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)

sometimes, when you are a man

i'm forgetting my soul at the bottom of a purse
with red lipstick and a grey notebook
that's quiet enough to make me wonder
what it would say if i got around
to opening it.

my thoughts slide back down into a pile of
"gothic cathedrals tend to have rib vaults
and pointed arches.
romanesque cathedrals usually have groin vaults
and rounded arches."
"lady macbeth goes crazy because she focuses so hard
on distinguishing imagination from reality
that when her imagination becomes her reality
she doesn't realize it."
"i hate myself for loving you.
and by you i mean 5 seconds of summer.
i swear.
all my indie street cred is out the window."
"hitchcock usually gets credit for creating the accordian zoom
because of his application of it in vertigo.
this is significant because it is used a means
of character development and revelation."
and it all gets lost.

i'm drawing in the chipped parts of my
black fingernails like they'll redeem me.
it doesn't mean anything.
it doesn't mean anything.

i'm used to holding myself together like the arms
around my torso can keep the world
from falling.
my arms are around my torso but the world
is falling.


--erin



you wear stretchy pants in your room.
it's for fun.

notes

my bones broke when i ripped the page

and your mother stopped calling when you were

nothing but fine.

you were

anything but fine.

big hearts break into small pieces.

and her lips said love

and her hips said sin

and i know i can't be unbroken

and i know i can't take back the words i've thrown from my tongue,

even if i wanted to,

even when they shattered against you

and you

and you

and you

like a glass bottle shatters against brick

and i lied to myself when i said that i was strong.

because broken glass cuts.

it always has.

it always will.

and i warn myself away

and i keep my own secrets

for now.

and i watched my hands,

two at the top

the right drops

the white splits

half stuck on the left

half escaped to the right

that flutters down

and the "in" falls

on the fault line

and the "er" stays

between the satin covers.

so, slip your fingers between mine, love,

and cry for me when i can't myself

because my bones broke when i ripped the page,

and my eyes stayed dry.

my bones broke when i ripped the page

and i watched as white turned to grey.

let the tears carve tracks to your throat, dear,

because my bones broke when i ripped the page,

and i'd be lying if i said i wouldn't do it again.

cry like a firestorm, love,

cry,

because big hearts break into small pieces,

just like everything else.


--erin