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breadcrumbs in North Carolina.
The paint on the porch is chipping and the grass is overgrown and sometimes I wonder why the he** I ever came home, but I’m here.
I know your smile, the crevices,
in your skin. I could pinpoint the exact shade of white within your teeth if I had some motivation, but I refuse. Tell me
a monster cannot be so beautiful. I need something with purpose to blow this realization away. I need
a man with fire; instead of this boy with matches I need
someone to tell me to throw down my pen and melt
into the doorknob because you can’t understand s*** words.
Hold me at 2 a.m. when I wake from dreams of God
I don’t want to be eaten alive.
I knock and I wait for
forgiveness. hopefulness. that internal
nothingness. that I know too well.
im a sloppy mess of glue, needles and thread and I guess
I sicken myself. I want to cough up these capillaries, rip open every stitch of imperfection and show you
This girl cannot be fixed but
beating her small fists to death on the same front door that you
carried her through on long nights
when she fell asleep in the car
when you’d stay up for hours playing solitaire in the kitchen
because you could never defeat yourself.
I’m tired of knocking on an empty door
in an empty house
with an empty fist
and an empty face
Teach me where to find my northern star,
show me my way home.