bare feet on a
cold bathroom floor or maybe
it was the kitchen
or both
I don't remember exactly my
cheeks were flushed
and you were sort of dancing
Bare ankles and boxers
from the night before
I haven’t brushed my teeth
we ate eggs and toast and you laid
under my armpit i didn’t
have a shirt on
My jewelry is crooked
from pressing my body against yours
my hair is falling out of a knot
Think of the same woman
dancing in the verses above
staring at a windshield
not out of it or through it
but at the rain stained glass
There weren’t clouds in sight
she feels empty
with no words, it’s easier that way
I’d give you my skin
to relieve what your nerves
did to yours
from what others have said or never did
but i don’t think you need it
I hope your rain days
feel the same as summer
mornings and winter afternoons
because mine do
I think you were never not here
your wash rag hangs next to
mine now
in the shower in your favorite color
We have to push my cat
away from scratching us
when we’re kissing in bed
And i’ll keep waking up
early
just for five minutes of
holding you consciously
I’m glued
And because of that
I’ll be late to work
and you’ll bring me my medicine
Because i forgot again
And to make sure
i ate that day
you’ll bring me toast
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 3:07 PM UTC
i cry after i *** now
and when i smell make up wipes
or look through your likes
someone tried to give me
advice
the other day
they said
i should find a new hobby
something that i didn’t do before
or during you
so i started planting flowers
and i find it very interesting to watch them grow
i sit outside and cry next to the ones that don’t
i bury fallen petals into soil
to decompose and seep
into the roots to replenish others
i find myself posting their colors
and their growth
online
for everyone to see
including you
i always check if you’ve seen
i guess that defeats the purpose of my hobby
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 7:50 AM UTC
it brushes against bones
and seeps into i
suddenly i am envisioning
sweaty hands shaking at fabric seams
of jeans worn thrice that week
they are my hands now
and the lips ask that the hands are okay
they are
they move on and
the body comes with
hoping to come
the fingers try on their own to undo buttons
at the waist
the worn come down over
slightly damp legs and bruised knees
that show hairs that the body would prefer not to
show but
i don’t mind
the lips are dry now
as they rub against skin
and the hands are wet as they do the same
but elsewhere
teeth grip tight to hold in air
and sound
and hands press against the wall
to be steady
and they slide down with a breath of relief
and release
afterwards
my hands cover my own skin
like a mask
cheeks are red with sweat and
embarrassment
vulnerability
everything is slower now
you laugh and ask if I’m okay
i am
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 7:48 AM UTC
She was captivating.
She forced you to reconcile
with your name
and the word queer
together for the first time.
It was new and you
only spoke it into existence
for her.
A vulnerability impossible to escape,
but you weren't worried.
She had pretty teeth
and thick eyebrows.
You felt an insurmountable
amount of love for her in a month,
than you had felt for any boy ever.
You weren't worried
until you were.
Women are gentile and kind.
They are caring and safe.
Until they're not.
You are fifteen.
Living behind closet doors,
thick enough to mask your queerness.
It squeaks when it opens,
you prefer it closed.
Your father explained the word, "disown"
with examples.
"Like, if you're a **** you have to move out."
She used that as a stick
to beat you with.
You cry, knees to chest in the shower.
She's told everyone,
while she manipulates and forces
you to believe you're guilty
of being embarrassed of her.
So you begin beating
on the closet doors,
every beating.
No one can hear your screams.
Part of you still doesn't want them to.
You could try calling the police,
but who would believe
a woman is beating another woman.
Besides,
there's no service in this closet.
You learn about domestic violence
from your parents.
They say they'd protect you.
But if they knew
they'd beat you back into silence.
If a tree
collapses in the middle of the forest
with bruises from someone
that isn't a husband,
or a boyfriend,
or a man at all,
Is she still a victim?
is the collision enough
to break down a closet door?
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
I clean my room really nice
and fill it with these fake flowers
I light the candles
for a second I think it helps with my mental health
but subconsciously I know
I'm doing it hoping someone will notice the time I've put into it
or that there will even be someone in my room at all to notice
just someone to **** me
I'm so tired of myself
I blame it on everyone else
I say I'm so sick of this
But I'm sick
There's something wrong with me
And that's why no one is interested
I leave the blinds wide open
I always have
no one cares about the flowers in my room
No one even knows what my room looks like
let alone the flowers
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
when I came back to Ohio
I was just ready to get away from the heat
I was ready to lose myself in different bodies
I was ready to see things familiar to me
but the only thing waiting for me
was unfamiliar feelings
and a strange face
I say strange in the most beautiful way possible
and I never slept around
my mind melted from Alabama heat
quickly cooled and hardened again
It was my first week back but
from then on I knew
I stood no chance
it would engulf me as swift and brute as melting rock
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
You're still in everything I do but
you keep washing my words off your skin
like a stain on your favorite shirt
I can't do anything without keeping you in mind
I can't do anything
I wonder when I will start doing things again without them in someway being for you
But you are not
Your body rests in my head
While you rest your head on her body
She leaves scratches on your back and skin where my words only laid briefly
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
Sometimes I just stare blankly at my wall
Looking at the emptiness of my hands
I am expressionless as I try to count the grains of sand
But they are long gone
How was I supposed to know
how ******* impossible it is to hold on to sand
******* sand
When something hurts
people always say
"This hit me like a ton of bricks."
Like a car running directly into a solid wall
It is completely totaled
But the car stops immediately when this happens
No one considers the lifeless bones in the body inside of the ******* car are still going 60 miles per hour
And you wonder why I can't get over this
How was I ever supposed to know it was going to stop
The body doesn't freeze when the car stops and that's what kills a person
They are hitting the windshield
They're trying to keep going
Even if you slam on your breaks before you hit the wall
You still jolt forward and the seatbelt still hurts your chest
Your body was not ready for the car to stop
I was running down a hill and my feet had picked up a pace and eventually I was unable to control how fast I was going
It almost feels like your feet have a mind and entire body of their own at that point
They are just carrying you
I was getting carried away
My feet can't just ******* stop when I'm half way down a hill
How was I supposed to know
How am I supposed to stop?
How could I know you were the sand running away from my hands and back into your own familiar oceans
How could I have considered my body would not stop with the car
My body will eventually hit the bricks
but what difference does it make
Sand is so small and fine it seeps through the cracks in brick walls and rests in the crevices
and when the water comes it'll be gone again
I understand now why I stay
staring blankly at my wall
this ******* brick wall
looking at the emptiness of my hands
I am expressionless as I try to count the grains of sand
but they are long gone
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
I have nothing left to write
I have reached a point where I am too sad
to turn it into art
or something beautiful
Sadness is not here to be a metaphor
it is trying to drown you
There is nothing beautiful about that
my pen wants nothing to do with it
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
I say it comes in waves
Because it is not a constant
It doesn't always hurt
It doesn't hold me under the water every second that I breathe
But when it comes
a simple, brisk wave is no way to describe the way this engulfs my being
when I remember how you kissed me
No this pain is much more like
I am anchored to the bottom of the sea
I am unable to breathe
my finger tips are barely reaching the air
They nip the very end of the water but they can't quite reach out to signal for help
They can't grasp any chain
It is right there in front of me
But i have failed to hold on
I slip
You were always just a touch out of my reach
You could say it comes in waves
But many things do
I've always gotten sick at sea
I know you want me to get out of the water
But you keep washing your hair in the shores
my body is stiff every time I realize that's all it is
And that's all it will be
A simple, brisk wave
And I will always have my feet in these waters
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC