perfect in the distance

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to see her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed the way her ankles rolled
in when she walked

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to meet her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed a smudge of lipstick
on her nose

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to greet her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed a little bald spot
on the back of her head

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to know her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed a little red spot
on her chin

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to befriend her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed a little roll of fat
spilling over her belt

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to like her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed that her eyes
were red and sore

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to kiss her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed her lips
trembled and bled

she was perfect in the distance
and i wanted to love her
so i took
one
     step
          closer

and i noticed the scars between her breasts
and along her wrists

she was perfect in the distance
and now she looked at me
like she needed me, desperately

but i took
eight
          steps
                    back

because she was perfect in the distance
and from a distance was the only way i loved her.

pour mes hommes.

I have become a hoarder

Of pretty eyes and beautiful bodies

Of winks, and smiles, and laughter 

All for me, for me, for me

Words fly, and then sparks 

There is a kind of vicious thrill

To living so voluptuously 

To conversing so ferociously 

And it's all mine, all mine, all mine

For the first time in my life

You clutch coffee with me, with me, with me

I think of you in my sleep 

Warm arms and sweet words 

How many times I have been kissed

Loved, admired, adored

And not one of them hurt me

Not one, not one, not one. 

my pain is not beautiful.

My pain is not beautiful
It is terror and bloodcurdling rage
It is coldness and cruelty personified
It is a moan, low and desperate
It is a scream in the night

My pain is ugly, twisted scars
Tear stained pillows and shaking hands
It is deformed bodies and broken bones
Bruises and dried blood
It is words caught in my throat
Crippled nerves and bitter regret

My pain is laboured breath and restless longing
Demons in my head and hands around my neck
It is men with pretty eyes and hands that wander
And hearts that break, then break again

My pain is not beautiful.
I am.