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

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

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)

rrrrrr

and they're dropping like flies
and i'm holding my heart
and you can't lie
about my bloodstains being art

the rings around your cheeks
match the ones on your fingers
and every time he speaks
your lungs won't stop to linger

watch yourself sink into the ashes
piling on the dust
mama's words will sting like acid
because she's calling it lust

"it's getting easier"
you say
"you're getting sleazier"
"okay"

looking down at your shoes
like they'll save you
they can't save you

looking down at your shoes
but i can't save you
he won't save you


--erin

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.

a girl on my floor is engaged and i haven't even had a boyfriend but this mostly doesn't have anything to do with that.

my bookshelf is overflowing with good intentions
and my eyes are overflowing with misperceptions
and my mind is telling me to pay attention
and my heart is telling me about imperfection

because i'm watching with shaking hands.
i'm asking if i understand.
i'm learning about myself and
and i'm learning that i'm made of sand.

and i'm a sand girl
with a sand castle
and the ocean is brushing my hair out of my face
like mama always did,

with her fingers slotting through the strands.
with my fingers slotting through the sands.
and you can tell my mind it's supposed to expand,
but it'll tell you about my hands
and how they aren't as soft as they're supposed to be.

my thoughts are written out on my ribcage
and my skin is as quiet as a blank page
"you'll understand when you're older" isn't a stage
and they'll tell me to act my age,
but i'm falling asleep to the lullaby that played when i turned the key.

sand girls and boys
line up and down the road
and we're asking what we're doing.
we're older.
we're wiser.
we'll lie to our sisters when they ask us,

because they'll understand when they're older.
they'll understand when they're colder.
they'll understand when their shoulder
shrugs off the questions of their sisters.

because my bookshelf is overflowing with good intentions,
and my eyes are overflowing with misperceptions
and the wind is taking me apart as i get older.
the wind is taking me apart as i get colder.
the wind is taking me apart and my hands aren't as soft as they used to be.
and the wind is taking me apart as i get older.


--erin

missed hands

i'm afraid of forgetting myself.
i'm afraid of turning into mist.

i'm afraid of turning into mist,
and it feels like i'm turning away from the sun.

i'm breathing through my nose
but my mouth is feeling cold.

my hands are feeling cold.
i'm afraid my hands are cold.

i'm afraid of falling when there's nothing to catch me.
i'm afraid that i'd still jump.

i'm afraid of becoming the mist that swallows me.
i'm afraid of youth and loneliness.

i'm afraid that they're more connected than i thought.
i'm afraid that they will swallow me.

i'm afraid of becoming the mist that swallows me.
i'm afraid of waterfalls.

i'm afraid of becoming a waterfall.
waterfalls don't have hands.

waterfalls have mist and they turn from the sunlight.
waterfalls can't catch themselves.

i'm afraid i can't catch myself.
i'm afraid of what i can't do.

i'm afraid of what i can do.
i'm afraid of what the world looks like.

i'm afraid of what it doesn't look like.
i'm afraid of what i want it to look like.

i'm afraid of not having hands near me.
i'm afraid of having hands near me.

i'm afraid of proximity.
i'm afraid of youth and loneliness.

i'm afraid that i don't know what either word means.
i'm afraid that they're entwined.

i'm afraid that they've wrapped around me.
i'm afraid that they are mist.

i'm afraid of youth and loneliness
i'm afraid of you and stoniness

i don't need a hand to hold.
i might need a hand to hold.

i'm afraid my hands are cold.
i'm afraid that i've forgotten.

i'm afraid that i've turned to mist.
i'm afraid that i don't have hands to hold.

i'm afraid that hands pass through me.
i'm afraid that i make them cold.

i'm afraid of being cold.
i might need a hand to hold.

i'm afraid of the mist.
i'm afraid i don't have hands.

i'm afraid my hands are cold.
i'm afraid of my mist.

i'm afraid my hands are mist.
i'm afraid your hands will miss.

i'm afraid of you
i'm afraid of me
i'm afraid of the pain in the lines on my hands
i'm afraid of hands holding my heart
i'm afraid of my heart trapped behind the bars of my chest
i'm afraid of giving it to you
i'm afraid of your hands
i'm afraid of my hands
i'm afraid of the mist
i'm afraid of my hands
i'm afraid of the mist
i'm afraid of the hands
i'm afraid of my mist
missing hands hold missing hearts
walk into the mist walk into me
walking away
walking alone
watching alone
wasting away
being a stone
falling away


--erin

wanderinglusting

(origin: this was "ode to summertime insomnia" and then i revised it over the summer so that i could read it at sfys. original is here. i just thought you guys might want to read the slam version of it.)

darling,
i came to tell you that
the days will become longer than our legs and the nights will belong more to laughter than to heavy eyelids.

and we can roast our hearts over the campfire, 

but they'll never understand why we fear obscurity more than death.

the stars read our tears and they tell us that wanderlust was always a myth.

and i can tell you that we'll all find polaris eventually

but you'll know that north may never be the way home,

and i'll know that home is only where the heart is until it gets sick of our indecision.

but it's okay.
it's okay, sweetheart, because we'll go south and southwest.
we'll go to the places that no one cares enough to dream about
because we'll know that they're ours. 

we can make new dreams
and create magic in the sand.

we'll paint with our hearts
because we believe in the forgotten.

so let's make our souls out of sea glass
and laugh when they don't understand

why we call them beautiful.

we've never been decisive about what comes next, but it doesn't matter.
our feet have minds of their own, anyway.

and i know.
i know that certainty lies in bed with confusion, 

but i know that their skin never touches while the world calls our tongues unstable.

so, ask more questions and get fewer answers.
i'll call it serendipity
because you've always loved simplicity.

and i know it hurts, dear.
i know it hurts,
because i can feel it.

so tell santa claus your desires, because he'll never laugh at the five-year-old's questions
and he'll never get tired of you asking for a bandaid for your heart.

it'll heal, sweetie. 
you'll heal,

because the stars still shine when there are clouds

and your heart still sings when it's broken.

you inhale truth like a child, 
and that's okay.

you only expel CO2 and a wish for the genie you never believed would grant it, 
but that's okay, too.

i'm telling you now, because i wish that someone had told me

that the clouds will never be obsolete 
and all you've ever wanted was to fly.

but, love, i'm no romantic,

and dreams are for the peaceful,

so enjoy them for me while you can.

please, please, please,

enjoy them while you can.

--erin

runaway is one word run away is two words

when i was little, i tried to run away.
i just wanted someone to ask me where i was going.

no one did.
i wasn't sure, myself.

now everyone is asking where i'm going
and i'm not sure, myself.

i'm asking where i'm going
and i'm not sure, myself.

i used to hold onto faith like it was the life preserver
and now it's becoming the water.

the leaves are falling without my tears
and i can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

questions are calling out from underneath my bed
and they don't know if they want answers

or if they just want to see me break.
i'm not sure, myself.

i don't know when it became so important,
but i just want to know how many coffins

have bloodstains.
i'm not sure, myself.

it's like something is screaming at me,
asking where i belong.

it might be me or my head or my heart
but they are sure things and i

am not

and i can't answer
because i'm not sure where the choices ended

and the expectations began.
the water i'm falling into

is either trying to carry me or drown me.
it isn't sure, itself.

i used to walk the line between right and wrong.
i walked it for so long that i didn't notice

that there was no line.
i'm sure of that, myself.

i've been staring at the stars,
asking them what my name was supposed to be,

and watching the red on my sleeve that my heart left
after it crawled back into my chest.

i've been asking the stars how many coffins have bloodstains.
they aren't sure, themselves.



--erin

another list called "good things"

• rediscovering totally bangin' playlists from long ago
• people who recognize movie quotes
• not writing papers at 1a.m.
• sleep
• laughing at yourself
• feeling full but not fat
• modest mouse
• coming up with band names
• like how cool would it be if your band was named eponymous so that your eponymous album would be called eponymous
• don't steal my idea
• bullet points
• not having homework to do
• sleep
• obedient liquid eye liner
• having q-tips readily on hand for disobedient liquid eye liner
• laying on the ground
• harry potter and the prizoner of azkaban
• harry potter and the literally anything 
• that wasn't actually a book
• sorry for crushing your hopes and dreams
• mine died with fred weasley
• no shave november and also october and december and january and february and throw in march for good measure
• electric guest
• five dollar concerts in pioneer park
• chocolate milk
• the word "heathen" and its accurate application to me that everyone thinks i'm joking about but i kind of want a tattoo and i don't want to go on a mission and i say shit a lot and my brain says fuck a lot and i have to think about what i'm saying a lot because otherwise i'd end up saying "you can take your studying and shove it up your ass" and that seems to be frowned upon in the greater provo area
• sleep
• dr pepper from mcdonald's
• autocorrect*
• asterisks
• ampersands
• freckled shoulders
• phantogram
• knowing trivia
• did you know that snails are hermaphrodites
• did you know that lions and leopards and cheetahs don't get along
• did you know that grizzly bear remixed a feist song
• like what is this and how is this
• as much as i like it, i don't know how i feel about grizzly bear remixing things
• did you know that titus andronicus is the worst ever
• this is truth
• not opinion
• sleeping babies
• lyk omg babeez
• apple cider
• sweaters
• boys
• campfires
• the combination of the four preceding points
• sleep
• 1a.m. blogging
• eating real breakfast
• CAPSLOCK
• a lack of capslock
• rain
• crunchy leaves
• electric blankets
• e.e. cummings
• a lot of the books on the banned book list
• i'm looking at you, perks of being a wallflower
• not so much captain underpants.
• sorry
• those chocolate oranges i get in my stocking at christmas that you against the floor so that the little chocolate sections fall away from the center like a beautiful artichoke
• or something like that
• everyone's obsession with david archuleta and then they're like "but his ideal girl is one that isn't obsessed with him" and then i say "obv i'm his ideal girl then, considering the fact that if i wasn't as lazy as i def am, i probably would've voted for david cook." and then they ignore my lack of fangirling over him as i laugh because probably none of us will marry him
• sleep
• oreos dipped in nutella
• thinking about baby names like i can actually talk to cute boys without reverting to my multi-chinned state of awkward non-flirting
• i can't
• i'm never getting married
• if i have a girl, i want to name her rosaline
• my dog
• he's smelly
• i love him
• my roommate
• she's actually super cool
• we get along really well
• we have dance parties with a strobe light app
• she thinks it's scary
• i think her fear is amusing
• i am a terrible person
• sleep
• boys with nice jawlines
• i could name our child rosaline
• beating other people academically
• it reminds me of high school
• #sorrynotsorry
• sleep

--erin

*sometimes

a mostly pointless list of mostly pointless superpowers written by a mostly pointless girl with a mostly pointless major and mostly pointless blue eyes that cry mostly pointless tears when she's mostly pointlessly sad

• the ability to make water lukewarm
• the ability to gain weight at above average speed (but you have to do that whole diet and exercise crap to get rid of it)
• the ability to punch really hard but really slowly
• the ability to run in slow motion 
• the ability to turn anything into a tv remote (but you can't change it back)
• the ability to doggy paddle twice as quickly
• the ability to move at the speed of light (but only when you're already in space. good luck finding a rocketship. if draco couldn't find one, neither can you. no pigfarts for you. pff)
• the ability to screenshot just by blinking
• the ability to fall asleep exactly 38 minutes after you go to bed
• the ability to eat two chocolate cakes in the space of an hour
• the ability to insert punctuation into other people's texts
• the ability to attract baseballs with your face
• the ability to name that actor in that movie without consulting imdb
• the ability to turn any noodles into top ramen
• the ability to make green things orange
• the ability to be open about things
• the ability to fall in love
• the ability to not care about getting hurt
• the ability to run away from feelings
• the ability to make leopard print into cheetah print
• the ability to make a really successful baking soda and vinegar volcano
• the ability to make cardboard into printer paper
• the ability to ask the supposedly nonexistent "stupid question"
• the ability to finish half of the things you start
• like this list

--erin

live like alphaville

reaching for words that faded with the firelight

forgetting my own expectations like

the balloons i didn't tie to my wrists


i feel it all

every swipe of purple lipstick

every space between my fingertips

every heartbeat ringing in my ear

especially the right one

the one with the sweet nothings

and the smiles you had to hear to believe


hearts beating

always beating

heads beating

always beating


never gets old

never getting old


always eighteen

always scraping my knees

always rolling the windows down

keep the music loud and the laughs louder


because

i am vital

alive




because

peter pan's got nothing on me.



--erin