trashcans, hairballs, fantasy world.

i'm the kind of person who lives in the in-betweens,
the space between the refrigerator and wall,
under the couch, in the pauses between words.
i hear hoofbeats and think alligators,
i'm never the simplest explanation,
occam's razor was sharpened on my bones.
i'm the cruelest person you'll ever know,
and i'll scream at you my rage
(all of that that swirls inside me, whirlwinds, jealousy)
but you'll never hear because
you're yelling what at me over the music
that i played too loud or the thunderous harsh noise of morning light
that is too bright streaming through the window.
i can't rhyme, i can't form my words and smash them into molds,
i can't be like everyone else and i don't know my stuff
i just make it up and cut it with a dull knife
like pie dough that's too cold
from the icebox that doesn't work all the time.
and my sneezes are like gunshots, fast, quick, loud
(just like you don't snicker) and
my fingers like god's hand picking out adam and eve
and all things that walk and crawl and fly.
i'm the person you don't want to meet cause i'll look at you
and see right through you, in fact you're not even there,
all i see is brick and glass
(and it's so much better to be a window than a door)
and when i lie on the grass and see the sky,
i can't resolve it,
it's just dots like impressionism
way up close where things are just blurs.
i don't breathe sometimes when i'm watching people walk away
because i forget and my lips and fingers turn blue
like the ocean i can't see and i don't like making similes
because it sounds like a cop-out and
my eyes are too dry but i hate crying all the time.

nicole.

i never see her wearing jackets
and her clothes smell like smoke and food and blaring television.
there’s change in her hair
and dimming fires in her eyes,
warmth banked in the cool cleft behind her brows.
she’s never cold so she dances at four am
and she smokes pot in the rain, staring at car lights till they blur.
movies play over her skin
like never ending memories of better [fasterlonger] times.
sometimes she’ll stare at you until you turn away
and you’ll feel her watch your back as you walk
and you don’t know where’s she going until she’s disappeared.
she painted her own room and came to school covered in drops of red
looking like she’s bleeding from her pores.
she wears rubber dresses and keeps condoms in an altoids tin and lighters in her purse.
you can see her in the early hours of the morning
driving a dirty white car with peeling bumper stickers
winding ways back from beaches and stars and the moon
with her head leaning against the window, her hand tapping out an empty rhythm.

do you want to know?

i will show you fear in a handful of dust.
i will drizzle it through my fingers in the dry desert air and watch it fall into my footprints.
i will show you death in a cupful of sea-foam.
i will watch it bubble and fizz and slowly evaporate in the salt-sea wind.
i will show you hatred in a bottle of raindrops.
i will boil it and spit it and spray it, painting the walls with scorch marks and heated steam.
i will show you envy in a bowl full of soil.
i will throw it into your face, and watch you wipe it out of your green eyes.