eleven

call me useless
call me desperate
call me yesterday

but i want to talk about eleven years old.

before thirteen there was twelve
before twelve there was eleven
and she ran away at eleven

eleven came with emily morrin and shaved armpits
eleven came with doctors and diet coke

i read the sex scenes over
and over again
and i touched myself
not knowing it was "bad"

i read "the care and keeping of you" at night with a flashlight
because i didn't want my mom to know that i worried about pubic hair
i stole the body issue of a popular women's magazine
and i asked my mom for a training bra

i shaved my legs
even though my mom said it was too soon
and all i remember is the red running down my leg
like rain down the windows of a car
and i tried to stop it with my finger

eleven wasn't angry
eleven wasn't defiant
or opinionated
she wasn't elegant

but eleven was soft
she was wet grass
green turtlenecks
and little white lies

she was the edge of innocence
she held her mother's hand in maturation
even though she didn't learn shit

eleven was bold
and new
she rolled the "f-word" around her tongue
like hard candy
and practiced it over
and over again in her bedroom
where no one could hear

eleven was my cousin repenting for her fuckin' middle finger
telling me about "fuck you"
"fuck him"
"fuck her"
"'fuck them"
and i laughed out loud
because i didn't know what intentions could do to your tallest finger
making him more headstrong than your head ever was

i still played with dolls at eleven
and sometimes it was innocent
and sometimes it wasn't
and the sound effects were pretty realistic for a virgin kid director

i hit myself a lot back then
"wait til you have the house to yourself, lexi"
"don't get caught, lexi"
"you're such a FREAK, lexi"
would go take daddy's belt from the bedroom
'cause i didn't know how else to make the shame go away
"lexi, you are bad"
"you are a bad girl"
"you make so many mistakes"
"no one likes you"
"you are annoying"
"you are nothing"

and then i'd put on my pretty girl smile
happy girl smile
eleven year old smile
things are all right smile
things are great smile
answering all the questions right at the dinner table
and go work on my straight fuckin' a's
and i'd go to soccer
and i'd still feel like shit

eleven was new
eleven was bold
but in the end, i still felt like shit.

suicide pacts and divorce papers

mama told me we are all spinning starfish
we are all breathing in those colored bubbles
we are all white and black and blue and yellow
god help the caucasians 'cause they sunburn worst of all

but she chokes on the word "god"
and the truth spills out like vomit

god is dead
he killed himself

he couldn't handle the responsibility of all the phone calls
3:57 AM mountain time
3:57 AM and seventeen seconds
seventeen
seventeen seconds
he especially hated all those fucking prime numbers
one
three
five
seven
eleven
thirteen
seventeen
nineteen
twenty-three
twenty-seven
twenty-nine

and every time he looked at his phone he saw the number of voicemails
so he threw his phone as far as he could into a lake
and it was so deep
and so blue
that he almost felt better

but he didn't

he thought of you
yeah, you
kept reminding you
that you were a character in a book he was writing
and you weren't the book
you were the CHARACTER
in a CHAPTER

he referred to the bible as one of his bestsellers
so you looked
but you didn't like his writing style
and you didn't think you were strong enough to be a good character
and JESUS WAS CRUCIFIED, for christ's sake

you didn't like his plans for character development
or how every story has to have a problem
goddamnit
and he was tired of telling you over
and over
and over again
and he didn't like writing anymore if he had to argue with his characters
and so he killed himself

and i should be sad
but i feel like it's the only time i've been able to relate with god

i wish i could tell you i've been doing well in college mom
i wish i could tell you i don't want to die anymore
and death and i aren't on speaking terms
but we argue quite frequently dad
and life and i are the estranged married couple
and i'm cheating on life with death
and she knows it

sometimes she makes me sleep on the couch
but she doesn't dare bring out the divorce papers
she makes me a pot of coffee when i walk in the door
and she kisses me on the cheek
but her heart's not in it

i ask her about the kids
and she asks me about the boss
but we don't tell each other shit
and we haven't slept together in months

so my wife, she goes to my mom for advice
prob'ly cryin' on the phone
too scared to mention the sex
and my mom invites me to lunch
she's a good woman
stages a fuckin' intervention, y'know
and this is where i hear about god killin' himself

and soon i'm screamin'

JUST BURY ME NAKED
PLANT MY BONES UNDER THE CONCRETE
I DON'T WANT A FUCKIN' HEADSTONE
WATCH 'EM GROW
WATCH 'EM GROW

you taste like we might get on

you taste like burnt tongues
sitting alone at a coffee shop
you taste like andy warhol made love to picasso
like that dirty chai you just finished drinking
you taste sleep deprived
and you added too many espresso shots

you taste like sin
like you have a weird fetish
like you've never read a word of the bible
because you were too busy watching porn on your laptop

you taste like home videos
you taste sad
you taste like i know you already
you taste broken

you taste like laundry soap
and deodorant stains on a black shirt
you taste like wednesdays
and 7:30 am
pack the kids' lunches
feed the kids breakfast
don't forget your coat henry

you taste like soup kitchens
you taste like my mother's eyes
you taste like rusty nails spilled onto the dirt
you taste like trouble

you taste like church
like you pray every night
and you swear as soon as the alarm goes off
you taste like you say the "f-word" a lot
you taste white like sacrament hymns
and messy like kids' coloring pages
you taste like confessions
and sweaty hands
and bloodshot eyes

you taste like i don't want to stop kissing you
you taste good
you taste real good

you taste like you pay attention in earth science
and you were pissed when you got a c on the exam
like you buy urban outfitters socks
and you read up on the company controversies

you taste like you're addicted to solitaire
and you sleep with your mouth shut
and something about that seems significant

you taste like you don't bruise easy
and you're not ticklish
but you taste like you wish you were
because you want an excuse to laugh more

you taste like you still buy cassette tapes
and you worry your mother
and you never downloaded snapchat
and a part of you wants her to be worried

you taste like long division
and lost love letters
and the guy that proved the universe is still expanding

you taste young
and hopeful
like you went through an awkward phase in fifth grade

you taste like i might fall in love with you
and i should probably ask for your number

crime scene

 

 

bloody hearts bleed bloody heart blood
bloody hearts bleed bloody heart blood
BLOODY HEARTS BLEED BLOODY HEART BLOOD

can they arrest someone for eyes that don't answer back?
can they arrest someone for heavy footsteps?
or a voice as soft as water?

i can't sew this hair back on my head
or drink this blood back to my heart.

i can't kiss the blues out of the bruises
or seduce my skin into joining her lover again.

i've never heard my bones so loud
as when you pushed and pushed
and the word "no" didn't seem to be necessary
but it was cast away like the semi-colon
which we never seem to use anymore
forgotten like the dust above the baseboards
yesterday's small talk in the corner.

don't put baby in the corner.

my bones said, "NO"
my bones said, "STOP"
my bones said, "PLEASE"
in english
german
and french

and i'm sure the neighbors heard

but you didn't.

you did this to me.
you broke me.

i'm your then-fiancé knocked out cold in the elevator
the cold look in your eyes
and the cold way your hands pulled me out

people give me one word to describe you
and i start with cold
but i keep going

you're beautiful
you're so beautiful
god breathed life into you
and got so worked up
he forgot how to count, love

but the skies will bleed
the ashes will color our lungs black
and stop our breaths
doing the dirty work for the devil
and the ashes will still love the devil
and i will still love you.

you can shoot me dead with your daddy's pistol
you can bag the flowers from the garden
and plant my heart instead
and the worms will eat my heart
and i will still be in love with you.

the world could flood with rainwater
and the whales could swallow us whole
and jonah will get the bible story
and i will still be in love with you.

it doesn't matter what sleazy motel bed i'm sleeping in
or what whore is sleeping in your sleazy motel bed
it doesn't matter what check i'm writing
what movies are playing
or who forgot to take out the trash last night
romeo and juliet will still be a tragic love story
and i will still be in love with you.

even if your cold heart doesn't know it.