i’m just like my father
attraction
compels &
rip s me a
part
destroyed by
what made me
into him
you call me a
self fulfilling prophecy
i read your cards
after telling you to close
your eyes: shy divination
trembles and wrestles itself
into the dirt as
i collect each one
my intuition or
my ego (maybe both)
rush beneath stretched skin,
an ache that unfurls into
the division between each
of my fingers, breathing with
the tension of a starved mutt:
i whine
at the bottom of
your front door
step:
i mirror you do
not let me
in
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 2:14 AM UTC
we don’t hold hands
but it’s okay
i build back my
own heart to not
burden you with
expectations
i rear-end an old man
on the way to your house
my heart keeps beating
even when the car turns
off and when i look at you
it doesn’t stop stuttering
i’m so wound tight
but the hours grow softly
into one another until i have
to remind myself to wind up again:
i need to leave, so i shroud
myself in a satin second skin
perfect for saying good
bye
i drive away
we didn’t kiss
that’s okay
there are no
expectations
my gut twists
painfully as i’ve
always wished i
could be more
bold
i sleep fast
caught between
two mountainsides
and there’s no time
to ask myself when
it’ll all end
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:32 PM UTC
i lay down
at your feet
and roll
over
like a
cowed
dog
anything you
want to take
from me is
already gone
when it hurts
it stings all
over
and i cry
because
i wish it
could start
hurting again
i can’t tell when
i’m being kicked
down
i can’t tell
anyone
how i feel
there is no magic
in waiting
there is no magic
in leaving
i sit at the door
in hopes that
someone will
walk through
and save
me.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:30 PM UTC
i let mint fester
in the front of my mouth as
a sleeping
beauty,
while hunger slips in t
-he back of my
throat and i try to forget
her
May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022 at 12:18 AM UTC
softer kind of tea;
flower beds roll
over scars in the road.
winter is my home but
i'm always so
cold.
the weight of
my own thoughts...
...all i feel is everything:
self-sabotage is
art.
there are no main characters.
so i exist out in the misty blanket
that lingers after midsummer storms:
stuck in that apathetic draft
that betrays humidity and
its ethos.
chasing an ego in the snow:
appalachia turns it all to ice
and watches me scramble
to an unsteady stance.
i've never caught frostbite,
though i reckon she was
trying.
May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 11:22 PM UTC
your friends pity me
i see it in their eyes
but pretend it's
not there
you bring me along regardless
holding hands under the table
laughing alongside them
and we toast to your
oncoming sobriety
and i think they pitied you too
knowing that you and change
were fated mortal enemies
starting from conception.
god buried you in the dirt when he crafted your soul;
and the angels cursed you, turning the earth
to marbled heliotrope:
we met in that dark prison.
you whispered that everyone
had given you up. so i swore
to never leave. to try.
to fight for us. to
love.
you hold my hand for 46 seconds underneath
the sputtering pools of blonde light
after your narcotics anonymous
meeting.
and the angels pitied me as well,
turning their heads at stoplights
and crosswalks like i wasn't even
there.
as if i could forget or pretend
that i've never seen the
eyes underneath
our bed at
night.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 3:53 AM UTC
you hold my hand under the
yellow light of a baptist church
praying to no god:
narcotics anonymous.
you introduce me but it doesn't feel like i'm yours
our clasped hands break apart as
a fifth marlbolo black slips
between your lips.
murmured conversations
secret promises
drift back and forth:
and my apparition
waits in the tepid
night.
i shift back and forth
through the golden amber haze: i could
lean back into the dim scraps of pavement
and no one would notice a thing.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 3:12 AM UTC
kissing girls:
she makes me feel so alive --
but i miss her funeral anyways
sleeping on my mountain of
burning gold and
empty graves.
leaving leftover tea
out in the car
as it rots and turns to
lukewarm longing.
kissing anyone
i'll never learn
how to
breathe fire.
i'm nocturnal
but my eyes refuse
to adjust to
the dark.
so i whisper poetry into
the silhouettes of
whoever will
have me.
i
cry to myself
cradling my skull
in ***** claws
that rip and tear
at everything
i try to
hold.
sleeping in
an empty bed,
i want to hold her
hand again.
i crawl out from
a ****** of pine trees
belly-deep in the tall-grass
where no one dares to wander
mistaking my echoing cries
a painful roaring sob
that reaches
out for the stars --
they think me furious
but i am only
alone.
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 7:44 PM UTC
i used to lay on the snowed-in flowerbeds
of nan's backyard. once it snowed enough,
you couldn't tell that a ****** of perrenials
slept peacefully there: all crushed
and crooked beneath
dirt and ice.
some days she'd come and join me
if the ground was soft enough:
we'd stargaze up into the cosmos
of pine trees overhead and listen
for the stillness of winter - the hush
of silence that lingered in the air.
ivy and henbit writhed
gingerly underfoot:
a quiet dogfight
of frozen earth
that begged a
sluggish spring
to come out of
hiding.
Mar 14, 2022
Mar 14, 2022 at 9:47 PM UTC