my birthstone is the opal

and the irony isn’t wasted on me:

i don’t know what it’s like to be precious,

sought, shiny, or lucky

but i can tell you what it’s like to be so alone it feels the universe itself is swallowing you whole and

i can tell you what it’s like to look in the mirror with white-knuckles

trying to recognize the image inside the glass.

i may not know much, but i am sure of enough.

i can tell you that it’s not a big deal if you forgot that poem on the coffee shop napkin because

they’re just words and you don’t own any of the twenty six letters that

tumble out of lips and clot inside of pens and veins waiting for release

and i can tell you that it’s okay to be scared of people and things,

that sometimes scared is okay because, hell, i’m scared too;

i can tell you that it’s worth it to wake up and watch the sun crawl into the sky and to watch it sink back down and it will never be mundane.

i can’t tell you what it’s like to be precious

but a gem is just a stone;

maybe all i need is a polish.

how do you  tell someone that you want to rip yourself open

and undo your seams

and how do you tell them you used to be burning inside

but now the fire is dead

and there used to be storms in your veins but

there are only the calms now that aren’t even waiting to surge

how do you ask for help when you don’t know what you need? 

5.

everything is cyclical and i am trapped and spinning and

there’s got to be someone out there who can take the scars carved in these bones

and kiss them into the ink i long to seep again so the words

the words

can be released.

4.

do you ever want to rip off your own skin and bare your soul to the only person you               can bring yourself to trust?

do you ever want to disappear so badly you can’t even move in the morning

because the pressure of disappointment is just going to swallow you whole?

i do, thank you.

3.

come

curl into me and crack my spine, read my pages and let me

show you how i can bleed ink and words for a little love;

come

let me hold you and whisper words – you are stronger than you think

and you are made of stars but i can show you the world

if you would invest a look in the mirror.

2.

the sun always looks so milky right before it rises

and then it just gets so brilliant and i think of birth and how

i wonder what it looks like coming out; far less glorious,

i’m sure, than a sunrise over the horizon but maybe just so distant like that,

a little more than unreachable and after swimming in fears &

uncertainties for so long…

i wonder if it’s just as welcome and warm.

1.

a mother should hold, she should cherish,

she should breathe and be seen not

locked away like a monster in my belly and my chest

or like a closet door that

always traps but is wanting more, more, more

or scars across and written in my skin;

a mother should respect and be an idol not

the boogeyman waiting in the shadows so i’m too afraid to sleep,

want to claw out my eyes and rip out my lungs…

a mother has something to live for even at her lowest point &

she had two but congratulations now there’s one who still loves you

and one who walks away.