oh god, dear god, good god

it is an infection,
an air-born disease
springing from
your eyelashes
and your paper jesus'.

it's inside

porcelain girls with their pale lips and hidden
scars, lonely boys whispering around the pearls
on their tongues, aliens with razor blade dreams

and their heroin-addled phantom lovers.

and dear god it's like reading and realizing you're
there and you are the boygirl who is being torn
down and apart and through because really this
book is exactly like your world, our world, except

it's never been real.

and you are trying to explain your empty feeling
with words that mean nothing but are completely
filled with knowing and i wish i could put that
in bold or something because that is the whole point
of this poem. it was written because i am empty
and you are empty but we both are so very alive.

we are so very alive and scared and so fucking
passionate and i love that word because there
is no other word that is heavier or more free and

sometimes reality is not what we wished for but
sometimes it does not matter because

we were created
to be stronger

and i try to destroy my world of jumbled words
and jigsaw puzzles and insecurities and really it
is not enough.

sometimes late at night i lie there filled with
insomnia and nightmares and i listen and realize
that this emptiness feels like

breathing in

and out.