Traveling at 53 on the road towards home and I let my windows down.
The cloying summer heat suffocates me and it's a morbid sort of grounding.
My lungs seize with the scent of bloated roadkill
but at least this asphyxiation is physical
giving me a reprieve from the mental chokehold I'm usually stuck in.
It's like mother nature is saying;
if you keep holding this in you'll fester and rot like these animals stuck to the pavement.
Decaying from the inside out.
But I can't let go.
And the storm builds inside me.
A stark parallel to the humidity that's heavy in the air trying to burst into a storm
but not being allowed to.
I hope when the rain finally comes it washes away all the blood stains
because I'm ready to be clean.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 1:57 PM UTC
I don't think I know what happiness is.
Or at least I haven't felt it in years.
I used to be illuminated from the inside,
positivity simply bubbling out of me,
like sunshine you could feel when I smiled.
But now all I feel is temporary relief.
A lull from the constant marathon in my mind.
It is not happiness
It's just not anxiety
It's not happiness
It's just not anger
It's not happiness
It's just not grief
It is numbness
With fractured fragments of feeling.
And in those moments I feel too much.
Tension that fills me from cascading waterfalls I'm helpless to dam,
and I wish I could find the girl in me who felt like sunshine during a summer rain.
Slightly magical,
full of whimsy,
and relishing in being beautifully out of place.
But she stopped dancing a long time ago.
Lying in concrete puddles,
soaking up the cold,
I'm not even sure she feels it anymore.
I'm not sure she feels anything anymore.
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
I kept the obituary pinned to the top of my social media for a year
A white flag unto the masses
“I surrender, I can't take anymore”
Because eventually the sympathy stops pouring in (thank god)
But in its absence is a feeling that you are meant to stop grieving also
Like if it didn't happen recently
If their death isn't fresh
If the soil of their burial is not still damp from being upturned
It’s not supposed to hurt anymore
But how do you reconcile that your world stopped and restarted in the span of time that they took their last breath?
How do you make amends with who you were before
and who you are after.
So what if my person died 6 months ago
or 10 years ago
Should it not hurt the same?
If you break a bone
it feels different for the rest of your life
Aches in the cold and the rain
If your heart breaks is it not the same?
Songs, smells, places, pictures
Should the grieving have to pin white flags of surrender to their breast in hopes the world will be a little kinder?
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 3:51 PM UTC
If I had known when our last day was going to be, would I have lived that week differently?
Realistically, yes.
But only because I would have been panicking.
So let's not be realistic.
Let's be idealistic.
If I had known then what I know now…
I would have read to you.
I would have read until my throat was sore because I know how much you wanted to be home with a book.
I would have turned on all your favorite music. We would have streamed a thousand movies. Anything you wanted to see. I would have brought you anything you wanted to eat or drink.
I would have asked 5 billion questions and written it all down. I would have recorded your voice so I never forget the sound. We would have recounted our best memories and I would have asked you, how am I supposed to move on without you. I would have written your memorial and read it aloud so you knew what it would say…
I told you “I love you” five-thousand times a day. But I would have said it five-thousand and one just to be safe.
If only I had known.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 3:23 PM UTC
The devil wore black framed glasses
and had a New England accent when he was drunk.
The things the devil could do with his tongue,
the beautiful promises he'd whisper late at night…
The devil loved like a hurricane.
My roots were sturdy, never bending in his storm.
When the devil made love it was consumption.
I'd never been so seen, so adored.
Beneath his steel exterior the devil was soft
and a little broken.
But he could heal my wounds
with the promise
of a gentle hand.
I've never been a believer,
but for a time I worshiped at his altar.
Our Garden of Eden looked like cracked cement and Midwestern grey skies.
The trees bore no fruit,
but we made our own sweetness.
Eventually though,
the cost became too much
for us to remain that high.
I dug my fingers into wounds from his clipped wings.
Echoed his worst fears back to him.
His hurricane turned into an earthquake
and shattered the ground at my feet.
We spiraled into darkness.
Able to feel each other
but afraid to ever be too close again.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 9:24 PM UTC
I know you are not in the burgundy SUV that's sat unmoving in the parking lot of my apartment building for half the year. But it feels like the only place I can go to be close to you.
What I mean to say is, I don't know what happens when we die but in case you're still hanging around I make sure to keep the interior clean.
And by that I mean, I know people do not remain in the material things they owned but those are the only pieces I have left of you.
And I guess this is just my way of admitting I haven't washed the shirt you were wearing before they rushed you to the hospital. It's hidden in the back of my drawer.
This is just my way of grieving or maybe it's my way of refusing to move on…
Dec 16, 2023
Dec 16, 2023 at 7:24 PM UTC
More often than not
the White Knight's armor
is spray painted
and he couldn't even spring for the glossy coat.
His trusty steed
is a bicycle with training wheels
because he doesn't know the first thing
about saving himself
let alone a Queen
whose crown has threatened to topple.
He is a boy,
masquerading as a man.
Don't buy his lies,
candy coated sweet temptation.
He's lacing them with arsenic,
and hoping you'll slowly die
reaching for him to save you.
Dec 12, 2023
Dec 12, 2023 at 8:41 PM UTC
You are the sun.
Celestial perfection
burning with resplendence.
Filling the room in every space where something doesn't stand in your way.
I cannot look at you directly
for fear of being blinded by your intensity.
But without you I am off kilter.
I need your warmth,
I need to feel your rays kiss along my skin.
When the darkness sets in,
and grey days become plentiful,
I mourn your absence.
I ache for brightly lit days.
But you cannot hold the sun in your hands,
you cannot make it stay.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:43 PM UTC
I have written so much poetry about you
that you will forever be living,
among the pages of my notebooks,
with the greatest loves
and sorrows of my life.
And it's funny,
in the way that it isn't funny at all,
that you are both.
I'll never regret the time I spent
falling in love with you,
loving you,
being loved by you.
Knowing how it ends,
I'd do it all over again.
For one more minute
trapped in your gaze,
for a flash of your knowing smile,
I would do it all again.
So now I fill my pages
with future plans we made,
ones I've had to let go of.
I fill my pages
with memories that I tightly hold on to.
I fill my pages
with our story so that it will never die.
My pages overflow
with love
whose name gets read as loss.
And among them you will live forever.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:39 PM UTC
With a rabid snarling maw
frothing with bloodlust,
and long skeletal claws
digging into the wooden floor,
pulling up gashes of fiber.
Eyes pierced through her own
like daggers trying to chill her to the bone.
But she could not be bothered
with this dramatic fanfare of threats.
She was too exhausted,
her skin felt as if it was wilting off her bones.
Her muscles throbbed with each heart beat
as blood pulsed through her veins.
But the physical pain was nothing
compared to the war of her mind
and the storm of her heart.
Her sigh exposed every unspoken feeling
raging inside her.
His lust for violence faltered.
In the stretched silence
only her heart break could be heard
and he realized
he was not the only monster threatening her.
The ones she was fighting inside
were much deadlier.
Nov 3, 2023
Nov 3, 2023 at 5:52 PM UTC