interlocking fingers
intertwine their way
through my hair
and my thoughts are seeping on out
like pretty words behind empty thoughts
sometimes people do not
say anything to me and it is
as if they are not accepting
and sometimes they do but its
more like rejecting
but i do not care
i have learnt this about myself
i do not care
weaving my toes and my hair into braids
that will crisscross my skin
traversing my body like railroad tracks
untraveled because i will not open
them to everyone

old agenda book mumble

tear me
apart
with
your
teeth
into
shreds
so
i am
no longer
whole
for i
am sick
of
these
cognitive
processes
of
these
things
i am expected
to do and
say
and in pieces
i will be
saved

imploding
looking in far too many mirrors
to catch the reflections
tailor
bite it
bite me
straighten the back
long neck
straight eyes
hair on your shoulders
stand at attention
like a teenage girl

don't knock down my point
why is that
necessary
to make this a war
to push me under

the girls crowd in the mirror
and their elbows jab each other
away as they
all redo and reframe and retrace
the lines on their faces
they will define them
give definition
the lady at the counter said

and i hate that they do
that they feel like they have to

and i hate that when they don't
their faces look so empty
white and pale
and
frail

shining
i lean against the
black fence
crisscrossing
you are warm
tell me stories to make
me laugh
the green grass is deep
i am full
i am empty
both hungry
the prickles along your chin
you will laugh
and look at me
you are pretty
delivering these words
and i will shhhhhhh
because i know
that i need that
affirmation too much
and you know that
i do
too

we sit on benches
my legs stretched across yours
and study the function of
biological molecules
with the bridge snaking above us
and the distinct subway sounds
rattling our doors
people walk by
jogging yelling to each other
fishing talking on their
cell phones
we swoon under the sunlight
with warm fingers and legs and
when we close our eyes we see
orange

i fit in your side now
i have built myself a niche
you lead me
i want you to lead me
because my hands are new and stumble
over skin like first day introductions
the bumbling words caught in my throat

the darkness hugs
me pulling in
my stomach tighter and
tighter
it locks itself inside my belly button
and expands

soft
so soft
soft enough that when you push
your fingers against it
you can feel the cushy resistance
as if you could lean your head into it
and instantly
dream

my head is too fuzzy for this
back and forth
for this coiling of my ideas
into spring bottles

for when you open them
they will pounce out
and unravel
and unravel
into thread
and your hands will be tangled
and stuck

10/8/14

and now you've gone
you've left
me in
this calculus cage to
rip my nails on derivatives
and claw along tangents
crawling crawling crawling
what would I do if I had
to revert
back to those days when
this planner
was my all if I had
no you
to look to

(poem made from words said in class discussion)

what happens
when
you share to
pick and choose
the good and bad
what reasoning
for
growth and change
all knowing
we feel

agendabookmumbles (from a few weeks ago)

is there
a level of not
caring we can go to
where we plateau
-------
there is a girl
who lives under this
table
she keeps the pages of
her books taped to the
underside
and she sleeps upside down
with her hair
like a curtain
-----
I CAN SAY ALL THESE WORDS
BUT WILL YOU NOTICE THEM?
BECAUSE THEY ARE SCRAWLED
SO MESSILY AND MY HANDWRITING
IS SMALL FAR TOO SMALL
FOR YOU TO READ
----