Chair,
Will you hold me?
Can you bear
The weight of my heart?

Your legs seem frail
Your frame weak.

But I am tried
And I need rest.

Chair,
Can you hold me?
I would like some rest.

Love seat,
Is there room for us?

I don't want to squeeze
But I fear uncomfort is inevitable

Love seat,
Will you hold us?
While we hold each other.

Bed,
Will you still be comfy?
Is there room for two
Between your sheets?

I don't know if I snore.
Do I snore bed?
Will it bother her?
Will it bother you?

Grave,
Why must you hold her?
Why is there only room for one.
For surely when she died,
I died with her.

I've become so comforted
In not being alone.
And now I stand alone
Over a box that holds my heart.

Chair,
Can you hold
the weight of my pain?
Can you carry me?

Bed,
Do you mind my tears?
Do I keep you up at night?
I'm sorry if I do.

Grave,
When will you hold me?

You are to me a pomegranate 
You in one hand a knife in my other

I want so badly to know you
But I am terrified of the mess
that lays beneath your skin

I've eaten you before
I've eaten many of you

But now most of what remains
are dirtied shirts
and stained clothes 

How do I know you will last?
How do I know you will last?

I hold the knife 
Not knowing what to do
So I stab, deep into the flesh
but not yours mine

Because how can I know what to look for
how can i know what i need
when I haven't peeled back my skin 
and looked within

I haven't cracked open my chest to see my heart beating
how do i know what it beats for
does yours beat as mine? 

Does it go fast then slow then not at all at others
does it hurt?
does it scare you at times?
my heart does. 
so before i get to know you
i want to cut into myself 
because then our stains can dirty my shirt together,
and they will be one
painting a beautiful picture on my chest

My heart does not beat as a proper heart does. It hurts a lot. For a long time doctors didn't know what was the matter with me. They still don't. I wrote this poem when I thought I had a hole in my heart, I thought death was patiently waiting for me. I was scared.




There are millions of fish
Swimming through my veins
They carry life  
The hold the sun
They take care of me

In my chest is a drunken conductor 
He once was very good at his job
Telling the fish where and when to go

But as time and weather have aged him
He fails at times,
and he forgets things,
his candace, his directions, his timing. 

I am fearful the liver of my heart will give out, 
he will fall to ground of his enclosure 
and lay there,
cold and silent. 
And when the fish
No longer have voice or direction to guide them, 
they too will stop.

I have this friend who says that she finally has grown into her nose.

I think that's pretty cool. Well I also think she's a little crazy. I never thought she hadn't grown into it.

But I think it's cool because it gives hope. Hope to the rest of us. Because personally speaking, I don't think I've grown into my nose. And I think I had this fear that I wouldn't ever grow into it. But she gives me hope.

But I actually think she gives me hope for a bigger reason. All this time she was thinking she hadn't grown into her nose. All the while I thought her nose fit her wonderfully. Now either I have some perception problems, or individuals are a little to hard when judging themselves. Personally I think it's the latter.

This friend of mine is one of my dearest friends in the world. I count myself blessed to know her. And to that friend I want to say. You have a lovely nose.