Whirligig.

Burned my mouth, tonight.
I lick my salty wounds and so I smile
Got another climbing curve to conquer
here.
Another breath of poison vapor clinging
Here.
Ignites my spiral black hole clinging
There.
Extinguishes my fears and though I
Wait.
It isn't ever finished
So I
Pray.
Don't believe in God and so I
Pray.
So glad it isn't me and so I
Pray.
So thankful that this burden isn't mine.
And so I pray.
My God I couldn't be so graceful
Drown.
In angel vapors
Burn my mouth.
Blister there.
And remind me I'm so painfully alive.
And I'm alright.
Said, I'm alright.

Odd out.

I was so excited to meet you.
To be a part of something.
To maybe feel a little like I
Belonged somewhere.
I know I have family here.
I know I should feel at home
But
I don't share a plan with them
A life, a story, a goal.
I'm the odd man out,
Everywhere I go.
Don't quite ever belong anywhere,
Anymore.
Don't quite know how.

Un ravel.

It starts at the ends.
A little here, a little there.
A small leak, or noise or frayed edge.
I sew it up, patch it back together
Only to find another crumbling, rusting
Part.
I wear a face I thought was mine.
And when even that peels off, too
I wonder where the meaning all went.
It's easy, to trip on so many rocks that you
Forget what not-falling feels like.
'Til all you're pulling up is your own bootstraps
Drown too long, you forget about the air
And all you have is the water pressing down.
I gotta breathe, a little.
I know my gray-washed world is temporary,
That technicolor life isn't far away, but
I just get so tired of grasping at the

end of my rope.

It steals things.
My bright things.
Anything pretty or shiny or good.
It tells me things.
Tells me I'm not in on the joke.
Everyone is faking it.
That I didn't try hard enough.
It steals things.
Anything that sparkles with joy
Anything that's made of laughter or connection.
It makes me feel heavy.
It whispers the answers in my ear
And pastes lists of losts and lasts and misses behind my eyelids at night.
You are ugly and broken,
It says.
You will never be.
It takes my hope and my desire and my ferocity and wears them in its lapel like a flower.
My breath is sour,
My hands are empty and my feet are still.

It tells me I'll never sing again.
That my songs weren't ever good, anyway
And that I should just hand it the keys and turn in.

It's stealing everything.

Mute.

I washed his hair.
Tried cleaning off most of the blood and sticky white.
"Like lotion for his skin", I would have said.
I would have combed a darling part on his head, but his blistered skin would have come off in the bristled little brush.
I could feel his thigh bunching up in my clumsy hand- that familiar feel of too-thick pieces sliding too far. Careful with his too-white skin, still tearing here and there, leaving gaping bloodless wounds everywhere I touch.
Rubbery skull bones rattled in a deflated head as I changed his position. Careful with this little bag of bones, rubber-band tone long gone slack.
I talked to him because it felt weird not to. My muted coos filled a terrible vacuum a little.
Three days, they said.
"But, I can still feel him moving," she said.
"Can you still resuscitate?"
"How did this happen?"
"I thought everything was fine."
"When can I get pregnant again?"
And
"How do I say goodbye?"

I never said goodbye.

I doused him in oil to keep his wet paper skin from sticking to the cold blankets. I didn't bother getting warm ones.
I never said goodbye.
I saw the still little heart sweep by on the ultrasound screen. Both praying for and wishing against some agonal rhythm that might be sparked... And feeling my own heart sink when I saw that frozen image. All a family's hopes and dreams, gone in a flash.
"My baby," she cried.
"I'm sorry." We tried to explain. And faded into the roar of a tide of grief. It threatened to sweep us all away, that night.

So, I didn't say goodbye.

Twist.

Twist, turn
Remind me I'm alive.
It hurts, sometimes to be here and do this
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Crack my chest and keep it bleeding
Pour and pour and weigh and hurt
Sometimes it helps just to have a wound to salt.
An itch to scratch, and a song to sing.
You are my sunshine, my only darling.
My onyx-bladed light and darkness.
Sometimes you have to open something up and rattle it around
And be a mess so you can make it cleaner.
So twist on, dear heart and hopes.
Take your halting steps toward some peace and sense.

Run/To

Everything you run from will still be there when you get back.
Maybe part of me knew,
Maybe I just like to push the buttons,
Shake every snow globe
Take every opportunity.
Maybe I'm just selfish.
Don't take my optimism for naïveté, please:
I may not know how deep this rabbit hole goes,
But I've dug enough to know what the bottom looks like.
And I keep choosing happiness, anyway.
I love fiercely.
I live a strange and imperfect life.
I make poor decisions.
And I go all the way through.
So come with me.
You're the last thing I want to run from.