On slow summer afternoons,
I'd clime the crabapple tree next to my house,
as high as I could, book in hand,
and read until the bark bit my skin too deep.
On my sure decent,
I would conemplate the emotions I had searched for in those words,
enveloped in melancholic relief,
and would begin my online mascarade.
The reds, the blues, the greens, the yellows,
identifying my peers,
behind profiles of butterflies and knives,
with the most tragic of stories written in comic sans.
For hours,
sprawled on my Hawaiian quilt,
I'd type up entire lives,
Desperate to fill the void with meaning.
My pink walls were wallpapered,
collected cards and magazine posters,
reflecting the must of crisp airconditioning in an old house,
my feed dancing between hardwood and synthetic wool.
Those years my pastel room
watched my online pursuits
and shielded late-night adventures
bringing light to my gothic pursuits.
Sometimes I regret the lies I lived,
wishing I could find abandoned bonds without shame,
but then I remember the way it sustained me,
and how many feet down I would be without.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 4:29 AM UTC
May stands alone in itself
Existing to spit in time’s face,
Exposing its lies of even passage,
Foreshadowing the season to come,
As linear progression is lost in self-realization
The first a whirlwind of night
With prom dresses discarded,
Replaced by a third of the material,
In the passenger seat of my best friend’s car,
For nights of blacklight and nostalgia
The rest of the month was spent in Colorado Daylight
Buying trinkets of my forgotten family roots,
Letting a man stain my hand,
As we traded stories about art and light,
sipping spiced drinks I still miss
June was nonexistent
As it is just filled with violet blurs
Of “congradulationsIbetyourmomishappy”s
As winter feelings
Crept into summer stability
In July the pastel smeared into sickening saturation
As fears were fostered under the sparkle of fireworks
Tears spilled in broad daylight
Scabs were destroyed by loud voices and darting eyes
And regrown in passenger seats, forcing longheld confessions
By August little was left but the natural light
Hidden Canadian coves were experienced with an empty mind
Glittering plots climaxed in quiet nights
Sunsets illuminated a reset button
Letting go of this endless summer afternoon
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
I have these little vases I keep trying to mount on my wall.
Most I've convinced to stay, but one remains stubborn. '
Maybe it's the humidity,
or maybe it's a sign to lay off on the decorating for now.
Maybe it inspired me, or maybe pushed me to my limits,
as I push my own stubborn heels in,
because for the first time this year, I see a chance to get what I want,
and I owe it to myself.
But now my friends think I hate them,
or maybe they hate me
I think on the third weekend of plans falling through.
Maybe we aren't supposed to be here,
I wonder fearfully,
because I know that even if I'm not supposed to be,
I simply must.
So I will continue to restick my lights
every night to lite my home
In search of some stability.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 3:52 AM UTC
Heart swells
Like candy fiz foam
sticky, sweet, and growing
As it tingles
all the way down
to dance like butterflies in my stomach
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
Eyes
slide past one
another
like polar magnets
too alike
knowing too much
of the same thing
incapable of attraction
consistent, measurable avoidance
never once touching
forever spiraling
outside
my atmosphere
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC
Sweaty palms
Long distance calls
Looming nervous presence
Bouncing mania
Preemptive dreams
Persuasion
Inadequacy
Salty tounges
Squealing
Subtle disproval
Financial discorse
Flamboyant pandering
Off-balance pulls
Compromised callings
Charismatic turmoil
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC