The world outside today seemed to be too much for me
the walls keep closing in, i can’t find the room to breathe
i’m left there alone
hollow eyes and aching bones
i’ve laid dormant from dawn
to dusk but now i see the sun
night is gone, another day done
as i lay locked on the bedroom floor
my shoulder blades press into my thin rug
protruding vertebrae finding wood below
the rain smell hanging from poisoned oaks
gray skies hover
endless cloud cover
all pinning me down
these days all I can do is suffer
but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay
the sun, the trees the summer breeze
they nudge me saying please
it’s been three days since you’ve eaten, Louise
you’re nothing but fuzzy brain weak knees
get up, just get some coffee
but I remain paralyzed
glass eyes towards skys learning
pattern of ceiling fan turning
whirring and churning
all the heavy humidity away
but my skin will not evaporate
no matter how much i will it to dissipate
i hate to have my body stay
while my mind starts to disintegrate
but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay
light leaks in from the swayingcurtain
the storm is passed, weatherman’s certain
and though the sun cuts the grey asunder
in my mind there still lies thunder
my cobwebbed lungs refuse to work
as the heavy thoughts continue to lurk
but breaking through murky background
i hear sparrows start a symphony sound
and with their rounds and rounds of chords
their song did rise more and more
and my eyes came into focus
loosing that notion of hopeless
i started to feel almost human
only songbirds’ tunes to pull me in
closer and closer to some reality
through blinding light i start to see
the pinewood outside begins to dry
my rusty heart decides to try
I reach my head out the window
with eyes shut, panes clutched
i drink the sun’s glow
with all i have, my ribs force a heave
and i find that, finally I can breathe
but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
11:10
is when my eye catches the yellowing clock
twelve black block numbers
hands stretch towards the top
gears tick nervously
awaiting next set of 60 seconds
11:11
a pinball ricochets through my neurons
searching for a wish
I try to focus on the droning lecture
but for the next 60
- uh, 40 seconds
my mind churns through the things I desire
everything falls out of my cerebellum
my mind is only screaming one word
but i cannot form any sentence structure
in which I can place it
the red hand approaches the 12
I close my eyes
and submit my one word prayer
11:12
Him
Him
Him.
…
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
I pull the heavy mug of green tea
to my flaking lips
the thick steam settles in my nose
and warms my winter-whipped face
but fog my half moon glasses
I wipe away the condensation
and fold myself onto the chair
clutching to my chest
my cracked-spine book
with soft pages and greying ink
I embrace it like a lover -
far enough away to drink in the meaning
but close enough so I soak up
every last word
light shines through my window
I allow my eyes to drift closed and feel the spring sun
softly kiss hello on my cheeks
after a weeks of cloud cover
I sink deeper into a faded red armchair
dozing off to gentle sleep
a ghost of a smile hanging off my lips
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
hundreds stuck with an eternal fever
lay here in disjointed slumber
lazy wires weave in and out of me
a chemical flood running through veins
broken figures with wounded paws
whimpering as nurses tend to them
feet of patients wander
trying to find a lost haven
doctors with damp foreheads
speak in blurred voices
invoke our names
some apathetically repent
mumbling bible verses
others are circled by heaving bodies
drowned in grating alacrity
holding only stale memories
of the surrounding faces
with familiar fugue
we fall into a hollow decay
an unspoken gravity hangs among us
these copies of shoebox rooms
are pristine prison cells
I lay here
bound by unseen shackles
ill with harrowing impatience
even the howling catacombs
would sound like a victory march
to the desolate silence of white walls
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
It’s been awhile since I’ve slept
But I’m sleepwalking everyday
They say this city never sleeps
Been empty since you walked away
Mama, find me a wishing well
They say time travel isn’t real
And I’m all grown, live on my own
Got nothing but time, but these wounds won’t heal
Momma find me a mockingbird
They say the universe still expands
Time is relative, so I’ve heard
But how did you slip through my hands?
It’s dark at night, still, even here
I think I’m only cold when I’m alone
They say adults shouldn’t have these fears
But I’m not an adult, I’m just big-boned
Even these textbooks read like fiction
Watching all these people's lives
Rub my hands to generate friction
Making sure I’m still alive
So close your eyes and stop your protesting
Absorb what little oxygen your lungs still take
Pretend you’re perfectly, peacefully resting
Maybe your body will forget that it’s fake
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
A house may not be a home
In my living room sofa i feel uneasy
like everything is covered in wet paint
anything i touch i will ruin
so I pull myself in, taking up as little space as my body will allow
sweaty palms grasping to one another
i feel like a clumsy middle school boyfriend
the first time over to a girl's house
A house may not be a home
My family eats together at the dinner table
they ask me scripted questions,
for which i have canned answers
How was school-Fine
homework tonight-yes
any plans this week-no
My mother talks at my father
rehearsing the married couple skit
I have no further lines
I take to my cue to exit
My bedroom acts as a haven,
a place where i allow myself to take up space
without fear of getting in another persons way
but i can still hear my name
woven in my parents' argument
I can't hear what they're saying
though their strained voices reach me
tucked away upstairs, right next to the attic
which holds broken toys and things we don't want to look at anymore
A house may not be a home
my mother accused me of being hopped up on script drugs
questioned why I was "acting so bubbly"
I stopped and tried to remember
the last time these walls heard my laugh
my mother overheard me talking
about how i had a liking for a girl
I remember the purse her wine stained lips
and how she didn't look at her daughter
when a house is not a home
some try to place their home into others
like an indie pop ballad
some summer anthem paired with stolen beers
but we forget
humans have hands that hit
and feet that run
gnashing teeth
all encased in soft summer skin
we forget
these tenuous connections were never meant
to hold you upright
like marionette strings
you need not to have your heart dragged across the country
when a lover leaves with no goodbye kiss
I am my own mother, my own lover
I will hollow out my ribcage
in these bones i will create a haven
i will use the sticks and stones to build a nest
i will be my home
a place where I can finally live
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
I’m told that everyone needs a lover
someone who saves you from yourself
without your other half, you are incomplete
I’m told that everyone needs a lover
though love for people is overrated
pouring love into something human is terrifying
hands that hit and legs that run
eyes that command me to offer love that was meant for myself
when i could feel his love washing away
i remember seeing pieces of myself melt along with it
pockets of my coat still smelled like him
all my songs were intertwined with his voice
I’m told that everyone needs a lover
I need not to have my heart dragged across the country
when a lover leaves with no goodbye kiss
i sat in silence for a week
I’m told that everyone needs a lover
they may know the constellation of my moles
but they will never feel
the spark I feel when a storm rolls through
these tenuous connections were never meant
to hold me upright
like marionette strings
I am my very first lover
I'm a hurricane of a girl but that doesn't make me a disaster
I'm not chasing anyone, I am running to feel my feet slap the pavement
I scale buildings, roll through gaps in fences
I am kissed by barbed wire,
for the sake of a better view
I **** in oxygen and bellow out carbon dioxide
claiming immortality until proven otherwise
these skinned knees and bruised elbows
do not show a beaten girl
freedom gave me some hickies
and i don't feel like hiding them from anyone
they see me as broken glass
for someone to fix
but I was never meant to be a vase
they see me as a hazard because i cut their soft hands
but i know that i am a ******* mosaic
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
12:53am
The car clock blinks at me
i feel its judgement through green digit numbers
I cannot remember if it is running fast or a few minutes behind
but I know the bars are starting to close
and apartment lights begin to die off
I accidentally think of you
as I purposely forgot to secure my seat belt
headlights off, i peel out
the cracked screen of the stereo stares
reminding me that I must deal with my screaming thoughts
with no ****** pop songs to hide behind
I still taste it on my lips, a whiskey kiss
but how long has it been since my lips have touched yours?
I calculate the hours
and my speedometer climbs
the line of trees smear into a blur of brown
I drift onto 26 from 45, coast on 322
bear right until i don't know where the **** I'm going
roads like veins winding around to endless possibilities
but this telephone pole look so **** inviting
you were the one who helped me to learn the color of my eyes
but now my bleary blues shift to passenger seat
to see nothing but a pack of 27s
I expect the seat belt alarm to sound
but then I remember that it's not you
i toss the warning label away
how can something be so toxic
when the exterior is wrapped in gold
but i still feel your tarnish in my lungs
I miss the turn to my house
so i decide to drive on
inching closer and closer to you
wherever the hell that is
as my gas supply dwindles
i hope it's coming into my lungs
I pull over and throw up out the drivers side window
the strain of my gut is not enough
to rid you of my system
if only my body recognized you as a toxin a few months sooner
but God knows
no hangover will ever keep me from coming back
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
read from bottom to top
down
us
bring
to
try
they
when
smoke
like
rise
We'll
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC