Nothing feels right anymore.
My hours have turned sour and days bitter,
time spent pondering meaningless meanings
instead of succumbing to easy smiles.
My laughs have become gilded,
my giggles stifled and my once upbeat demeanor
now hushed and hidden behind cracked lips.
I have lost my voice to a void
and in its place has risen a numbness
to coat my senses in cotton
and fill my skull with fear.
My reality has melted into dreamscape
and still further to a realm of nightmare,
desolate and grey and screeching with anxiety.
I crave an embrace far from this dusty plane
where I might find more than hollowed shells
and a grainy sand beach
extending into foggy nothingness.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
If I was a witch
I’d make
lavender soup,
with milky eyes,
basil leaves,
wide pink rose petals,
crystal shards,
and a touch of lapis lazuli.
Forget toad warts
or salamander tails,
burned sage,
obsidian talismans,
stolen hairs,
rusted earth
or the eyes of newts
and tongues of dogs.
If I was a witch
I’d make
love potions,
luck potions,
and everything in between.
Take fools gold
and make it gleam
brighter than a diamond.
Forget curses.
If I was a witch
I’d take the blackened grimoires,
drown them in their
bloodied words
and keep the poor
old frogs
as friends.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.
They’ve got thick rubber soles
and bright white laces
The kind to take a stroll
with deep wide paces.
My bright yellow pair of sneakers
I wonder how they look
Or if I seem too eager
Or if I’ll be mistook.
They make me grin so wide
I feel unrecognizable
My heart so full of pride,
My smile’s undeniable.
I can’t help but feel neat
when I squeak against the sidewalk
or when I saunter down the street
and meander round a roadblock.
I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Before the thunder coats my lungs I whisper soft
The storm is a cacophony of pink that flows between slow and stop.
In every direction, pointed hats and sharp signs
stinging words and biting looks
phrases dotted with peaches and comb-overs
hardened women fiercer than the surging wind.
I had never imagined feeling so powerful until
50,000 women
and men and nonbinary friends
engulfed my senses in magenta and bubblegum
and lightning struck 100,000 times in the space of two blocks.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
I crave the comfort of white noise.
When I fall asleep every night, my box fan carries me as I drift off.
Its blades spin up and its humming fills my room
Like a sweet lullaby leading me off to a silent world.
I used to play albums off of an old CD player:
Anything to block out the whispers inside of my head,
Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.
During the day, when there’s no fan to keep me safe
I turn to the comfort of music:
Pop a headphone in and my feelings melt away.
It keeps me focused, but in a way, it’s my distraction too:
The kind that fills my head with lyrics instead of questions.
Questions.
Endless questions.
They’re the white noise inside my head the rest of time.
They’re the bullies and I’m their victim
But there’s no one else around to save me from their violence:
They beat me till I’m ****** and bruised
Mind sliced raw from their attacks,
What are you doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do you even bother?
Beating into my weakened defenses
They kick me especially when I’m down.
They gang up inside my head, doubling, tripling
Until they’re a chorus of white noise echoing off the walls.
They keep me locked up
In a cell with nothing but a bed made of broken glass
And a small fan in the corner,
Humming me to sleep every night
Because my room can offer me no other comforts.
I feel the questions just outside of my cell,
And I hide from them because there’s nowhere to run:
I’m a prisoner pressed into the furthest wall
As they taunt me from the other side of the bars I’ve built.
Why can’t you be happy?
Or normal?
Why don’t you just go away for a while?
Maybe forever?
I plead with them to stop their screaming
So they laugh at me instead,
A high pitched squeal that makes my hair stand on end,
My body tenses up, my ears start to ring.
And suddenly they’re something else entirely
The faces of my friends appear cackling
Questions spilling from their mouths:
Are we just pretending?
Do we really hate you?
What makes you think we care about you?
How do you know it isn’t just an act?
Their laughter surges in my mind
Like a sickening joke that makes my stomach turn,
And the white noise grows ever louder.
Even when the fan starts to takes their place,
Masking their white noise,
One finds its way in
To plant its seed of doubt
On the edge of my subconscious
As I begin to drift to sleep:
Are you just pretending?
I feel my breathing seize
Because suddenly I wonder if any of this is true,
Or if I’ve created a false reality for attention.
The thought seeps into my mind like poison
Whispering to me that I can’t even trust myself,
Tearing down every defense I’d built
Brick by brick
Until I’m curled up in a pile of tear stained rubble,
Knees bruised purple and yellow,
Lips chewed ****** and raw,
Eyes swollen red and glistening wet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I hopeless?
Cause it feels like I’m spiraling out of control
Losing my sense of self to the endless tide of worry
And I’m not sure how to stop it.
So I begin to ask myself
What am I doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do I even bother?
Because I can’t tell what the truth is anymore
If my fan keeps the questions out,
Or if I’m so used to them;
I crave the comfort of their
White noise.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
Crying is not pretty.
It is not like in the movies
where tears spill down your cheeks
in perfect pearlescent lines.
It’s ugly and visceral: raw
emotion pouring from your eyes
in thick streams to stain sleeves.
It is when your sinuses clog up
and snot gushes out to coat
your upper lip in gooey layers.
It is when you breathe as deep
as the kiddie pool; no lifeguard on duty
and you start to sputter, inches down.
It is when you sob in the shower
so you can’t tell the difference
between your thoughts and your other filth.
It is when you press your face under the water
and try to hold your breath
until you can’t feel your lips.
It’s when you step onto the tile,
cold beneath your feet, wish that
your skull may unexpectedly come into
contact with the counter corner.
It’s when you’ve used up all your tears,
so you dry heave from your eyes
and fill your lungs with an urgency:
desperate to feel anything and nothing.
It is part of the healing process.
It is when you bury yourself
in a pool of soiled Kleenex
so that when you are done,
you can see all of your
feelings contained
in the boogers of your pile.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 8:43 PM UTC
Snap, snap
Against my wrist.
Snap, snap
Escape my twitch.
Snap, snap!
And I’m gone.
Slingshot, catapult, trampoline,
Snap. Snap.
Pull me back
Towards safety, baby
Snap, snap.
Something coiling
Above my stomach
Snap, snap:
Start to plummet,
Feeling nothing
Snap, snap:
Try to regain
All but chest pain
Snap, snap.
Begin to wonder
As I fall asunder
If this safety net
Hanging on my wrist
Would do me any better,
Apart in my fist –
Snap! Snap!
Don’t think these things,
I tell myself,
Snap, snap,
I hold myself
To my routine,
Snap, snap,
To keep me sane.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
have i but hours
and quiet questions
to keep me awake
i ask:
who would accompany me?
just the slip of a not,
the twist of a ballad
and my laugh will have come
and gone
but who will be there to see?
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
I am rolling hills with vibrant tulips as far as the eye can see,
I am savannah with boundless sunshine, flora and fauna wild and carefree
I am thick forest with trees who stand tall and strong and extend their arms to the sky,
I am luscious jungle untamed and heavy and saturated with blossoms and vines.
I am gorgeous in every part of me, regardless of the sharpened gazes
pointed towards me like spears.
I am powerful in every part of me because I dare to be me,
sharpening my own spears in self defense.
My jungle is the strongest part of me,
A landscape of coarse trunks along the curves of my legs,
A tangled mass of vines on the undersides of my arms,
An unruly bush to accompany trunks at the place where they meet.
I rule my jungle in confidence and wield my own spears
To let the savages know that I am unafraid and comfortable
whether my jungle is tamed or left uncut.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
She was night when I met her.
The hills beyond bathed in moonlight,
though she seemed to hide from faint starshine
sheltered and hidden: wrapped in a mystery cloak
woven from fibrous shadows and dyed
in the deepest part of the ocean with midnight hues
untouched by the constellations.
She was summer aurora soon after her night.
I took her hand into the dewy field,
we reveled in the damp and softened earth
and the stars blossomed: points of bursting light
fixed among the twilit blue-greens
like the blinking bulbs of fireflies
who floated between our heads.
She was daybreak after her sky turned aquamarine.
The stars hid themselves under our feet,
the sun appeared on our horizon
and painted our faces in pinks and oranges: her hand
so soft and gentle, slipped from mine
trailing warmth against the flesh of my palm
where her fingertips kissed my skin.
She was high morning when the sky’s pinks faded.
I cradled her face between my two hands,
pressed kindnesses into her cheeks
and turned our noses to the sunshine: her celestial smile
played notes on her lips,
singing lilting aria in a rising melody
as the light radiated warmth across her face.
But now she is a rainbow in refracted afternoon.
She gleams in every color now her cloak is shed,
red in heart, orange in grin, yellow in mind,
green in energy, blue in veins, violet in spirit: but most of all
she is soft pink, pale white, and baby blue,
a harmony of hues
which she had kept hidden under her cloak of night.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC