I'm not Mormon and I have sex.

ghosts never haunt you as passionately as the living
and crushed expectations run through my fingers like water

i never hated you as much as i loved you
i never hated you as hard as i fucked you
that was never supposed to be the end for us
but the deadline for our numbered days pushed us apart like death

i always poured milk in my lemon tea
because i like to see the milk curdle
and rise to the top
and i pretend i am the milk
separating myself from your tangled limbs

you said i couldn't say no to you
you didn't stop when i said no

you choked the blue out of my eyes
and you only loosened your grip when your name escaped from my throat
like a memory

your anger hibernates in the winter months
the cold swallows the spirit
the strength
but spring struck with full force
like the mama bear in the revenant

but i'm not bitter enough to spend a two hour movie's worth of time chasing you down

remember when i buried myself in your shirt during the rape scene?

why did you always say "i'm sorry" afterward?
as if your words could clot blood

when you slept over, i flinched when you tried to touch me
you said we should take a break until i got over it

but i'm still not over it
just like i'm not over the frat party
and just like there's no amount of oral sex that could make it up to me

why did you always offer only after you scared me?

our love followed the moon phases
it ebbed and flowed like the tide
we were a wave breaking on the beach
you always hated the beach
no amount of storm clouds were an adequate warning sign for the hurricane

and january was the eye of the storm
calm as sleep

but the kids are alright
and hope escaped through the pores of my skin

you erased all of my accomplishments by claiming you could do it too if you tried hard enough
let me know when you make a fortune through sheer willpower
we both came from broken families but our similarities end there

why did you always tell me you loved me
just to take it back when i returned the favor?

twist the knife in deeper
gut me like a fish
i won't be satisfied til you wear my skin like a coat
that will be your scarlet letter
i never knew masochism could hurt this good

maybe you wouldn't be as bad if you weren't a closet misogynist
i am not your mother or her placenta
still you bathe me in all her mistakes
i am not a mistake

i don't think you know this,
but we're too old for this shit
i'm too old to sneak into your bedroom at night
when i have an apartment of my own
with enough windows to bring the light in

stop flattering yourself and flattening your emotions
i'm not always right
but i'm never wrong

you are everything and nothing
you are the bad qualities of your father and all the good ones

but i can no longer justify the deepening lines on my forehead
i just want to get some sleep
you never let me sleep

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

my daddy brushes his teeth so hard
he's digging trenches in the enamel,
preparing for world war iii in boise's suburbia

his church preaches "no unclean thing can enter the kingdom,"
so he's painting in blood,
pulling all the curse words out from between his teeth with a vengeance

he's looking for eight-years-old innocence,
for baptism water and sunday school,
before the death sentence on his brother's toe

his monsters are spelled F-A-I-L-U-R-E,
reminding him that he will never earn as much money as his father,
that he will never be his mother's favorite,
that he will never be ENOUGH,
so he's scourging himself with a whip
even though his daughter forgave him for his temper

my family is the same
bruised and bloodied
but every member medicates themselves separately,
uses different payment plans,
and pays in another country's currency.

my sister swallowed pills to drown her demons,
until she realized that they could swim just as easily among the chemicals

my momma hates her solid frame,
her dependable legs,
her belly that ballooned with the life inside of her,
the body that she tells her daughters is a temple.
so she forsakes the interior in favor of the exterior.

the nutritionist forgets nutrients in the name of abstinence
indulgence
and dull eyes.

but she passed on old ed the same way i inherited her dull eyes.

we stick to our diets because we are stick figures,
sticky-sweet honeys,
and no part of our figure is supposed to stick out.

we are sick figures, we are lick-your-dick figures.
we are society's bitches,
but at least we can choose which diet pills match our bedside table now,
which coping mechanism will kill us now,
which bible we read and which god we pray to now.

i'm learning to forgive.
i've been wearing yoga pants and skinny jeans
despite my big ass
and i get out of bed most days even if it's later than noon.

i can hear your stories without cutting calories in the morning.
seventeen months out of treatment and i like who i am
without needing positive affirmations to remind myself.
i am happy.

i can't save my sister or my mother or my father
no matter how many times i tell them that the bruises faded from their fists
and i believe they are trying.
my mother still cries whenever i leave boise.

they tell me i would be happier with their god
even though they aren't happy with him

but i imagine their prayers are positive energy
like the fortune cookies i keep in my jewelry box
i can use all the luck i can get
i get lost enough

i should start picking up maps like others hoard cats
even if it's places i'm not planning on visiting
like china and angola and kansas
i'm just so scared of getting lost

like i used to be