“What’s the harm?” they whisper,
_“What’s the problem
in being everyone’s fantasy?”_
“In having all of your friends
find your flesh attractive?”
“Having the pretty privilege
morph into the entitlement of others?”
As they claim my skin
and caress my bones.
_Peeling pieces of my body
and making themselves at home._
_Consent is implied
within the lines
of whatever bond we hold._
Friends, family, lovers.
What’s the harm in giving them
what they want,
what they demand they need.
In watching them eat you up
With a never ending greed.
“But you’re my fantasy”
_as if I’m obligated
to the impressions of me
you’ve shoved down my throat._
Until I’m choking and sobbing
pleading you to relinquish your hold.
Your eyes leave imprints and bruises
as you salivate over a body
I don’t even see.
_It was only 3rd grade._
Again, when merely rending
the damaged goods of a teen.
By the time I was an adult
it was the only way I was seen.
_But age matters not,
when you were never perceived
as a human being,_
simply a desire
for others to devour.
“What’s the harm in being a *** dream?”
They scream “we’re all friends here”
as they render my sobriety to shreds
_Only to tell me that it’s all in my head._
Society taught me to turn a blind eye,
“what’s the harm?” It said with a sigh.
_They drugged me with ignorance,_
refuting my plea.
A passing inconvenience for you
Born of my own naïveté,
is a trauma memory
_that I can never undo._
There isn’t a piece of me
you’ve not seen,
_nothing left of myself
to discover._
You’ve rendered my own exploration
into nothing more than a detour.
You’ve taken every first
I could have claimed
_and thought to beat a dog
was the equivalent of making it tame._
So now I’m sobbing into a void
wondering why I was _ever_
a thing that you could destroy?
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 12:57 AM UTC
Days flit by
like a
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
_So too does time slip from the basin_
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
_Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop_
Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the _drip_
and the _drop_
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 2:12 PM UTC
You may not know it:
But your words
They eat away at me
Each harsh remark
taking bite size chunks
out of my capacity to last the day.
Unknowingly sharpened to weapons
Wielded against my rational evaluation
cutting away the ability
To complete the tasks of the day.
Your pressured speech
It suffocates my ability to communicate
My garbled words gurgle and ooze
like life blood from a hollow wound.
Hours of anxiety are whittled away
with the chisel of your exasperation
A moment for you stretches on to my year
You’ve moved on and I’m frozen here.
Your words are weighted
And my sodden corpse
cannot process the flow of your disdain.
I mumble apologies
and miscommunication
as you add another layer
Like a wheel at a fair
we loop;
Until it skips
like a record
and you hop off the track.
I look over and you’re gone
As I sit on the rubble of the rest of my day
Wondering if you kissed me goodbye.
Carrying the strength of your volume
Ringing through my mind
Pleading with eggshells
to splinter in silence
for fear of continuing the cycle’s chime.
You may not know this:
But your words
Impress upon me
An echo of the mind
Much like drowning
I choke as I consume
Inflicting wounds
You never knew were there.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 12:25 AM UTC
_“What is the reason, I wonder?
What could possibly be the cause?
For her to evoke such a response of antiphon?
I find myself forgetting. Failing to recall
what it was like to ever be without her.
Finding all other plans to be forgone,
in favor of chasing after her.
As she sings her feather dusted song,
The entirety of whole world
seems to be strung along.
What a perplexing existence,
yet I cannot help but to be enthralled.
Perchance this is what it means to be swept away at the whims of the squall.”_
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 11:51 PM UTC
_I find your words to be empty._
Much like collectible ornate journals
lined up on a shelf.
Stunning to behold.
Carrying the weight of so much
promise and potential,
but of no substance.
I find myself choking
on the dust between
the pages of words
_you never mean._
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 11:41 PM UTC
Kinda wanna drive off a bridge
not gonna lie.
Not to die but to just...
pause I guess.
To be surrounded and confined
by the weight and presence of the waves. With nothing but the sound of the water
to encase you.
Maybe it’s the feeling of sinking I crave.
Or maybe it’s surrendering to the depths just to see what waits there.
In a sense it’s drowning without death. Just sinking so deep and for so long that this push and pull of the water reversed the top with the bottom and I sink to the surface succumbing to the dance of the sea.
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
🌱I am a collector of things. Books, plants, photos, candles, adventures and overlooked oddities that I find to be beautiful. Who knows? Maybe I’ll collect you too.🌱
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
Meanwhile I’ve just sat by and wrote poems about her passion pretending it was my own. Little did I know, a seed was planted and she was watering it as it grew into a dream I never knew that I had buried.
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 2:41 PM UTC
I often smoke these days
to fill my lungs
and **** the flowers
I once planted there for you.
I often get high these days
on the freedom I find
in my new life without you.
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC