On a mirror in lipstick:
No hard feelings.
I take pictures about letting go
even though I keep holding on
When I left
nothing happened
You breathed in a lot
but I got the message
I find too much meaning in nothing
Once, I saw a man eat spaghetti on the porch with his dog
and I still think about what that could mean
I scare myself
and I hope I scare you too
what’s ****** up:
I still hope that you love me
and in an ideal world, it would be okay
what’s even more ****** up:
it would actually be okay if you loved me right now
the most ****** up:
we do love each other but you can’t make yourself happy
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
afternoon hanging heavy,
caressed by a tomato soup fog,
tired carpet, fleshy velvet couch
both aching for validation.
ten photos of the same dog
speak Latin all at once
a desk in utter disarray,
fishbowl walls slimy
and coated in shame
a bookcase crammed with
stepfather books,
trying too hard, too much, too soon
giant cilia lined lungs swing from the ceiling,
******* in and out and in and out and in and
all of the oxygen and
it has already been an hour,
$150,
a check is fine,
see you next week.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Sleeping in a bed of trash,
the moon floats on the same,
"Stop trying to be the moon"
but what else is there to be
if not that?
Hamburger hands crumbling in the night,
had no one been looking,
you would've helped put them
back together
back together
you always go back
to the rat that bites those holes in you,
holey, holy, wholly alone,
if you keep believing
that the moon is made of cheese,
then you cannot be anything
except the moon.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
I was throwing raw eggs in the hallway,
shell on the ground,
yolk in the drywall,
when you evolved
into a bland
sun bleached towel
cut from terry cloth
and washed ten times,
worn on both sides, still
you dried me
threadbare and fraying
to the sound of eggs,
wipe up the mess,
never complain.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
You’re trying to find words
with a mouth full of saltwater
and i’m going to bed
with eyes full of sand
foggy dreams
thick with desire,
a compass
that always points north,
I’m going to swim
in a current so strong.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
The door,
the same old door
open and unlocked,
you sit on the couch,
the one you slept on for
six years.
In the flames tonight,
the smell of burning will be back
but this time,
it is welcome.
The cabinets,
the dishes,
they are all broken
and I am standing on shards of porcelain
piercing my feet,
in fear of more pain,
we stay where we are
you, on the couch
and me, on the plates.
welcome home.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
I wanna marry a man who isn’t really
a man, but the illusion of one,
he’s actually just a cut out,
and I want to write his name in my
blood on the church so that God
knows
that I am okay alone.
And I’m tired of checking up
on how you’re doing,
because you probably don’t think of
me.
We sit on the fire escape at dawn,
my cardboard husband and I,
and we smoke cigarettes
and he burns a little
because paper is flammable.
When the sun comes up,
I feel you.
Landslide, land mine, landline, and
the burns on my tongue.
Bitter coffee and it’s not so bitter
compared to the taste of the spiders
crawling from my mouth,
and when I think of you
...You probably don’t think of me.
I’d write your name on the church,
but I don’t have enough blood for
two names.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
this summer,
I am half the girl I used to be.
I need to cry
like I need to sneeze
from an allergy to being alive.
day to day,
the urge to paint everything white
and disappear becomes
stronger.
i've got a pressure in my head
and a weakness in my bones
like someone
punched the inside of my body.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC