my father is telling me last night he dreamt he was telling the neighbours to install a shining privacy screen. my mother is telling me she dreamt about doing her taxes. “hand over your documents” the man said. she’s telling me how it was a different man, and how he really should have already had their documents, and i’m just sitting here thinking ‘if my dreams ever get this boring, please shoot me’. i don’t want domestic fantasies. i am not my father. my father’s only son is the house we live in. i am not allowed to touch the walls. i am not my mother. i do not care if my surfaces shine or not. i am not my parents. i do not want a government job. i do not want a sterile house. i don’t like ikea furniture. i still have dreams about zombies and my friends and war the ocean and i never want that to go away.
Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 8:32 PM UTC
i think i’m living the teenage dream. shooting movies with my friends? ******* around at the mall and wasting money on energy drinks? making eye contact? making **** sure of everything? talking, always talking, to someone about something they love? stealing alcohol from the pantry? taking the ****** bus? being late to everything because i care so much and not at all? breaking bottles on pavement? getting half-high on accident? texting late? making plans? thrifting? going out of state with friends and telling them i love them right before i fall asleep?
Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 8:29 PM UTC
and what is a shape
when everything’s fake
isosceles,
i can’t breathe
one thing having athsma taught me
is the shape of a ribcage
when i saw it on screen
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 8:04 PM UTC
does a lonely childhood **** a person?
maybe
if not, the way everyone else smells it on you does
there is something wrong with you
you are not whole
“where is your other half”
everyone asks you
and you just keep saying “i dunno, i dunno”
and they tell you to be grateful
because you never were hated as a kid
and maybe you weren’t but you are hated now for it
you do not know how to be a person because of it
and you can never say we were children together
because you were not children with anyone except for yourself
and you will bury your childhood alone
and you will bury your parents alone
and they keep telling you to be so so grateful that you never had to share anything
but this loneliness has you by the throat and
you would rather have someone who hated you than nobody at all
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 7:13 PM UTC
can see it now in a stuffy auditorium
half of those students don’t give a ****
it’s hotter than a crematorium
and everyone just wants to go out to lunch
i can see her now - the principal’s crying
she can hardly get the words out
nervous laughter and everyone’s trying
whatever it is, to figure it out
i can see me too, when she breaks the news
“i regret to inform you” but i already knew
grim curiosity, we’re all wondering who
and the world liquifies when she says it’s you
silence, something switches, day to night
last night you were found dead, abandoned
and i’m saying no god, it can’t be right
cause he would have called me beforehand
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 7:15 AM UTC
useless knowledge
reflective ceiling
guys who park their bikes here
never feel anything
i wish that were me
and i wish that were on me
the bike shed stares back
he’s not looking at me
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 6:57 AM UTC
it shines like the city
and it breaks like the bridge
and we should be drunk
but this is a school trip
they’d find exhaust in my lungs
if they did my autopsy
i’m soaking up in puddles
wanna breathe gasoline
the heat is too sweaty
and the people don’t smile
and it’s not LA
But let’s stay for a while
and you hate LA
it’s all concrete and palm trees
so let’s go get burgers
let’s go get ice cream
glitter like winners
and it’s sticky out here
and somewhere it’s winter
but somewheres never here
this station’ all yellow
am i in a movie?
this is living, worth filming
i’m finally breathing
scream off the balcony
up 46 floors
suburbs in the sky
wanna break down the door
live like real people
leave our shoes on the floor
watching the sunrise
and still wanting more
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 6:53 AM UTC
when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 12:00 AM UTC
you said will you be there to catch me and I said okay
and i was there over and over again
I haven't been a kid since year seven
cause the ledge is always waiting to swallow all my friends
we don't talk anymore but i still think of you sometimes
because i held you tight, because i kept you alive
you asked me to catch you
and now I don't know how to let go
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
before we grew apart
i dreamt of you dying
of your mother
clutching your voice, crying
in the chlorinated stands
where we met for the first time
she holds out the phone,
says “say goodbye”
and i’m running
railing flying by
reaching through thick air
to the mother who buries her boy
and i don’t know
if i made it in time
and i mustn’t have
cause we haven’t talked in a while
and i woke up smelling chlorine
and i never got a goodbye
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 3:19 AM UTC