i'd like to say that i've always been into clean living
but there's nothing really clean
about *** on your brother's living room floor
or
making you ache in movie theaters
with just a glance
or
handjobs and ruining your pants
i
somehow have this strange power over men
wanna look into my eyes
when i **** them
like i was prepackaged
batteries included
a little machine
with thick thighs and big lips
and
the prettiest eyes you've ever seen
below your belt
you
hang on my words like they're something
you've never felt
i
have a pretty smile
taste like something you've wanted
but never had
with crinkles in my cheeks and the dimples on my back
i
could make a grown man crack
and i
do -
the middle aged men at my job
love me
wait outside after closing tryna touch me
and i get scared
walking home
fingers shake
in the cold
one mile till i can let go
of the breath
that i hold
and i
try my hand at clean living.
eat salads,
stay home on the weekends
cut off boys
that make me
feel
anything
joe at work
tells me to wear less makeup
maybe then
men won't follow me home
maybe then
mike will leave me alone
stop calling the store phone
looking for the prettiest smile
he says he's ever seen
i stand behind the counter
ready to dial
911
on my screen
clean living doesn't feel very clean
when everyone you touch
has dirt on them
i mean
i don't want to make a scene
at work
i just want to make money
go home
not get hurt
keep my head down
but red is too easy to spot
much easier than i thought
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
saw your name today on a playlist i made for us,
it didn't sting
didn't even register
as something abnormal
or interesting
for the first time
since august.
i love
my malleable
subconscious
more than i ever loved
you.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
that burning moment of anger
before exhaustion sinks me into the pillow
my breathing measured, gentle, slow
is worth it
for the feeling of you slipping into that empty space
behind me
the slight regained consciousness
the animal knowledge
the impression: vague, sleepy, far away as it is
of your body, your bones
your muscles
falling into rest
beside me
is so base
so normal, run of the mill, instinctual
that something in my chest purrs
half awake
as you bury your face
into my hair, kissing along my neck,
my shoulder
wrap your arms around me
tightly
like you have been lusting
for the moment you could indulge
quietly
in the curvature of my hip, the smell of my sleeping
frame
like there is nothing in the world
you'd rather taste
than my skin beneath your tongue
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
i have black makeup smeared around my eyelids
adding a nice value contrast
to the already present bags
and i know i look insane
and my sweatshirt sleeves are covered in teardrops
and my head ******* hurts
and coffee doesn't replace bloodcells
like i wish it would
coursing through my veins
perpetually awake
hiding from the nightmares
that have set up shop
behind my eyelids
and the moments leading up to success is pure torture
it's a lot of waiting
and quiet, violent, personal burning
effigies that i didn't even know existed
being sacrificed
coming to the slow realization
that i cannot exist as a cartoon character forever -
i must jump the page.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(*oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes*)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
and love
and love
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
our phones draw these strange lines late at night
connecting adjacent moons
stringing us together
across cities, towns, lakes, hills
and we tie the bows with our lips
weave the ends in our tongues
taste every city
we can remember
you feel so kindred
so close to me
that when i hang up
i half look for you
in the room
before i catch myself
my feelings are fledgling.
(or i like to say they are)
the truth is, they are very much there
but i'm unsure of their exact nature
concerned that i am unable to experience love anymore
personally
it's like a flavor
i've run out of
and some sort of bad tasting, weak trickle
pours from my lips
to yours
clinging
to these strange lines
i hope
it is not
true
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
please spare me
from every man
follow me
in the bright walkways
the crowded cafes
through every snapchat
message
i am afraid
of losing so much
again
lord,
protect me
i have nothing else
to plead to
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
it feels like i lose blood each time
like the pastor's daughter once told me
(a wide-eyed ******
that each man we give our hearts to
keeps a piece in their pocket
and that if we give too much
we'll have nothing left.
and maybe that was just christian ********
trying to make me fear the loss of my virginity
more than death
so that when i was *****
when i was 20
i was silent
and ashamed
and the blood i lost
came from between my legs,
not my chest.
but my heart is different after this last one,
so maybe she was right after all
and after him
every time someone kinder
is intimate with me
i feel like my hands are covered in gore
and when he takes them
they slip
muddy his shirt
his hands.
and that's something i'd never want
to inflict -
i grew up being told
my sins
were covered
in blood
as i grow older
i am convinced
it's true.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
the back of his neck reminds me of you
coffee shops with tables
by big windows
project your face onto my irises
elbows on your knees, smiling at me
closed lips
and i no longer wonder how much was false
but which parts:
i've come to realize that it's not a question of quantity,
it's just when
how
where
in that cafe?
on your living room floor?
in the dark theater
your hand on my thigh
staring at me
like you couldn't see
the 50 foot screen
just the furrow between my brows,
the kisses that lay in drifts
on my bottom lip
and that stark contrast
in our last theater together
your eyes forward, determined
looking anywhere
but at my face
strange little reminders
much less frequent
much less romanticized
your words sound
like the sappy tumblr post
i once accused them of being
i see the backs of them
and they truly are
empty
like i was so afraid
they were
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 1:55 AM UTC
he says
we are like those pieces of grass
that come up through cracks in the sidewalk:
just glad to have the sun shining on us.
we come from the same place
he says.
he told me tonight that he wrote about me
that it's time-stamped
that he didn't just write
because i told him i did
and i tremble
a little
a different sort of fear
(is it?)
and maybe it only feels like we're up so high
together
from the clouds of marijuana
in your shower
and maybe we know so much about the moon
because we are the moon
and you ask me
what's on my mind
like you'd like nothing more
than to understand
the chemicals in my brain
see if you could taste
the similarity -
adjacent things
are so beautiful
when you are the one
describing them
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC