rather

I want to tell you a story about a girl and the sea 

but no matter how I begin it 

I end up talking about him and me 

and I’m brought back to that February day

where it ended – my time spent alone with him 

and yet he cries cause he misses it 

and every harmonic makes me think of death 

how he punched until I had no breath left 

and how much energy it took to whimper the word 

STOP

I’d rather talk about how I held my breath watching

you disappear into the waves

 talk about how you plucked the ivory treasures from the floor

those endless sandy walks finding the sea glass you adore 

marvel that you really are so brave 

 instead of feeling like he’s marching me to my grave

I want to tell you a story about a girl and the sea 

but no matter how I begin it

I always end up talking about him and me 

 

watched

watched you burn our mouths with gooey, orange

marshmallows; the sting made us close our eyes.

cringing, watched you sprinkle Tang on the floor.

it stuck to my feet as i envisioned

so many bangs; my dumb brain felt the heat.

watched the smoke rise above the green buds with

pink tips while rubbing my arms; damn arms felt

whipped.  watched you tear through my muscles just like

they were cotton.  watched you forget all the

sweet words i spoke; good life, it’s forgotten.

 

 

leaving

dreamt my life was leaving last night.

panic threw itself on top on me – crushing my breath.

soul escaped my fingertips, fled from my

O shaped mouth; much like what he likes to draw,

minus the teeth, minus the red.

dreamt my life left me; flat like a sheet, empty like a shell.

it was tired of being anemic and pale.

motionless, I watched it walk away.

tried to scream, plead for it to come back,

but my cold mouth froze up, still shaped like an O.

felt the wind rush over me one last time.

instantly made me regret that I had to go.

notions

my only hope is that Sleep will find him.

tuck him gently in her long, scarless arms

to rest his constant mind.  arms pale as this

paper – pure as your snow.  Sleep will sing him

the sweetest songs to take away his bad

thoughts; erase the memories of the day

gone wrong.  whisper affectionately in

his ear that he his good, he is strong, and

that he is loved.  as I move away from

his now shut door, I pray that Sleep comes for

him.  whisks him away to a place where he

does extraordinary things; after

all, dreamland is an even playing field.

no worries for me in that hopeful place.

my only wish is that Sleep finds him, and

after that time, she then remembers me.

une fois que

you felt too much once,

feel too much still.

his pain was your pain,

like his pain is my pain,

now and always will.

you cried too much once,

cry too much still.

with hearts crumbling,

souls fading,

we loved too much,

once and always will.

 

 

vanity

 

I wore a flash ring on every finger.

seven bracelets on my once small wrist.

grew envious of how well that boy looked

wearing the black floral dress standing there

by the pink roses with an expression

I couldn’t name.  how it oddly made me

miss your shadow in the night.  how it made

me mutter under my breath like a spell.

stirred the craving to be young again.  but

sometimes the memories can be cruel and

deceiving and I harshly remember

the beauty never lasts and never will.

 

 

 

duty

this beaten down shell of a woman 

the one with the grandest dreams 

grew tired of seeing her shadow at the bottom

and

let the violins lead her out of the water

to take a walk under the August sun 

 

unafraid to 

journey for days on end without sleep 

burdened with thirst but not take a drink

until that duty called her back in 

to cut her feet on those flawed, broken shells 

back in to swim with the eels

back to the that beaten down shell of a woman

like me

blame

Frysta, 

why are you so cold?

Are you sad that your story 

has been told,

over and over to a 

world tired of listening?

 Frysta, 

why are so tired?

Did you not get enough sleep 

last night,

after you told that story the world is

so sick of hearing?

Frysta, 

why are so sick?

Are you not stronger than this?

Poor baby, suck in your bottom lip

and cry no more.

Frysta, 

it’s you that he abhors. 

Blames everything on you!

The hurt, the isolation,

the illness. 

Frysta,

why are you freezing?

You tell me it’s the meaning of your name.

But Frysta, we’re tired of listening,

we’re bored with this game.