Music that I can feel dancing up my throat—
Choking on words I did not know longed for a home within me.
Nausea butterflies overdosing on perverted fantasies of things that do not work.
Living in my dream world,
I am dreaming.
A daze almost,
the way our darkest desires are tossed like stitched childhood toys;
Apocalypse of secrets in color,
exploding with natural disaster;
I am a whirl pool of water that drowns in her own silence,
like an immortal vampire -reliving death over and over again as a curse for not knowing how to swim.
**** them for ****
for ******* the little air I had, out.
My wonderland, frightened by balloons and their restless surrender to touch.
Balloons that felt very human to me.
Oh,
how we will never know why we are here…
Dreamers transcending time,
the supernatural magicians that we all believe.
How frightening that must be.
Within me I do not know how to dream and I cannot see my world,
My butterflies are choking,
the apocalypse is death of…..
And by, —-……
And
Natural disasters that now understand why this high no longer feels good.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
**** doesn’t always hide
At parties and outside clubs
**** doesn’t always hide
In dark alleys and empty parking lots
Sometimes it is right in front of you
But you choose to look the other way
**** doesn’t always hide
Behind the faces of strangers in the night
Sometimes it is hiding behind the closed doors
Of your uncles
Cousins
Fathers
And brothers
**** isn’t always loud-
Screaming, yelling, and crying
Sometimes **** is quiet-
Gasping for air and silent tears
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 9:21 AM UTC
ＪＪｓｂｄｋｓｎｄｋｋｄｍｘｍｊｓｈＪｕｓｔｌｅｔｍｅｄｉｅｍｍｍｋｂｈｂｘｊｄｎｘｎｂｄｊｘｂｄｎｘｎｎｘｎｘｎＩｍｓｏｔｉｒｅｄｏｆｔｈｉｓｎｓｊｓ ｎｋｋｓｂｄｎｄｎｂｄｔｈｅｓｅ ｔｅａｒｓ ｗｏｎｔｓｔｏｐｊｄｊｄｎｎ ｚｎｊｓｎｎｄｕｄｎｄｋｄｋｎｆｋｄｍｓｓｎｆｎｊｄｎｄｎｎｄｂｄｂｄｂｄｎＷｈｙｔｈｅｐａｉｎｓｔｉｌｌｌｉｖｅｓｉｎ ｍｙｈｅａｒｔｊｊｘｎｘｊｘｊｄｎ ｍｙｋｄｊｄｖｊｓｎｄｊｃｊｎｄｎｄｎｃｎｘｋｘｎｋｘｎｄｋｄｋｊｄｎｓｋｘｈｊｓｈｄｊｄｄｎｄｅＩｍｓｏｆｕｃｋｉｎｇｔｉｒｅｄｍｓｎｎｄｋｓｎｘｏｎｓｈｘｉｄｎｋｘｎｄｊｓｊｄｂｊｄｋｓｌｍｓｎｄｊｊｄｂｄｉｓｂｄｊｊｄｋｓｎｄｊｄｈｂｓｎｄｎｎｄｊｄｊｄｎｄｎｄ
Ｙｏｕｌｌｎｅｖｅｒｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ ｍｅ
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 9:20 AM UTC
There are worse things
than a broken heart
but to a romantic
to a poet soul
it's fuel, it's fodder
we keep scratching the scab off
and fingerpainting in the pool of our own blood
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
(read forward, then backward, line by line)
I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
A lonely blue—- that swallows my tongue from tightly twisting,
A deep blue lost under the rolling weight of fog after Wednesday night.
A sudden silence playing hide n seek after dark..
I’m standing in a tall space in the green pits of my mind,
and theres an occupancy †hat cannot fit more than two hands and one breath.
A volcano of orange deep inside the holes of my eyes
A
if you look hard enough, it smells like oranges, burning,
like
Candles, when the power goes out on Thursday night.
Nothing—— except dark drops of tears on the lining of the forest leaves,
just— falling like dice, on a wooden coffee table outside of a loud house,
with no one inside.
An exceptional loud speaker radiating in the wet dirt,
Generating cold noises of forgotten memories
and all I could think of was the cigarette exhausting smoke into a space without me in it.
An ashtray hiding under the only tree slightly shorter than the tallest one,
but no one ever knew.
''''''Just a constant pit of black and grey that the sky took as its own identity.
Standing in the twilight of the mist where I forgot my name for more than a minute
And I never even saw you.
It was me,
mirrored in the dark autumn that I could only feel.
A place that did not exist for your feet to stand,
the face that would be swallowed in the quicksand of my green safe place.
Occupancy of my feet,
Population zero.
I was merely a figment of my own imagination,
as the star dust sat below the willows of the trees.
We were absolutely nothing,
learning to become the thin lines that outlined the branches to fit uniquely with each other.
A lovely blue— that electrocuted the puddles forming under the house that stood like a lonely heart.
A card game that never existed,
a play we were simply robbers for.
A toy ripped apart from love,
a **** I could never escape,
a girl robbed
a girl,
***** ——-
I could never tell you that.
———————————-
A slight wind, she was,
Awaiting for the weight of Thursday morning fog.
Coexisting under the world,
IN a parallel universe that drew pain in abstract dreams.
A girl robbed of her own safe space,
a green
A deep Blue,
Staining my knees like A bruise.
Eyes lost in the fog of yesterdays rainfall.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ********** with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
I was a tender object living in your house.
The things of these were bigger than my vision and we were only a moment.
I asked for everything you never said,
But your eyes spoke what the monsters upstairs didn't have courage too..
As big and frightening as they might seem,
nothing scared you more than releasing the dark smoke in clear air,
But my lipstick smeared to the apples of my cheeks and I closed my eyes.
I created a home in your mind and it angled me to disbelief and I couldn't breathe.
I gasped air from the grips of the trees and I grew roots on my feet,
I stood whole for myself and dressed in self pity.
The clouds were closing in and my caged heart couldn't fly freely,
Yet the wind rolling against my thighs created comfort for the blind,
Yet,
My vision was not impaired;
Only merely to what you have showed me,
And I dangerously lived on sidewalks finding flowers to tape up my soul,
So
I became potted to the ceramics of solis and dreamed by luna,
But mountains weren't moved and neither did I.
I was tender,
(pause)
And
(pause)
I made home in your mind,
You left me homeless
And then I became blind
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
I was driving this morning trying to get lost in a song,
the way we get lost in the dark;
looking for the light at the end of the tunnel,
or something like that.
Today was dark,
and the clouds were rolling like dice and I found myself floating among them.
The sky has never been so restless this early,
everything seemed okay for awhile until it stopped.
The noise I used to void my thoughts from running wild through the woods of my mind
seemed to come flashing back,
but it didn't start raining yet.
I watched as people passed by and I felt everything they felt in reverse,
like our favorite sad song placed on repeat but backwards.
I watched the way they walked by, leaning on the wall, looking down..
I wondered if we are truly dependent on something so much we can’t avoid but following into them.
Was love like this?
Is love your favorite song or theirs?
I began to think about the great wonders of the world and I had to be one of them.
And sometimes I fall apart so beautifully I forget it’s not poetic to be sad,
So did all great things crumble down like the cookies we failed to protect?
I can’t seem to separate myself from old habits, but I keep chasing the same tail I have always chased,
I just don't know what exactly I was chasing,
and whether I was chasing it for myself or for you.
It never seems to add up like mathematical equations that we always hated;
the way one variable connects with another so precisely, there’s always a right answer.
That would’ve been nice now.
I think the heart wants what it can’t have,
and I don’t believe that what we want is particularly right,
so I was curious if there was an equation that made me feel like I was doing something right.
But how can something feel so wrong but so comfortable?
Was I just used to this?
Because this empty numbness felt more comfortable to search through an endless night sky;
looking deep into something above me,
simply waiting.
I had your song stuck in my head,
but I stopped playing it to wash away everything I still felt for you.
Like waterfalls, we fell.
But pressing pause won’t erase what fantasies I placed together like puzzles and stored in the back of my mind;
like tiny raindrops,
they haunt us of our tears,
and why you put them there.
The seasons change and the ocean still flows to the rhythm of the moon
and I wondered if we would ever dance in the same harmony,
where our feet fell so closely to our hearts that we settled for silence…
but not the way we settle arguments,
but the way red and blue mix,
the way untouched snow feels almost, magical,
and the way fireworks explode on the fourth of July..
we settled for the sparks inside of us…
Because when I pictured you and I,
we were stripped like naked bodies in the summer,
where the ceiling fan was the only thing between you and I.
The way we think about unicorns, I think about you and I.
She sang it so perfectly,
but she didn't know what song she was singing until she realized it wasn't hers to sing.
So is that the way it goes?
My song is no longer mine and your song is too much pain to listen to?
Did we forget that the music sounded better on our record players?
Or did we let it die out because we thought there were better sounds to explore?
It was all in the way we studied each hand while dealing our cards,
as if they were tarot cards reading our destiny,
as if our hand was our destiny and we were playing it like a game.
It was easy to say that our destiny is lighter to handle as a game,
but you and I both know it was always more than that.
We wait for the perfect timing as it strikes 11:11, but I never seemed satisfied that my wishes would just be in good faith.
So we begin to question why we believe in God and why we believe in Hell.
Were we so obsessed with where we die that we forget whats right under our breath?
Or were we caught up in everything that we couldn't decide that made death so much more mysterious?
I explored every crooked edge in my mind, but I remembered how easy it was to pick out diamonds in yours.
Was I obsessed with the fear of being loved or did I not know what I needed this whole time?
We waited patiently for the sun to set, but we never indulged in the colors expanding to the other side of the universe and how easy it was for the universe to get along so well because,
the colors,
they spread like wildfire.
We constantly look at our phones hoping that it will replace everything we fear, but I think the monster lies within our heads.
Because money is paper, but it affects us like poetry, right?
So, why was it so hard for us to collide together like we would've if we ice skated?
I saw so much and very little of myself and I began to realize if I doubt myself so much, will anyone ever revive my image?
Or am I supposed to find summer in myself before I put warmth in someone like you?
But now I’m wondering if we would ever fit like the perfect glass slipper or were the fairytales so fake they felt almost, real?
I fold my hand thinking there was always something better, but maybe it wasn't about the numbers or my chance,
but,
the way we read into things so deeply we cultivate ourselves to hold this winning streak,
that we can never uphold.
I thought I’d find myself yelling on the top of a mountain one day,
yet I already was,
except,
the mountain was inside of me,
and I was standing so tall,
I saw the world.
The ocean flowed in harmony with the moon,
And I began to wonder if we would ever dance to the same rhythm with our feet colliding with our hearts to the same song we put our trust into.
Because it rained, but in the matter of seconds the sun was shining,
so she was no longer crying.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC