I am, I am.

I’m not who you think I am.

I’m not fists and I’m not hands.

I’m not broken houses

or faded paint

or crooked shutters.

Not missing fillings

or empty medicine cabinets

or crumbling hip bones.

I’m not a hurricane like I used to be. I’m too far inland and all out of heart. Hurricanes get tired in Utah. Hurricanes run out of reasons to flood houses and tear down power lines. Call it passion, call it anger, they run out.

I’m not cracked sidewalks or exposed tree roots.

I’m not the vacant apartment.

Not torn wallpaper or property damage.

I’m not a police report.

I’m not the unopened book at Barnes and Nobles. My pages are worn, dog-eared. There’s tear stains and grease stains. There’s notes in pencil, crayon, and three colors of pen. 

Man, I was loved.

I am not a cigarette butt

Not a Vegas whore.

Not a one time use, get your money’s worth.

I am a diamond that your wife wants to wear every day as a symbol of forever.

I want to kiss her finger when she drives the kids to school in her pajamas.

I want her to put me ahead of her bra on the priority list.

I want to be a symbol of promise.

You will hang me on your wall,

nailed to a crucifix,

and look at me every time you walk up the stairs.

I want to be Martin Luther King’s speeches and Shakespeare’s love stories. I will be as idealistic as politicians and speed limits, and as realistic as emergency rooms and death dates.

I’ve been unwashed hands and the priest who rinsed them. I am a Bible and a centerfold, Vegas and Provo. I am a nudist colony and General conference. I am a god and a devil, sinner and saint. I read the Book of Mormon and I support gay marriage.

I am duct tape. I may not be cement pushing a building to its feet, but these days, I congratulate myself on holding my limbs to my torso, my brain in my head, and my heart in my chest.

And damnit, I am metallic. I capture the light of the moon in my fishing net. And that’s all I’ve got. I want to prove that I can still shine after the devil’s had me in his boxing ring and the gloves are out.

I lost the fight, but I’m winning the rematch. Hell, I’m so glad to still be swinging that I will donate all the prize money if I ever get out of here. Listen, I am the good guy. I am the lead in a successful indie film that got an eighty percent on Rotten Tomatoes. You’re cheering for me. You’re taping pictures of me in your lockers. You hipsters are listing me as your celebrity crush and I have haters telling me I’m overrated, and I like them too. At least they’re talking about me.

And I’ve got two black eyes, but I’ve still got this silver lining tracing my bruises. Baby, I’m reflecting this light above me. Gotta make room for second chances and holy water. Because honey, I’m the crest of a wave. I’m the foam on the sand. I wash off easy and I don’t stain your clothing. I’m forgiveness. I’m translucent. I’m forgettable.

But I keep looking after the train leaves, after the leaves fall, and I never forget the lines on your hands. I may have been fists. I may have been teeth, but I’m not anymore. I’m offering myself next to a spoonful of sugar so I go down easier the next time. I don’t weigh down your backpack. I just like to watch from afar. I like to see your smile more than I like to see you understand because honey, your smile is beautiful.

Listen, my rhythm is not as blue as it used to be. My nails aren't as sharp and my words don’t cut as deep. I can even make small talk now. Please drink me in and remind me what it feels like to be wanted.

I’m tired of spelling out love love love on the keyboard thinking it will find its way into my bloodstream. I’m stuck in high school. I write love love love on my arms and I hear love love love on the radio, but my heart doesn't beat any faster and there’s not a face that comes to my head.

I try to whisper love love love to my house, but it’s not loud enough. Remember, I’m translucent. I don’t stain your clothes. But I’m not loud enough. And that has always been the catch.

a list of things i am afraid of

• alphabet soup.
• animal shelter advertisements.
• the name "abcde." pronounced like a smoother version of abs city.
• the fact that i will probably name my kid something far out (i'm thinking viva. how sick would that be? viva).
• buttered bread.
• unbuttered bread.
• barbies and disney princesses.
• being the date with half her side forgotten from the group picture.
• cat hair.
• dialectics.
• double thinking.
• double zeros.
• disappointing my therapist.
• dropping out of college.
• that i want to drop out of college.
• dying too early.
• dying too late.
• energy drinks.
• exclamation points!!!
• eating too much.
• not eating enough.
• fire alarms.
• four espresso shots.
• flax seeds.
• forgetting to grow up.
• forgetting to get a job.
• forgiveness.
• forgetting to fall in love.
• forgetting how to fall in love.
• falling in love with another writer.
• getting really mad and killing my sister.
• gradients.
• grandparents.
• graphing on excel.
• the fact that i can't graph on excel.
• hurricanes.
• my heart.
• he who owns my heart.
• iceland.
• going back to inpatient.
• that i probably need to go back to inpatient.
• jail (duh).
• jelly (or jam). whichever one doesn't have seeds.
• jalopenos.
• jack-o-lanterns with funny faces.
• jerry jones and the dallas cowboys and their 6-1 record.
• not being able to watch football in heaven.
• words spelled with "k" that should be spelled with the letter "c" instead.
• light up frisbees.
• life.
• lies.
• liars.
• that i'm a liar.
• mcdonald's meat.
• meeting alpine, utah.
• moving on.
• not being able to move on.
• mother nature.
• macklemore (i dig his style though).
• neutrality (maybe that's why i don't like switzerland).
• nuclear bombs.
• utah state getting bombed.
• never playing tennis again.
• that i never want to play tennis again.
• having nowhere to go on thanksgiving.
• going home for thanksgiving.
• not enough.
• too many.
• oppression.
• operations.
• tongue twisters.
• out of breath.
• picking up the phone.
• pocket dialing andrew from my music class.
• petting zoos with bears (there's one in logan, not kidding).
• never living up to my potential.
• that this is my potential.
• q-tips breaking my ear drums.
• rust.
• razors.
• rusty razors.
• ryan gosling.
• spicy foods.
• switzerland (i'm sure the swiss are nice people).
• sex.
• never having sex.
• having too much sex.
• liking porn too much.
• shaving.
• snapchat.
• saying sorry.
• sharing.
• suffocating.
• tomorrow.
• time.
• too little time.
• talking too much (fuck it).
• television.
• unhappy birthdays.
• utility bills.
• 37.
• underage drinking.
• uni.
• the voice tv show.
• william wilson.
• william it was really nothing.
• winter.
• xboxes.
• xenophobia
• names that start with x like xinhua and xavier (is xinhua even a name? it showed up thanks to autocorrect).
• "y," the last letter in the word mercy, pounding it out on the keyboard relentlessly.
• yiddish.
• zombies.
• never finding my zen.
• zits.
• canadians calling the letter "z" zed.
• zero gravity.
• zero friends.
• zero.
• zero.
• zero.

leather

i may forget the constellations carved into your hands
and the story each bitten fingernail told me

i may forget who said what
who recycled
who prayed
who had a more dysfunctional family
all the pieces of you are blurring together
and the polaroid's colors are fading

but i won't forget the way your skin folded when you smiled
or the way i lost my balance
as i tried to make up for my lack of height
and my lips have never felt as poetic as they did
when i talked to your skin and sweat
and i read every secret your head was afraid of

our histories merged on a subtle weekend night
dim lighting
no expectations

the memories aren't as painful to reflect on as they used to be
but the words still sour the recipe
and although the bad is sucked into the gulf stream
and the lines are softening
and the ocean currents are arteries dragging the gray away from my heart
i won't forget why

why we ended
why i don't love you anymore
why my heart sank further into my chest
and still feels a little heavier

the stripes aren't as thick from the sky
but they're still too close together to be comfortable

i'll forget your grammar
and the misspelled text messages

i'll forget your hair
and when you pretended to like an nfl team

i'll forget your handwriting
and the sound of your footsteps on the stairs

but i won't forget the way you made me feel
the spilled blood and the scabs and the uncertainty
your angry kisses that brought me to my knees
when talking to you felt like planning a war
but i never said the words that cut you to the core

i couldn't walk away because i was addicted to the good
even though it happened a lot less often

see, our relationship was leather
stretched and worn and sexual in nature
but leather doesn't hold you up
hold you close
or hold you together
leather doesn't get you through stormy weather

so i'm putting this leather in my dresser to look at later
but i'm not going to let it into bed with me

at least, not anymore

don't kill feminists

***Note: This is satire.

the boys are standing clapping

and the girls are sitting down

the pocketed words are heavy

the fish are gonna drown

my mouth is sewn shut

then his hand's on my leg

i want to cry out

but he said to behave

now he's giving me a meaningful look

and i'm squirmin' like a worm on the hook

next up, there's a girl on the stage

and she's saying just what they want her to say

but they can't hear her sarcasm

they can't feel the bite

i'm starting to think that this girl's alright

"i cut off my clit 'cause it's no good for me

can't cut off my nip 'cause it's for the baby

am i gonna get killed if i talk?

maybe

but that doesn't mean my eyes can't see

you fuck bitches

and you call yourself a man

picked 'em up off the street with a threat in your hand

covered their mouths so we can't hear the screams

just like that we don't know what it means
damn, you tricked us most definitely

feminism is not what we need

'cause women can vote

and spit out his seed

but a girl can't talk about her opinion

not her views or her vision

without getting death threats

but women are equal obviously

i mean, look at cosmetic surgery

freedom of expression is our message

because we have poor body image

by expressing ourselves, we try to look the same

big tits drive all those men insane

video games are no reason to pray

sure, women get kidnapped everyday

but they don't deserve a role in the game anyway

i can't save myself as they say

she's gotta get a lifetime supply of razors

nothing else could ever please her

lack of hair defines her

but his hairy ass is sexy

see, feminism is dead

it's getting to these girls' heads

burning bras in the street

when they're nothing but meat

can't they see bein' a housewife makes life complete?

