when I was crying in the diner
because a boy broke my heart-
it went something like this:
it's okay to let things break
no matter if your bloody heart
feels burned at the stake
I can't beg
all the time
for one small crumb of attention,
of love, affection
I will be on my knees
but not for you, no matter how long it will take
I want to teach myself
to pray for a knife so I can cut
through to the center
and let the crumbs stick to my tongue
of my own damn cake
of me, little by little little bites sinking into old wounds every time and I let her because just like the trees open their hands to the snow I do love the idea of dying slowly loved and afraid and b
is write little books, is what I heard the husband of a friend say once. that's all she does, all day he said and she laughed and I nodded and felt my shoulders sink and remembered her laugh as I sat
Bring in your dead, she said. So I dragged my lovers out of the warm cocoons of my sheets out through my crooked legs and my sweat-soaked arms and watched as they clutched not at the bed, but at their