self portrait in underwear

Tangled in a knotted nest of curls,

I am defeated by the cold, pale skin

of morning’s icy hands.

Her fingers wring my sleepy neck

as my eyes burst free from weighted prisons;

thrust into the world

like a stillborn child.



Are you the same silly girl

who left the coffee pot on?

Burnt coffee smells like sin

and wasted potential.

You can’t just put it in the dishwasher!

Now this morning’s cup of possibilities

tastes like yesterday’s failures.

car accident

That day you picked me up from school,

I knew you were mad. You flicked

the turn signal so hard that I cringed in its pain.

Your stop sign red hair warns,

you’re always mad, aren’t you?

That day you picked me up, you asked.

You said, "sometimes I feel

SOMETIMES…I feel like you

Sometimes…I…" But you stopped and looked

at me, eyes like those marbles

that I used to collect. The ones dad bought me.

Cold and glass and easily lost. You said,

"sometimes I feel

like you love dad more than me--"

I hate the way you drive so much faster

when you’re mad and I am

actually afraid. So instead,

I become a liar.

I hate when people say "no regrets"

Good feelings
are a dime
a dozen.

If I catch
your drift,

no promises!
We take
what we can get.

The next time
I chew my skin,

I remember.

You make love,
but you can’t
say
it.

No promises,
but the thing is

I never take
what I
can’t
give.

You laugh condensation,
brain freeze in
my glass head.

I use my finger to draw:
no regrets