i have nightmares in white.
crisp
clean walls,
shiny, sterile floors,
the pale, blinding light
staring into me
for each click of the speculum,
each snap of latex,
there is a crack up my spine
and i am silenced
i am muted
i know
what it is like
to die.
sometimes dying
isn’t the end of existence,
it is the continuation of life
after you’re already gone
it is cracked lips and stuffy noses
it is wellness checks
and medication
it is romanticizing sharp objects
and panicking at the sight of blood
it is light pauses between words
to ensure that you are safe
before you speak
sometimes dying is living empty.
and when i wake
from my white nightmare,
i am hollow.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC
i used to be
fond of that
light trickle,
that subdued
whisper
of rain,
the calming
sensation of
droplets,
cleansing
my spirit
i relished the
thought of a
grayscale sky
wrapping its arms
ever so gently
around me,
found comfort
in slick surfaces
and symphonies
in thunderous echoes
now, rain feels heavy,
cumbersome,
desolate,
feels like
i become
the bucket you
search for
when the
ceiling leaks,
like the air
is far
too dense
for my lungs
to handle,
like the rain
isn't really rain
when it
pours out of me
I used to be
fond of
rainy days
because they
remind me
of you
yet here,
now,
i desperately
long to be
dry
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
i want to be here for
the ugly.
the inopportune,
the odious.
moments when
your back breaks
from carrying
a heavy load,
when your heart bursts
from the inside,
when your tongue
becomes toxic.
i want to
plant hydrangeas
in the crevices
of your spine,
rose bushes
in your heart,
peonies in your mouth,
so that when nurtured,
you are able to stand,
able to love,
able to speak of yourself
splendidly.
know that this
is never ending.
know that even when
my hands grow weary,
and
my knees become
scabbed and
dirt- covered,
i will happily
wipe the sweat
from my aching brow
and tend to you.
because all of the ugly,
the inopportune,
the odious,
will be forgotten,
the moment
you begin
to blossom.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
i long for pleasant days.
days that feel like new beginnings,
days when i feel as if i am floating,
when each and every
fiber of my being
feels content with letting go,
tying loose ends,
shedding dead skin.
when my body no longer
feels unworthy of
occupying a space in this dimension,
when my brain no longer
allows toxicity to occupy a space
within it.
i long for moments of silence.
solace for my soul,
a place for the skeletons
in my closet to
rest their dust-covered heads.
i long for happy summers.
when i no longer fear
the thought of love.
when i no longer imagine love
as an ugly ****
devouring a flower bed.
when i no longer imagine you
resting in someone else's.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
all too often
we carry the
inexplicable burden
of perfection,
the weight balanced
upon our weakened shoulders,
we can hear our hollow bones
cracking like fallen leaves
under the pressure,
and still, we ignore it.
we see ourselves
through a looking glass
of social comparison
and self discrepancy.
she can't be better than me.
we want to believe that we are beautious beings.
we criticize what
intimidates us,
hatred falling from
our tongues
without a single,
rational thought.
it is then that we become wolves in sheep clothing
but let me tell you this:
you and i, will never be the same
my hair will never
fall the way yours does,
clothes will never
rest that delicately
upon my frame.
there is a divergence
in the way my
hips sway
and
that is okay.
i've a geyser
in my heart,
rosebuds in
my soul.
the faults,
crevices,
canyons in
my flesh
tell the story
of where i am
and have been.
i've inextinguishable embers
inside of me,
things that no other
being will
ever see.
and you,
you are
a monument,
too.
so, though
we all aspire to be
that image seared
into our minds,
from the cover
of that magazine
we read when we
were thirteen,
we will never be the same
and
that
is
incredible
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
we caught eyes
in this convenience store
but
not because i fancied you.
i was piercing you
with my gaze
lips pursed, ready to spew
all of the hatred that swelled within me.
you were air and I was a balloon
but
you didn't expect something so hard
from someone so "soft"
because since i was a child
i was taught to speak only when spoken to
to do what men expect you to do
to find comfort in getting someone to fall in love with you
but i will not settle with
being defined by someone else,
not even you.
ive spent far too long holding my tongue
because that's what they expect women to do
they expect you to stay silent while they undress you
not just with their bodies
but with their words, falling like dominoes, spreading until the last one falls
but when will the last one fall?
when will I feel comfortable walking home by myself?
when will my clothes no longer be a form of consent?
when will the lines be paralleled?
when will birth no longer be punishment?
and when that day comes
when a boy tells my daughter what she should and shouldn't do,
his words like howling winds, destroying everything in their path,
she will have been made of stone.
and when he compares her to other girls, she will know wholeheartedly that she is a beautious being
and not because someone told her so.
so, here we are in this convenience store.
and i no longer hold my tongue.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
isn't it ironic
that a body
that was once
capable of
creating life
can also manage
to destroy it
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC
winding
spinning
grasping
sinning
follow the motions
read them aloud
the flick at the end
of your lowercase d
ignites me
when you say
you're aroused
whipping
digging
curving
and looping
i study your prose
nectar trickling down
body curved like a c
lips pursed patiently
my dear,
how are your o's so perfectly round?
rhythmic
shaking
stirring
quaking
the stroke of your pen
is all i can see
without physicality
my floodgates are opened
with poetry
you stroke me
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Each and every
nook and crevice
will be adorned
with perched lips
And, within moments,
those lips will bless my ears
with the bittersweet
sound of promise
And those tired eyes
will captivate my soul
However,
someday, those crevices
will remain untouched
These ears,
imperceptive
Someday,
those tired eyes
will cease to love me
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
Blind.
Mute.
Surely not deaf.
I long for metal clicks
The leather belts.
The tears and welts.
On these things, I'm affixed.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC