I am worthless trash. misused potential, and lost chances

fat and ugly and old

But she gave me a tin heart filled with mints.

So I guess maybe I don’t suck too bad.


thoughts while my son yells at me

His lips tell me everything I need to know.
I can’t even hear what he’s saying, staring at them.
I can see the skin re-knit in a blur, the blisters healing
a fast forward time capture of his skin, his immune system
obeying me

I imagine myself as my mother’s unwilling inheritor
kitchen witch, aura reader, potion maker, ghost talker
unsatisfied in my own skin, running away every time things get
that close to the center.

So what if it’s true.
My son’s lip is healing
and I know that means his sickness has receded
his immune system, the tiny soldiers within
taking orders from me at last.

I have learned to run without leaving,
wrapped in silent self loathing
and he can inherit love and loyalty instead,
become a kitchen witch
and heal his own children.

Too early for a panic attack (reblogged from Tumblr)

I saw you in the store
angrily stuffing bagels in a bag
you were not five inches from me
I could have punched the back
of your ugly head.
I could have flayed you with words
for what you did to my boy.
I could have tripped your clueless ass
and hoped you broke your nose.

Instead I pulled up my hood,
I turned away and waited.
Helpless with anger and fear
losing breath, losing dignity.
I pray for indifference.


Back up against a wall. The alleyway of a theater,dirty, fragrant, in the heart of a city where I know no one. I wore a skirt for him. I barely know him, but I did it because I knew he wanted it. It is freezing, and I don’t care.

I don’t know him, but I almost go home with him. Only the threat of actually missing a test keeps me from it, his hands, his mouth, his command.

That night, I steal a Christmas Tree with my friends. We carry it in the freezing cold, laughing, drunk with our youth and freedom.

But later… later, I dissolve into it; throwing away my identity to become anything he wants.

I belong no where. So I give nothing. Nothing but my body, my consent, my consciousness. He can have everything, any thing he wants. He will pass me to a friend, and I, pliant and wanton, will give them whatever they ask for.

Anything but my heart. I’ve caged her inside a puzzle box, and lost the key.

I don’t really miss her, either.

The Rest Is

Ceaseless hammering
ignore the mantra
television, fiction
wanton nights
hazy and drugged with
need and urgency and mindless friction
hold me down
pin me with commands
displayed beneath your glass
I asked for this, I begged you
and you did
now I’ve shattered your peace too
I cannot leave you like this
broken against your will.
ceaseless hammering, a song in my veins
a humming in my skin,
beating against my resolve
you are my god now
god, give me strength.