Oh, my Czech bride, and her hollowed insides.
With collapsing cave of belly, baby came.
Sanguine, silent eyes, and raucous baby cries –
broken fanfare at break of day.
I held wisteria like a blue breath.
Blue pallor spread like a December death.
Laconic goodbyes to the retinue,
then we laid her down in swaddled cocoon.
A dank dawn rose, found us in mourning clothes –
we sang sad requiem from a hill.
Sunlight fell on nose, then we walked baby home.
Would that we could shrug the dour chill.
right.
we lack words, legitimacy.
it's-alright-ness can only be found
in options and details and syllables.
buttons proclaim things i can't
say because i can't say them
in just one word.
hand claps made me gay.
pity... you said: whiskey?
the holy headache's near.
met him between
a snow pile and a cloud
of noxious stuff. by now
he's shaved the damn thing off,
and it's eighteen below.
but this isn't what i want to say. what i want to say is that it's all so cold and so hot and i feel like i'm choking every time i tie my shoes. i want to hit reset. i want to punch the button till the light turns green and it's alright again. i don't want to be here i don't want to be here i don't want to be here but the only other option is THERE. there, till i get married and die. till i commit suicide. till i rejoin the church and say goodbye to life.
i know they've turned their gaze upon the prettier things i send them. last letter held a dead rat, cus i had nothing else to give.
so when i go back home and my hair grows out, the skirts tangle like shackles and i get married off to some churchboy... they'll pretend i never went away, never saw the world, never did any of those things i'm not supposed to do. and they'll smile, because they know that god has won.
Journal: 
