At first,
I am every story you’ve ever loved:
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,
softened and sharpened just right,
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.
I love it, too.
I love playing her.
I love the way I can become
everything I thought I couldn't be—
light, brave, impossible.
I fall in love with the girl they see,
the one who spins in the rain,
who kisses like it’s a dare,
who never stays still long enough
for anyone to notice the cracks.
For a while,
I even forget the weight of myself.
For a while,
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,
someone almost worth keeping.
But the days grow teeth.
The seams split.
My clinginess stops being "cute,"
my mess stops being "quirky,"
my fear starts leaking through the paint.
Then I remember:
I'm not magic.
I'm work.
I'm a maze with no ending.
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.
And they start seeing it too.
The way I flinch when they look too long.
The way my laugh gets hollow.
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."
I know how this ends.
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.
So I run.
I tear the script from my hands,
I rip the costume at the seams.
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,
before they have to face the weight of who I am
beneath the glitter and noise.
I find a new stage,
a new pair of arms,
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 12:10 AM UTC
You say good morning,
Happy New Year,
Goodbye—
like a greeting,
a phrase tossed lightly into the wind,
as if it will always carry itself back to you.
But I say them
like a prayer,
soft syllables trembling on my lips,
each word a fragile offering
each word an incantation of good will
Good morning,
not just a start,
but a hope—
that the sun will rise
and it's ray's will embrace me in it's warm glow.
Happy New Year,
not just a celebration,
but a wish—
that time will be gentle,
that its passing won't steal too much.
And goodbye—
oh, goodbye,
not just a parting,
but a plea—
that it won’t be the last,
that you'll be safe
that you'll find your way back to me.
You say it all so casually,
Like a habit,
like there’s always another moment,
another chance.
Maybe the world has been kind to you
But every greeting has left it's mark on me
I pray,
Good morning, Goodbye, Goodnight, Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays,
Each word clawing at me
I say it all like a prayer,
because I know
there might not be a next time
I know warmth isn't always where you want to be.
Jan 1, 2025
Jan 1, 2025 at 2:54 AM UTC
Dust settles in your room,
Untouched by time, like a still image
Your being woven into the corners
Yourself, littered in the paper scattered on the desk
The summer outside is roaring
Your fan should have been humming
But I can only hear the cicadas scream
Over your excitement,
December 16th, circled,
Bright red pen,
WINTER BALL!
You never got there.
Everday, I make your favourite meals
Play your favourite movies
Whisper goodnight to your name
Hoping that you would sit beside me, sleep beside me, be near me
And I ache,
and I ache,
and ache
For it is empty everytime the moment passes
And everyone says it's been years
and I should let go
That you would want me to move on with my life
That you will live on through my memories
Forget to mention that they've forgotten your voice
That they've forgotten you put chips in your sandwiches for "the crunch"
and if you live on through my memories,
how could I ever let you go?
If your laughter sits in my heart,
and the twinkle in your eyes are imprinted in my mind
How could I ever fill it with anything else
without losing you?
Dust settles in your room,
and the smell of your perfume
is fading
from your clothes
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 4:58 AM UTC
I find myself here again,
Listening to your song,
Several millenniums stretched and folded into each other
I melt into my ancestors
The wind whispers a calming promise
A ballad to those who will listen
The trees rustle with song with the touch of the wind
My heart, chasing the drums of the sea
I am a quiet listener
to mother nature's orchestra
Howls, chirps, pitter pattering of feet
The world sings with her
And we are reminded,
We are small and alone,
but her gentle voice
sings growth into us
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 8:59 PM UTC
What is in a name?
An identifier. Christine. Paul. Bernard.
A sense of uniqueness. Foxy. The Rock. Buddy.
A personality. John. Chad. Karen.
A name is something to hold onto.
What is my name?
A label to keep me concrete when people forget
A phrase to pull me back down when I drift
An identity so that I don't mold into everyone else
My name keeps me together
But what does my name sound like?
I forgot where I placed my strengths
I forgot the way it was shaped to my body
My person slips away from the letters as they form into your mouth
and get lost in the bottomless sea of identifiers
Who am I?
Billboards and signs that paint "fragile" across a face like mine
Small, petite, figures that whisper "prey" and warn me of the big bad wolves
Unfamiliar faces that tell me that I am "too much" as my bones grind against them and their hands try to cup me smaller
there is nothing to keep me from vanishing
Who am I?
Worker # 187, making a dime as they make a dollar?
A father's daughter, a person to be handed and never to stand on it's own?
Am I my weakest moments?
Am I my triumphs?
Who am I?
My own mocking voice screaming, giggling, obscenities before I catch myself
My own motherly tone re-directing me from the bad roots in my childhood
I am this thing and then I am another
We are so inconsistent, as people
We forget to keep our names close to our hearts
To choose our own identities,
let ourselves remind each other that we are
who we choose to be.
My name, it echoes against the cages of my body
and it wraps around me
reassuring me, reminding me, piecing me back together
breathing life back into me.
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 7:08 AM UTC
I stand before you
my pieces put together in shapes
that do not cut when you get close
edges turned onto myself
press your lights against my chest
the coloured pieces of my hurt
shine in a mosaic
"you are so fragile, love"
"let me take care of you"
My eyes are closed
and I let myself be swallowed
into your words
they are cold but embracing
possessive and enveloping
Cradled and helpless
my pieces shift for the mold you've made
you tell me my pain is beautiful
and I let you eat my pieces up
until there is no more of me
and there I am, an empty shell
looking to be filled
seeking for the hands
and hoping they give me back
I don't know who I am without you.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 7:48 PM UTC
They say,
there are too many hands on my body
my love does not exist between hushed lips
my heart is empty,
it is swallowed by temptation
They say,
the fathers look down on me
my temple is not holy
my hands they stray too far,
they tremble before desire
they've never seen a temple like mine.
Read the scriptures on the walls
it rolls from my arms to my wrists,
it's scrawled on the curves of my shoulders
my thighs are covered in stories, in cries
my skin holds insecurity beyond words can describe
Feel the aching of my soul
my back is a canvas that holds memories
my heart, a worn down home, it hopes for fire
my hands know only the cold
I am a lost animal seeking shelter,
Drink the nectar of my growth
the depth of the abyss that I've climbed out of
the bittersweet pulp of the hands of man
Feel the warmth on your lips as it drips
I am an ongoing project
They say,
I'm too lost in youth
They don't understand,
history lies inside these walls
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 9:03 AM UTC
When the air creeps under my skin
Frosting the tips of my fingers
And the metal chains coils
Around my beating heart
Until it squeezes out the air from my lungs
I lay down and close my eyes
To listen to the beckoning of mother nature
Let her songs tame my soul
I breathe as she taught me to
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
All he ever wanted was the moon
But I couldn't even get him a single star
So now that he's with you,
I only wish you take him home
to the cosmos
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
Poets wear armors
Of labyrinth words and
Moistened nibs
Faces encased in
waters of written ideas
and recorded feelings
Time does not
show in wilting paper
years do not
matter in ideas passed
through generations
Poets will not
age unless
the human race do
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC