headstone

my body
is a graveyard.

the bruises are fading
the nail marks have healed
but they were only gravestones anyway,

marking the places
you had whispered into my skin.

a lot of words
floating like smoke
from the coke can you passed me.

fogging up my head
like the words
that crawled beneath
the gravestones
you placed

beside my hips
beneath my collarbone
between my thighs.

the markers have faded
but the words are still there

light as smoke
from a coke can:

youre so beautiful.
rest in peace.

--erin

let the poets cry themselves to sleep

you told me
i looked pretty
when i cried
so i did
again and again
just for you


--erin

My body (or: a year and a half later)

(x)

from my skin:

keep me to yourself
stop letting them scratch me
pinch me
slap me
touch me
stop letting them touch me
stop letting them fucking touch me

from my brain:

you smell like him
you smell like cheap cologne
your puffy eyes are your own fault
you couldnt keep yourself to yourself
you didnt ask him to stay
you didnt want him to stay
you said its what you wanted
its not his fault
he doesnt know
that there are pieces to pick up now
you can still taste him in your mouth
you dont even know his name

from my bones:

its your fault i feel bruised
its your fault
you asked for it
everything he did you asked for
its not his fault you regret it
you asked for the backseat of his car
he gave it to you
he gave it to you
you asked him to touch you
he gave it to you

from my heart:

i thought i told you to listen to me
you ignored me when i told you
not to do this


--erin

the stars are dead

someone told me
that the stars im watching
are already dead.

someone told me
that theyre far enough away
that the light is already dead.

there are stars in your eyes and

someone told me
that theyre far enough away
that the light is already dead.

someone told me
that the stars im watching
are already dead.


--erin

remember that time we all watched a guy walk a tightrope over the grand canyon on live tv

my tears and

her tears and

his tears and

their tears

cut their way through my heart

and now there's a groove deep enough

to call the grand canyon

and god cried so much for years

about my tears and

her tears and

his tears and 

their tears

that he created a groove deep enough

to call the grand canyon

and it's grand.

oh, it's grand.

grand enough that people walk tightropes over it

and a "grand" nation

glues its eyes to a screen

hoping those people don't fall and 

hoping those people fall

and god cries some more

because he didn't want anyone to hope that they fall

and those people will make it across in one piece

and a "grand" nation 

will sigh

in relief

in disappointment

and god 

will sigh

in relief

in disappointment

and i will walk across the grand canyon

cut into my heart

and no one

in this "grand" nation

will be glued to a screen

because they'll be busy walking across a tightrope

over their own grand canyon

cut into them by a "grand" nation

and every time they make it across

they'll sigh

in relief

in disappointment

and god's tears will cut deeper into the grand canyon

because he was the one that created this "grand" nation

that half hopes it falls into its own grand canyon

because he was the one that created this "grand" nation

glued to a screen

half hoping that people will fall into god's grand canyon

and it's "grand".

oh, it's "grand".

--erin

astral projections

i can almost feel your hand over mine

and i don't mind

i can almost feel your breath on my neck
and i don't mind

i can almost feel my feet pressing into your sheets
and i don't mind

i can almost feel your teeth pulling at my lips
and i don't mind

i can almost feel my heart beating into your skin
and i don't mind

i can almost feel your empty words tangling in my hair
and i don't mind

i can almost feel the bruises on my hips
and i don't mind

i can almost feel your fingers on my throat
and i don't mind

i can almost feel you killing me
and i don't mind

and i should mind

and i don't mind


--erin

i go outside sometimes partie deux

there are rivers underneath my skin
moving past the rocks in my chest
and smoothing out the branches of my spine
that dip into the current.

there's a set of footprints on my palm
jumping from head to heart
line
but avoiding my life
line.

clear skies in clear eyes
follow gaps between fingers
follow gaps between teeth
follow gaps between hearts
follow gaps between thighs.

there are trees growing from my fingertips
and the still branches taught me about love
and how to feel what my eyes can't see.

roses fall into place
between leaves and thorns
and hands fall into place
between rivers and trees

and the cool palm on my shoulder
breathes into the breeze
telling me to keep drawing cassiopeia on my arm
even if i can't find her throne in the sky.

i'm still watching for the moon,
letting her pull me with the tide,
washing my rivers into the oceans
and teaching me about the clouds
that hold me as i fall asleep.


--erin

3 am messes (a letter to my head)

i won't turn the light on, but neither will you.

you're crawling between the pages and i can't find it in myself to stop you.

you tell me there's a galaxy in my eyes before you press a nail into my heart.
you tell me that red shows more than black and white.

you tell me that the freckles on my shoulders are the constellations the night forgot,
but you watch me fall with the setting sun.

you're the reason i'm dragging this pen across the paper
until i forget where i end and the lines begin.

you tell me to be a forever in the ocean.
you tell me to be an ant in the world.

you call me cold,
you call me hard,
you call me a question no one cares enough to answer.

you tell me to laugh,
you tell me to smile,
you tell me to ask the question no one cares enough to answer.

weave yourself into my chest like a ribbon
and wrap around my heart,
because if it won't listen,
you can at least make sure it doesn't speak.

you always call it incoherent,
but it least it's never lied to me.

i want you to control my arms
my legs
my neck
my eyes
because at least this way i can pretend i'm telling you to.

the sidewalks keep cracking,
but you tell me to walk.


i know i can't save myself,

but i didn't ask you to, either.


--erin

(this page was actually written at three am, which explains the illegibility)

"you've got a pretty kind of dirty face"

i'm knocking on blank doors everyday,
using dead flowers and scotch tape
to remember.

we've been watching our lungs on the big screen
like it was someone else's life.

the headlights only saw youth and love,
her breath hidden in his neck.

we haven't taken the 1975 off of repeat,
but we turned up the bass
because i like it when my ribs rattle
like my heart hasn't already fallen asleep.

we'll skip the saxophone
while you drop your lids
and your shouting mind.

just remember that the stars make
a more honest silver screen.

follow my eyes to the sky
and put your hands under your head
like you have nowhere to be.

lay back and watch
your lungs, my lungs,
like it was someone else's life.

smile,
like our hearts haven't already fallen asleep.

our lungs are moving through the stars
and it's no one's story
but ours.


--erin




(title is from "robbers" by the 1975)

i want you guys to read this because of reasons.

"Myth" - Natasha Trethewey
(which means this isn't my poem and she's much cooler than me. like, poet laureate cool.)


I was asleep while you were dying.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,

the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking

you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.

*

Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.

But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in - still, trying -

I make between my slumber and my waking.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.

cyclical

my bones felt like glass,
but they haven't broken yet,

and
her eyes are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her lungs are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her faith is growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
my bones are made of plastic.

i can beat
and
i can breathe

while she grows
and shrinks
along with the moon.

she thinks her bones are made of glass
and she thinks she is the moon,
but she hasn't broken yet.

i haven't broken yet.


--erin