Weight of Water
Sing me down to the water, your throat, a home to damp leaves. I crawl into that space of rain and darkness when I am running away from what. You know what my eyes cannot let go of. The brother who died before he could scream a greeting into the world, the stinging slap against my lips that fed me the force of a million kisses. There is so much violence behind every act of love. I wonder...
18-30 dog days
I forgot the number of razorblades I swallowed last night. When the morning descends against the floorboards of my room, my throat burns with battlescars. I remember screaming you down as you grabbed a bag with clothes falling out of it and ran to catch a cab. You chose to leave. So I grabbed all of our photo frames and smashed them against the bathroom tiles, glass showering the floor like...
The world is a sky of song only my mother knows the words to. The whales ask her for her secret. When she obliges, the constellations convulse against God’s collarbone— all of those echos ricocheting against the Milky Way, daring the moon to become full. I’m always looking up, to find the way back home.
16-30 graveyard shift
I’m a mass grave of muscle and bone and teeth. And you’re the same idiot who thought graveyards are holding places for the damned, that if you snuck out of the house at midnight to fall asleep across one of the freshly dug mounds of soil, you’d be reborn into something other than yourself. I don’t speak to the moon much these days, but when I did, she always said:...
the24project: The Birds - Husnah Khan →
the24project: The Birds My body was sick for yours, so I crawled into bed and cried. I didn’t care who heard me, ignored the knocking against the door. The sunlight came and went. When the rain arrived, I could hardly breathe. Chills curled around my spine as if it was labeled “shelter.” My eyes were swollen…
You will not hurt me. And because you will not hurt me, I know that you will be the one who will leave behind scars as deep as canyons, black holes as wide as rivers. I wonder how much knowing we will ever own, how much of me you will remember, how much of you I will not drown. So many moments spent wishing for something more, those are the periods of time where I will lose you. And in my...
french kiss (14-30)
the tongue of the switchblade blushes my blue veins red. across the tiles, blood blooms brilliantly. flushed skin on floor. so much mouth on mouth, even the knife is tired.
Your heart says Yes to my smile. My lips say Uh huh to your neck. Our bed says no to the day. So we stay inside and let our hands do all the traveling - your shoulderblade, my backbone, all the areas of the mattress occupied by our skin and muscle and limbs. The sunlight slants across your face as my fingers wrap around your torso like the tentacles of a jellyfish. I wait for the body...
A Wildness in the Wind (12-30)
You return. You do not come back as you were. I walk by a spot that we once claimed as our own. There is a wildness in the wind and the way she teases my neck into bowing beneath the sky. I remember the weight of your hand in mine. I remember the waiting that came with night, the morning could never be born soon enough. There is a light above my bedroom window, she never strays too far...
Wild Horses (11-30)
You made my stomach feel like a meadow home to wild horses that ran in circles beneath a sky as blue as my favorite pair of jeans. When I saw your approaching form, the horses would gallop my heart into a frenzied state, and by the time your palms reached mine, my skin was sweat and salt and so much shame. Your tongue-in-cheek laughter made my cheeks flush with a gentle fire. We watched the...
The Gardeners (10-30)
Speak the language I do, let the syllables grime your lips into bruised and battered. I have stories beneath the skin that will make your feet want to start running. You will want to look for a vein and ask me for a sharpened box-cutter. I’ll slide one out from beneath my tongue. There are things that I can tell you that will make me want to break the way the sun does in the...
Forgive Me (9-30)
When I tell you that I’m sorry, what I really mean is: ‘I had your heart in my hands. I didn’t mean to hold on so tight.’ If there is bruising, forgive my fingers. If there is breaking, forgive my passion.
Come sleep with me: We won’t make Love, Love will make us.– Julio Cortázar (via philphys)
Elementary School Lessons (#8-30)
Today, our last day, this will be our last day together. Or not together, already apart, but trying to make it work. What does not work is broken. I learned this when I was six. My teacher told me to set aside the severed sticks and grab new ones. “Those popsicle sticks won’t hold up your house,” she warned. I always wanted to build a house, was always building rooms I...
What You Could Tell Me (7-30)
how have you broken yourself at the seams, what roads did your feet wander down, and when will the unraveling end? there are so many suns caught in the bed of your eyelashes, it hardly takes a prism to know the weight of that much light. i have forgotten what your smile tastes like but i remember that it used to make me think of freshly cut oranges gleaming so generously besides the...
“did you say you were lonely? i was just about to miss you.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFhJiKGfmrg
Day 4: Tattoos/Cover Me
iibrahim: “There is too much skin and not nearly enough ink,” she whispered to me.
After Life (NaWriPoMo #6)
(After Ed Mabrey’s “What Comes After Dust”) What comes after dust? What comes after You Fuckin’ Whore, What comes after She Had It Coming, What comes after slut? What comes after his fist against her face, what comes after your mother sobbing in the shower, what comes after enough? What comes after years of getting bullied, what comes after locker room laughter, ...
something broken (NaWriPoMo #5)
Something broken something I once had fractured by someone I loved. Next year I will remember the blunt force of this anger the bull-headed rage, the blue-bodied temper, and the trauma my mind was left to rummage through like a dumpster diver hoping with all heart that something was left behind and could be salvaged. I know that what is gone cannot be rescued- the boat that has sunk into...
things i cannot tell you (NaWriPoMo 4-30)
Although we don’t speak anymore, you still cross the paths of my mind and I wonder how long you will continue to haunt the house of my body. Remember how the nighttime used to stretch itself into morning, and we hardly realized save for the shadows on the walls that became lighter to the point of disappearance? We dug up graves with our laughter, uncovered the tombstones beneath...
the holiest room (NaWriPoMo #3)
*I miss your neck between my teeth. I wonder if you know the season of my longing. You are the river my feet would like to step inside of, during the summertime, when the gaping windows let in no breeze to lick the nape of my neck and only the calls of birds mating and nesting come through. I count the minutes we spend speaking on the phone, the still darkness of my 3am room lit only...
Christmas in July: A Letter of Longing to Autumn...
I want you like I want Christmas in July and I know that’s sacrilegious of me to say, but you should probably blame my love of flannel, soy peppermint mochas, and Mariah Carey’s infamous Christmas single for this cheesy comparison. After the end of winter, when the grass begins to gleam green again beneath the cloudless sky and the sun decides to finally come out of hiding,...
come close (NaWriPoMo #1)
I want to bruise your body the way bullets do when they graze skin, remove your breaths from the lining of your esophagus until you swallow down speechlessness. Even if this will end, tell me that we’ll witness the change in seasons and when we look back, we will think about the summer folding into fall and how our memories burned bright beneath the silent sun.