Staring at this screen

tracing the alphabet

fingertips to keyboard

a vigorous motion

movements that my voice can't seem to accomplish

my keyboard knows more about me

than anyone

physical doors close

but these plastic letters stay

with each stroke

my fingers beg the letters

but only produce 

algorithmic phonics

and yeah

with each keystroke

I know I'm just talking to myself

but for some reason

it's the most heard

I've ever felt

White pages 

so I fill them with words 

to resemble a human feeling 

because symbols on paper 

are convincing   

the contrast of dark ink 

on white paper  

has a way of making people feel understood 

It’s never been about me 

or my words 

I'm just a verbal blowjob.  

so you think I understand  

or care. 

I'm a temporary semblance  

of a person  

Dark type.  

Words that push and pull 

conceptions 

conjunctions  

or anything

so you will leave me the fuck alone.

You fall to a spade

shift your eyes...

and your ego

that card's shiny surface

is just a reflection of you

or anyone

you tell yourself it means something

stack your chips.

trembling hands on green tables

hold your cards

closer than anyone 

has ever held you

that's why you're here

Stay a player.

I choke

and start again

start to speak 

and resist

later I'll blame the coke

for my lack of intimacy

pretty powder

little white lines

until I'm distorted

like a broken TV screen

a barrier

anything to make her stare

so I don't have to share

If I act fucked up enough

maybe she won't ask me questions

so I play her a symphony

with my hips

wild dance movements

just enough 

to distract her

because I don't trust my throat

I guess I'm off the hook

or on it?

dangling above the water

angling my body

like for some reason

these wormlike contortions 

will slow 

this awkward death

These muscles

aren't strong enough

like as if

 simple blood flow

is enough

to keep my heart alive

I fell down again

so I'm relying on my shoes

but laces break

even though 

I was taught at an early age

to trust their texture

Your eyes dance across the table

as you shift the napkin 

in your lap

then fold it

into a perfect triangle

in an attempt to console the fact

that we're both over this

a perfect fold

because you know that

your credit card 

in that pretty leather

isn't enough to save us

Steady pour

thick like syrup

I never thought I could melt 

like butter

maybe because I don't like slow traction

I used to be afraid 

of the morning light

focus...

focus...

no sun...

blinds are meant for 

shadows

but I will never keep you out

I will welcome the morning

tie my apron

tight.

and let you ease into every pore

Beautiful dinner plates

and golden plated knives

I plate

and wait

for you to come home

the napkins that we chose together

go unused

they can't clean this up.

I wear this apron

of armor

but it's just a stitched thread

simple fibers

that can't protect my veins

or the way 

that you pulse through them

I am

a wild flower

or maybe 

just a weed?

thirsty

but not for you

walk on me

walk on me

and when you get "home"

and peel me off of your shoe

maybe then you'll notice

that my roots 

are something

you cannot destroy

I don't even need the sun

because

I've learned

to bury my roots

within my soul

And when I'm smeared to pavement

at least I know

I will leave a mark

You

are

 a 

ghost

hiding in corners

but I still race between rooms

like I've done for years

sliding my hands along 

cold countertops

still looking for you here...

We're all separated

like trains

old rusty movements

oh... stay in line

stay on track

why divert?

who questions mental equators?

we all know you don't buy 

your ticket 

to see

the inter-workings

we just blink at it's perceived 

stability

sip our drink

shift our eyes

from these dirty mechanics

I'm out of my lane

or are you?

this little clown car

isn't big enough 

for the both of us

Torn jeans

the skate.

my board?

at least it's fucking stable

it can handle the curves

and when I fall

at least I can bleed freely

no questions like, "What's wrong?"

it doesn't offer a hand 

it doesn't have

 I am no poet.

just a swindler of words

intermingling 

like a vowel

tucking euphemisms into my sleeve

like stolen apples

and saving them 

for myself 

later

desperately grasping on to them

for sustenance

You think you're breaking skin 

with your words

verbal metal.

I'm callused

and callous

there's nothing for you to 

cut through

or even try

Maybe I moved too much

so now I'm neatly packaged

within your tiny ice tray

I was out of bounds

so I'm out of sight

left to 'set'

until I'm rigorous enough

to fit your mold

but you can't hold my depth

I only choose to stay transfixed

maybe because I just want to be held.

so I'll continue to shapeshift

into anything you ask

Enlisted

Your bags packed

and I watch

behind a white picket fence

as you smear warpaint

under your eyes

thinking it will hide your tears

as you carefully divide rations

leaving me nothing

trench warfare

battle cry

I ran to the front line

and you hid

our eyes fixed on each other

as your bullet penetrated

you say

"it's tactical

and I should turn" 

and run from this place

but unlike you

I never leave my post

Sharp blades

built to cut

like razor commercials

oh, that clean 

close

shave

you have a face that's meant 

for everyone

but now who do you smile for?

what blades are you hiding

behind those eyes?

I wear my silence

like that sticker in 2nd grade

adhesive to chest

I refuse to take it off

even when it's ends curl

I wont even change my shirt

instead

I'll focus on my smile

clumsily using my fingers

as an iron

and pressing

hoping it will hold

and when it doesn't stick

I'll say it's the weather

or the fabric

I will never question

this adhesive

it's mine.

I'm something.

and I'm part of something

Fully fastened.

A syringe

and a history of lines

scars

and pin pricks

did I really need that fix?

that never left my bloodstream

that single hit

and weighty high

has only left me

damaged and confused

check my pulse

wrap my wrists

get up.

get the fuck up

this tile floor

will only pool my blood

and drown me

and this syringe 

will draw

but never form a portrait

get up.

 I used to bring rocks to school
slowly pulling them out one by one
from my pocket napkin

I’d eat ketchup packets at lunch and tuck them into my socks
so they 

didn’t

 cause 

a disturbance

It's always uncomfortable when
people are forced to react

I once spent an entire day with my eyes closed

and I missed the class pizza party

when the ketchup packets didn’t suffice
I’d shift through the cupboards

finding vodka

good enough.

because alcohol starts fires

and fire doesn’t care
about the rocks in my pocket
or the ketchup between my toes

even the smallest ignition

still burns.

I’m lit

but I’m steady

I decide to light the ciggie I found in my uncles drawer

fuck him.

he started a lawn mowing business
so I set his new flyers on fire
and used them to light my smoke

I’m 9 years old but I can’t stop thinking about 

pussy

and ketchup packets

and why in the fuck I never get picked for paper monitor at school
and why these flyers aren’t burning

I go back to the vodka and fill it with water

even though no one will care
and I’ve just ruined perfectly good vodka

so I pick out rocks
for tomorrow’s show n tell 

I don't eat

maybe it's because

I know

I'm hungry for more

than what my mouth 

can ever grind

That monotonous twisting

a trick

of nutrients

I don't fall for that.

I know

that sustenance

doesn't fucking exist

When my bones protrude

I will call them muscles

and release my grip

and when my legs give out

I'll say it's my stilettos

that made me sway

anything

to

maintain

this

high