I split my throat for anyone who stays to look.
You need only to prompt my human tongue
and all of it is yours,
trading my starved skin for a raw-clay ear,
forgetting how easily the naked bleeds.
The swollen veins forget how to keep a secret.
7d ago
May 28, 2026 at 2:01 PM UTC
If you want to understand
how a body becomes a stained-glass stranger,
look at how it starts.
He clears his throat,
a low sound like a molting cicada.
His eyes,
wasp-nesting irises,
stripping my skin for the softest break.
His smile,
underfed ticks,
lurching for flesh.
And he took it.
He took it with a heavy fist
scooping brittle collarbone,
crushing
the simple ease of a clean breath.
This stained-glass-winged creature,
carrying a crimson stain I never asked for,
can still hear his hunger.
I can fly, but he is still there,
somewhere,
loudly gnawing on my dirtied skin
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 3:07 PM UTC
stripped down to my savage latticed bone
where foxfire blooms from the damp marrow—
i am the blight
perhaps it is mercy
to know when your roots
only know how to strangle
forgive my bleeding mycelium heart
climbing wild toward a buried jaw
it tries to speak through the molder
i am the rot
i am the ruin
and i cannot bear to bury us both
a slow mercy for the soil
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 7:21 PM UTC
it is 3 a.m.
and the blue light is eating my eyes
i have scrolled past a hundred lives
and lost my own
my thumb moves
but my soul has left the room
a 4 a.m. anesthetic
i, an unswallowed tongue,
slack-jawed,
staring at the blooming cavity
drooling with helplessness.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 2:46 PM UTC
I harbor my growing bones here,
then burn them each night in the wastebasket.
I stack the pens.
I wipe away the ash.
I make sure my desk looks like a stranger lives there.
Because a stranger doesn't shed skin
in a house that belongs to someone else.
When I was fourteen,
the thing under my mattress was sharp.
It was a secret,
a dual-edged urge—
a metallic sigh bleeding thoughts onto a stained floor.
Now, I am older.
The thing hidden in the drawer is a notebook.
It is just ink.
It is just me.
They call it healing.
But the shredded fingertips hiding it move the exact same way.
The panic in my chest still screams the exact same way.
I traded the blade for a poem,
but I am still tucked under the bed.
I am still that child
who has to apologize for bleeding.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 11:26 AM UTC
As a child,
I craved the warm crust
of my grandmother's bread,
sticky-gummed and butter-handed,
tearing apart the loaf with young fingers.
As a woman,
I returned with steady,
flour-ready palms,
aching to hold the lines faded in her cursive,
hear the rhythm of her measuring spoons,
and walk her mornings as my own.
“A lot of work goes into it,”
she sighed
as if I were still that hungry child
licking her sugar-crusted table.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 4:40 PM UTC
I’m yours.
I am yours in every way words cannot express.
With you,
I never want to rush that sentence;
the apostrophe can wait...
because that space is only for you.
Because I am yours and I’ll stay.
I will stay to trace our names in the dust we gather.
I will not hide the 'w' or the 'i' because every letter
is the promise I make to you.
I will love you with every extra breath elisions dare to take.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 6:26 PM UTC
Macerate to peel,
Bony-white rinds burn like salt,
Abuse my marrow
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 12:29 AM UTC
Does your appetite
Swallow the change I offer-
Salt your comfort brine
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 10:49 AM UTC
Dear roadkill mother,
Or was it rotten child dove?
Please forgive me, so many skins, your name was lost within.
An eternity of my springs consumed,
re-breaking silted graves for your winter fists of bitter tansy.
Staring through the silt with leaden eyes,
I saw you: a background of blooming carcasses with my face.
A bruised field of faded thistles and ****** tansy
bursting through glass-blown ribs.
You hold everything yet nothing, Mother—but why hold me?
I see you, but I don’t see myself anymore.
Still, dig your own Decembers now;
let my patience be your mime.
While I search for myself in the spring, please remember to breathe.
Air is free, even in the rime.
Your lost April,
AC
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC