I was kidnapped

in burlap.

Thrown into the river.

You can't see

the bottom.

Dirty water.

I may never be

your baby's mama.

Gonna lie in bed

and listen to Johnny Cash.

I'm not sure,

but it might be raining.

You itch me

like old wool.

You lift your head,

and little,

chalky candies

pop out of your throat.

You don't like country music,

but you wash you hands

with soap.

A praying mantis.

You are rare and bizarre.

You'd try to swim in

a bowl of soup.

Treading water

next to noodles.

Watch out for spoons.

Bird houses have

tiny doors

and I am tall.

Build me a houseboat

with high ceilings,

and we'll sail

the soup pot together.

I'll go fishing for carrots

while you crank the anchor

down.

We can drift for awhile.

Give me a ladle.

No,

give me a slotted spoon.

I can scoop out

what I want of you.

I woke up last night

with feet hanging

off the bed.

Like I was ready to run.

Or maybe comfort

makes my mind

too complacent.

I needed cold feet

to have the right kind

of dreams.

I won't ever

be your trophy,

but I'll try to

gleam a little.

Uphill

and my lungs burn.

Muscles in my calves,

in my thighs,

my ass,

all tighten and

release.

It will hurt tomorrow.

I keep pushing onward,

upward,

through the trees.

There is dirt,

and maybe even

woodland creatures

that have wiggled into

my shoes.

Sweaty hair and

damp clothes

stick to my body.

I can breathe.

All I hear is the

light breeze rattling

the leaves

and my feet

crunching along as

I circumvent

geologic and

arboreal adversaries.

It takes effort

for my clumsy legs

not to trip.

I'd be shit out of luck

if my ankle would twist.

Little splashes of mud

dot my calves.

My hair smells like nature.

I am aglow.

A gritty goddess

at the top

of her temple.

Rose petals and

plastic hangers on the floor.

Slam your fist into the wall.

Hold me up against the plaster,

like kissing my cheeks is

some kind of olive branch.

Two weeks of doing

the right thing is not

the end of a pencil.

I can't erase afraid.

I am loose leaf now,

unbound from any book.

I am moving out

of this apartment,

of this life,

of these bounds.

You can take the dog,

but my heart is still

hidden in my rib cage.

I get the last word.

happiness stands

with crooked teeth and jagged lines

upon her skin

but still smiling

with all of purity

glimmering on her broken hands

happiness falls

with laughter and love

she is killed by a small

touch of disgrace

happiness lurks in

the corner of the room

waiting for her chance

to reveal herself again

and take off the mask of light

Drawing circles and spirals on air

Sighing instead of breathing

Side cheeks wet

Yet you never give notice

Mentally torturing yourself

As you think harder

Of why's and how's

But you hold on to that thin thread

As you lurk around

There's no sense in staring into space

And counting the stars

When you know

that your heart have stopped

And you already forgot to breathe

I think

I'll sink

slower

if I remove

my organs

I never needed

my lungs

in the first place

and now

they're just an

extra weight

on my chest

and the valves

in my neck

were always

clogged by

unspilled secrets

unanswered questions

unfulfilled promises

sopping with

regret

sobbing til we

forget

what it is to smile

I think

I'll sink

slower

if I unload

but maybe

it's better

to reach

the ocean floor

before

I begin

to wish

I hadn't

jumped