they're man haters

they're baby slayers

they say their bodies are their own

but they're just prizes to be won

some are valued higher than others

but they all turn into mothers

they fight for their rights in the offices

but girls, you don't have penises

there sexual harassment is prevalent

and women only deserve 82 percent"

this society has no integrity

we don't have to listen to the patriarchy

you have thoughts in your brain and a brain in your head

believe me, you can think for yourself instead

it's okay to be shy

it's okay to be scared

uncertainty is something we all share

the crystal balls are shattered

palm reader's lost his touch

the psychic had a breakdown

religion is too much

you're stirring her a cocktail of an identity
with a side effect of drunken forgetfulness
but mister, just let her feel
mary, don't drink it in
it's not strong enough to last until tomorrow

and then you'll feel twice as desperate
three times as betrayed
and nothin' but another of his drinks
could make the breathing easier

it's a cycle
a vicious cycle
and he wants your voice stopped in a bottle
he watched "the little mermaid" too many times as a kid
'cause under the sea, they show a lot of skin

girls, don't listen to him
don't listen to them

the intro i never had

my name is lexi.

i was a 3.998 high school student who is currently failing two of my college classes. and i'm not planning on doing anything about it this week.

i used to lure them boys in and kiss 'em right in my sandbox, and i'm worried my seduction skills haven't changed all that much in the last fourteen years.

i'm afraid of tomorrow. because winter breathes in all of my secrets and the sun's tired of knocking on my window if i'm never going to open the blinds. but i won't come out because the bed is warm and the world is sad.

i don't shower every day even though my therapist thinks i need to fight my depression. the boxing gloves are too heavy for my hands and punches remind me of assault charges and police cars. the reminders weigh heavy on my forearms and honey, you'll learn i'm not so innocent after all.

i've outgrown pen names and pe lockers, but i'm still no good at small talk and i don't understand what's so fuckin' great about the weather. i'm never dating a forecaster.

i'm nothing more than a list of confessions waiting to be captured on a police report.

my parents think i'm stonewall jackson
but they can't see i'm building my brick wall higher every day.
i'm fueling the flame and i'm feeding the wolf.
i'm ignoring the recipe and i'm boiling revenge on the stove.
one brick for wednesday morning and another for urban outfitters.
half a brick for the half-truth.
the faucets won't turn and the medicine cabinet is empty.

two bricks,
three bricks,
four bricks for her.
take them, take them.

five bricks for the phone call.
six bricks for the silence.
wrong place, wrong time.
brick by brick by brick.

the cold shoulder's reheated in the microwave
but the tears are frozen in the ice box.
i'm digging red out of my fingernails with the kitchen knife.
more concrete. more plaster.
I'm screaming, "higher. higher! HIGHER!"

i can't prove whether the grass is greener on the other side. but if it is, it's because of all that fertilizer shit.

so pray for me when they lower my casket into the ground. and if you like me, pray before then. and remind me to recycle too.

because i've heard it's a spiritual progression.
the ones that recycle
are the ones that get to heaven.

maybe i'll stop counting the calories and start keeping my kisses,
starting with every line on my hand
and every freckle on my arm
and every time my mother smiled
and every school lunch she packed.

because it's not the calories killing me.
it's the counting.

you and i

in my mind you were hollywood unbreakable

like all the applauded before you

that ended up in rehab before their third movie

but i think i'm more like wednesday than i realized
with a "how do you spell your sorrow?"
and "how long have you had chronic depression?"
and "you can't possibly be at your breaking point until midnight"

and it's ten thirty and my claws are out.
don't ask me my favorite color
if you don't plan on sticking around until winter shows us hers

god, we'd play head games with loose change

today looks black
and i'm not talking about the weather
i'm talking about the way your feet move

you're forgetful
and i'm vindictive

you're eight glasses of water a day
and i'm a sorry cup of gas station coffee

you're dead in the future
and i'm blood from the past

you're a flip of a coin
a spin of a racquet
a throw of the dice
heads or tails
yes or no

and i'm the angry outburst tied at 3-3 in the third

you're an adverb
but i'm the verb
you decide how it gets done
but i decide what gets done

you're a wave
but i'm the ocean
you're the top half
but i'm the bottom half

you're voted "hit and run"
in your high school yearbook
and i'm a lost cause
i'm the black sheep
and maybe we're more similar than we realize

you were a high school cheerleader
two senior proms in your back pocket
front porch kisses
dad reading the newspaper under the lamp
and i was a nobody

we both cut off all our hair at seventeen
and our parents hated it
but you always tell me it wasn't the same for you

it's not the same for me either
you told me i was faking my eating disorder
you told me i was lying to my therapist
you told me i deserved to be hit

you have a story

i have a story

goldilocks has a story

even if the three bears were an exaggeration

and she always liked her porridge hot

and i always loved you
but sometimes i don't like you

and i know you feel the same way about me