Fuck resolutions,

here is the truth;

This past year was no shittier than the one before,
this next year will be no better.

This year is not your year.

Today is not your day.

This year, this month, this lunar cycle
this day
is in no way different from the last
or the next

No great change has occurred
because our species decided long ago to measure time.

This year means nothing...

time is irrelevant;
don't wait for the hour to pass,
or the sun to set,
or the ball to drop.

If you want something new,
if you need change

now is the only time that matters.

Bruises

Like perfect recordings
of
touch

allowing me to replay
every
sensation

shadows of pain;
pleasure
in disguise

running my fingers
over
damaged skin

I play it again.

silence

biting my tongue so hard
I could use the blood as ink
for my hovering pen
that can't touch the page
for fear of the honesty,
the truth it may spell,
like the blood that spills
from my mouth
for the sake of silence

Hope

Hope
is new for me
I reach out,
tentatively,
slow so I don't spook it
cause it to run away,
it's light is soft
but my eyes take time
to adjust.

Hope
the word,
like the softest bubble popping
sweet and unassuming,
I like the word

Hope

Word Vomit

Whiner
little "ouch," little "ooh"s,
little complaints
thinking if you focus on the physical pain
if you can get others to focus on the physical pain
maybe you can ignore the real pain
a little longer
avoid treatment
avoid prodding
keep it hidden...
Maybe if you call enough attention to your paper cut
no one will notice the gaping hole in your chest.

Oversharer
little truth, little secrets,
a little too much information
maybe if you spill enough, if you talk so much
maybe then people will think they know everything
and you can keep the real truth in the dark
a little longer
avoid attention
avoid prodding
keep it secret...
Maybe if you talk enough about the smaller truths
no one will ask about the one that's killing you.

My Body is Mine

To the man

who thought he was cool

catcalling a twelve year old

as he drove by;

my body is mine

To the boys

in high school

who saw my shape

as a license to grab;

my body is mine

To the men

who treat my tits

as entertainment at parties,

props for their jokes;

my body is mine 

To the date

who thought the onslaught of no's

were a challenge

to turn them into a yes;

my body is mine

To the girl

who finally

said

yes...

your body is mine

To you, me,

too timid to walk away

when no was not enough,
say it;

My body is mine.

I Never Lie

When I am a speaker
I never lie;

secrets hide in the shadows of my mouth

I swallow details

filling up on hidden realities

hiding facts under my tongue...

When I am a poet,

truth

spills from my fingertips

through my pen, through the keyboard

onto the page

transparent

like the honesty in my eyes

The Difference

Touching
name calling
eye rolling
laughter
music

Netflix
soft blankets
touching
warm bodies
weekends

annoyance
butterflies
comfort
chemistry
touching

the only difference
is the touching.

tangled

The room is quiet

we are
tangled
in each other

legs around your waist,
sitting in your lap
with your head against my chest
motionless
holding you
like I'm holding you together

in reality your presence
this embrace
is patching me up
washing the infection from my wounds
I'm taking care of me
by taking care of you

we are
silent
and still

tangled.

Dive

When I get into a pool

I don't wade
the adjustment is too long
I don't have the patience

I like to get a running start
take a deep breath
close my eyes

and dive

headfirst

there's a shock
a splash
immersion
a sharp inhale

and finally
a smile

summer is no time for fear or apprehension
or allowing the threat of cold to put a stop to adventure.

Myself and I

I enjoy being alone with myself,

I savor my time with her;

I run my fingers along her soft skin

feeling each bump, each hair

each beautiful imperfection;

I like to feel the skin grow taut at the touch

or a cool breeze...

I play with her hair.

I listen to the sounds of her breath

her heartbeat;

her heart...

(I don't worry what my chin looks like

or how my belly moves)

I revel in the warmth of her body

it's gentle curves...

I touch her lips...

I love her

when we are alone.

I feel

truth.

One day I hope;

I may be alone with myself

in the presence of another

(to be alone without 

the cold sting

of loneliness)

One day I may share my truth;

In that peace

I will be home

Hot Mess

When I say someone is, 
when I say I feel like 
a "hot mess" 
I do not mean attractive 
and a bit disheveled, 

I mean they are the smoldering remains 
of what was once a warm hearth that ran too hot 
and was destroyed by its own glorious passion, 

I mean if you have any flammable parts you should not stand too close 
or you may ignite.


However I think, 
with the right amount of heat, 
and the right amount of patience, 
any mess can be restored.

Thursday

This Thursday night

has some nerve,

making

such noise.

This city is

callous,

and

disrespectful.

This room

is too empty...

But heaven understands,

and the stars shine;

lanterns

that guide soldiers home.

The Easy Way Out

Don't patronize me

it isn't about being strong enough
it isn't about being smart enough
it isn't about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps
and soldiering on.

There are days when it takes

every
thing
I
have

to just close my eyes
and keep breathing.

We fight though,
because the so-called
"easy way out"
is a bomb
that would rip through the people I love
like shrapnel

besides,
who knows if it's a way out at all
or just a door into another level of hell.

Nothing
about being at war
with your own mind
is as simple as

being smart

staying strong

all we can do
is go on

so if you want to help
you can send care packages,
letters to remind us why we fight,

otherwise,
respectfully,
fuck off.

Mosaic

I have no place among people who are whole.

No,
my friends and I,

we are a mosaic.

We are shattered souls
that fit together

imperfectly

filling in gaps with our broken pieces
always a bit
disheveled

but gorgeously so.

Surroundings

I noticed a pattern
some time ago;

I always seem to grow,
close,
to people who are,
beautifully,
abnormal.

I think I figured out why.

I am drawn to people who appear outwardly to express
similar,
insanity,
which I work to keep hidden,
and yearn to unleash.

My tongue hurts

There is a stigma
against the things I think

so I’ve bitten my tongue
so effectively
and for so long

I'm drowning in the blood
and the wound is infected

So, rather than risk losing
my words
rather than risk losing
my life

I unclench my jaw
and finally
speak

The Project

Sorting through old poetry
like
dredging the pond for lost items
memories
snapshots of raw emotion
exactly as I left them
ready to rip me open again

It started with love

I've developed an addiction

it started with love

I learned to love it
because I was surrounded by it,
loneliness.

It was a true love
I reveled in it
I wrapped myself in it
and cuddled it until I was warm
I overindulged
eager to drown in it


until I started to drown in it

now it owns me
I no longer have the power to leave it behind

it strangles
me

wakes
me
in the night

keeps me from
sleeping
keeps me from
breathing

but
I find myself

yearning
for it's
numbing touch

like
death
or
casual sex

draining

I am
addicted
imprisoned
lonely

Note To Self

You know.

You always know.

Within a few moments,

a laugh, a story,

a touch,

you know how you feel.

You know because somewhere between your gut and your spine there's a warmth,

then a tug,
soft, and unmistakeable,

yanking your checklist right out of your hyperactive mind,

in the wake of expectations you find

insecurity,
and hope,
and excitement,
and all your butterflies, dancing to the sound of new beginnings.

It doesn't happen often,

but each time it has you've never second guessed it,

you've never had to ask yourself how you feel,

you've never had to convince yourself of the persons merits

or tilt your head to see their face at a different angle in hopes of sparking something more.

Stop trying to talk yourself into this feeling,

stop trying to sell yourself short,

because I love you, and you deserve more than maybe,

or "I should"

or "I wish I did"

or even "maybe I could."

Stop trying to convince yourself that you don't know yourself well enough to know.

You always know.

Queen of Okay

I pose the biggest threat

(to myself)

when I'm feeling out of

control;

like,

my "evil twin,"

the slice of myself

I worked so hard to imprison

so long ago,

(yet only yesterday)

is again gaining 

power...

making decisions for me.

She is a danger to me

and my desperation to regain 

control...

even more so.

I am at war with myself

again

as she moves to rise

and I scramble to suppress

like a losing game of

chess.

Every time before

I was able to minimize 

casualties

but we were both young then...

I have grown tired...

and she's had all that time to rest...

Pulse

I have a Pulse
it's racing
I am angry

I am angry at the culture which has bred hate
so strong
it was willing to take as many live as it had bullets,
which,
thanks to the nauseating apathy of these people,
my people,
was a lot of fucking bullets.

I am angry that the people who have stoked this fire
still, now,
work every moment to breed more hate, blaming
entire groups
for the acts of singular men, allowing them to falsely
represent
who we call "their people."

This country has a Pulse
we are a living, breathing populous.

We are not numbers,
we are lives.

We are not names
we are not hashtags
we are not a trending issue
or a headline

we are lives
we have hearts
we have hopes, dreams, faith, fear, anger, love
a heartbeat
a Pulse

An Acquired Taste

Somehow
black coffee
has it's very own sweetness
like
melancholy
for those who can taste it

and somehow
beautifully bitter
melancholy
like coffee,
but burns cold.
is somehow refreshing
with it's very own sweetness.

Consumer

My name is Meghan
and I am an addict

therefore
the perfect consumer

a true American

feeding the capitalist monster

through an IV

linking my veins directly to it's mouth
to gain access to

alcohol, caffeine, antidepressants

music, movies, art,

love


I am an addict
we all are
and addicts are easily manipulated

Offering

She stands,
chest
hollow,
heart in hand,
bleeding
out,
offering its uneven beat
to
every passerby
eagerly.

The rain
makes
everyone look
pale
so no one notices
the pallor
of drowning desperation.

So eager to love
and be loved
willing to face the eternal dark
for a moment
of pure
light.

It's starting to seem
like she may die waiting.

Crash With Me

Give me a brutal love
don't pull any punches
no holding back
no holds barred.

Give me all of you
the beautiful
and the horrifying
I want it all.

I want to drown
in the intensity
of the emotions
like waves that cradle as they crash.

Sleep

It isn't the sleep I fear,

it is the exhaustion which I know I will fight

when morning comes

and it lays on me like a blanket of snow

heavy and cold

freezing my body into a statue that will never move again.

It isn't the sleep I fear,

It is the closing my eyes for a while

blocking out everything

but the versions of me that live in my head

whispering, manipulating,

trying to turn me into one of them, or get rid of me altogether.

It isn't the sleep I fear,

It is the dream from which I can't escape

trapped in the dark

deep in the recesses of my own mind

vivid and horrifically empty

playing me the worst versions of all my worries like a movie.

I welcome sleep.

It's what sleep is made of that makes me reluctant to lie down and greet it.

Treats and poison

I needed you in the beginning,
your smile like a brand-new butcher knife
with words that cut
I didn't know how badly I was bleeding until I had time to heal.
You tried to to dice me into bite sized pieces
so that you could consume me
to keep your own soul from starving.
When I didn't need you anymore,
and could love wholly and freely,
your meal was over,
you left the table,
and me to clean up the mess.
I'm still cleaning.

I love you still
though forbidden fruit you were,
you were enticing, intoxicating,
and you grew from a tree
who's branches I still love to climb.
You were my favorite flavor I never got to taste.

I loved you, in the end
your quiet strength that left room for my whole self
and you loved all of it.
It was when I needed you that you fled the scene
leaving my love maimed and bleeding out.
Who knew such short time
could leave such lasting scars.

I think I could love you
easily, if I wasn't holding back
seeing your poisonous shell,
dreaming that I could be the one to crack it
and taste the sweet nectar of your soul.
I'm kidding myself.
Even if I wasn't allergic to you
you keep yourself at a distance
spitting thorns at those who draw to close.
It doesn't even slow my step,
but I dare not reach out to touch,
because I know I can get so thoroughly addicted to love
and I have been broken before.

January 2010

The darkness crawls out of my head
through the walls and under my bed,
choking through the grip of silence
conquers me with sharpened violence;

This might be the start of something good...

"I think I need a nap" she said lazily as she stretched, running her hands up into her damp, tangled hair.

"Mm, if I had known how physically taxing that wake-up call was going to be... Yea I definitely still would've left my phone at work" a devilish smile spread across his face.

She giggled.

He didn't want her to stop, so he jumped into bed, pinning her down as delicately as a man of his size ever could, and ran his long fingers along her petite rib cage to elicit more giggles from her adorable mouth.

She screamed laughter, trying to fight him off, pretending not to enjoy the fact that she couldn't.

He then continued one hand around to rest between her shoulders, the other to the base of her neck. His body slid down to lie on top of hers as he transformed the laughter to a soft hum of satisfaction with a long kiss. Abruptly, he rolled onto his back on the bed beside her, using the hand between her shoulders to pull her into him as he did.

"Night night" she said as she nestled her head into the part of his shoulder that had obviously evolved to serve as a headrest for women.

"I gotta go to work" he said with not enough reluctance.

"This is your job, you are my pillow" she said with her eyes closed.

As he moved to get up she wrapped her arms around him.

"No! Stay!" She whined playfully.

"I can't" he laughed as he stood up.

"I hear Canada's nice." She said sitting up on the edge of the bed.

He let out a bark of laughter.

"Canada's gay"

She rolled her eyes "do you really have to say shit like that?" She said, still smiling.

He stepped forward, taking her hands in his,

"Hey you've known I was an asshole since the day you met me" and kissed her still grinning like an eight-year-old who was definitely up to something.

"Yea yea I know, it's why I love you" she said between kisses.

He pulled back, cocked one eyebrow, and frowned quizzically.

"You love me, huh?"

She bit her lip as her heart tried to make a run for it. "Um... what?"

"You just said you loved me" he prodded.

"No I didn't. I didn't say anyth-" he interrupted her with a passionate kiss that pushed her onto her back. He followed her down with forceful enthusiasm. They paused only to breathe and kiss neglected bits of skin. She could feel his arousal for the second time that morning, and he could feel her disappointment as he pulled away.

Wordlessly he turned and went to shower.

She laid in bed, overanalyzing everything that had just happened, and reaching no conclusion as to whether or not she had just made a huge mistake. When she heard the water turn off, she turned towards the wall and pretended to sleep. He moved about the room gathering his things. Before he left, he walked over to the bed, leaned over, kissed her gently on the head and said quietly,

"I love you too. Faker."

As he walked out the door she called after him through an extra-wide smile,

"Dick!"

She waited until she heard the front door shut, and the click of the lock, before making her way to the balcony with the shitty view of the parking lot. The blue wicker chair by the edge welcomed her. The sound of the car starting accompanied the flash of her lighter as she lit her cigarette. She watched him pull out of the car port, sit for a moment as he selected his music, roll slowly out of the driveway, and speed off down the road. When he was out of sight, she turned her attention to the sky. There was a dragon in the clouds. Somehow, she could always find a dragon in the clouds. It was chilly, especially wearing nothing but one of his softest t-shirts, but it felt nice on the residual sweat that beaded her skin. When her cigarette was down to the ink she put it in the ashtray, obsessively extinguishing every smoldering ember, and moved inside with the lazy fluidity of the contented to begin her morning routine;

Press start on the coffee pot; Select the day’s playlist; Shower; First cup of coffee; Splash of French vanilla creamer; Breakfast - hard boiled egg, pre-sliced Fuji apple, daily 20-minute YouTube talk show; Second cup of coffee; Get dressed - comfy black bra, black v-neck t-shirt, polka dot panties, worn-out Levi’s, snowman socks; Brush teeth - 20 seconds per section; Mascara; Grab iPod from bathroom stereo; Third cup of coffee - tall blue travel mug with a crack in it; Gray plaid Vans; Find keys; And finally, downstairs to the car, and to work.