leave the jagged ground exposed,
I’d rather not admit
that these wounds are self-inflicted;
rather not say that this thing is expired.
let me trip over everything preventable
to prevent myself
from overthinking.
I’d rather not be the one to have epiphanies;
rather not be the first to sign my own grave
because I’m not as naive as I’d like to be.
I wish I’d rather be different,
frowning upon stereotypes and pigeonholes.
I wish I pursued my wants
with little hesitation
and cried out my condolences at every funeral.
I’d rather lack so much composure,
because when one’s breath is so
windless,
breathing is hard to do.

and I wish that bothered me.

his bedtime stories
could still be treasured
through the Rochester stars in her eyes;
fables of a hopping bunny
that chewed carrots and
smiled in its sleep.
little did she know
that the bunny’s teeth had shattered
biting into those carrots when
happiness itself became
make believe,
and her teeth shattered, too
when a fist overpowered a
father
and though the Rochester stars still shone,
every nighttime fable
became a living nightmare.

gentle, but hesitant
he lifts the china to his lips,
and like the tea scolds his tongue,
he punishes himself.
at this time,10:30 a.m, weekdays
she brewed the same Seattle cinnamon
that now flooded his system with her memory;
through Puget Sound and
evaporated into constant cloudy skies that pour
rain into the mind of a man of many mistakes;
last of which being losing her and
the comfort she brought;
something as constant and
as taken for granted as
the weather.

is not just mental,
but physical;
each side of the brain droops,
slowly sinking downward
pouring a lack of tears into either eye
which, when they fall,
drag down both corners of the mouth
their weight reflective upon every *****,
every limb
and all the pieces that once made up a person,
now,
too heavy

the innocence of a child is something to behold
their smiles, honest and radiant
their laughter, bubbling

I didn't quite catch the moment I wasn't a child anymore
but since July 17th, I've known that it already happened
if I were still a child, I wouldn't be
facing my own father,
more ashamed than I,
at 2 a.m
in the rotten chains
of a tight pair of handcuffs

perhaps it was the moment that I was first thankful to awaken,
that the demons in my sleep
weren't, in fact, real
or my life would be horribly changed,
thank god it was just a dream
perhaps that's when the innocence was gone,
when I knew I was guilty
for having such a realistic nightmare

so when I couldn't wake up
on July 17th,
it was clear I'd missed the moment
that my childlike innocence had been caught, willingly strangled
by desire
to be something
of a monster

July 17th:
the nightmare and the reality
became one.