somewhere, stars hidden by light pollution.
below, girls huddle. in corners, under couches, behind
headboards of cheap bunk beds. girls become gasoline, votaile
and ready to be ignated with a single flame. at least burn down
the house, at least spit out their lithium into an empty water bottle.
okay. i won't get started on the honda civic. it knows what it did.
bad man. bad desire. bad day to be sadgirl. but here, not hell,
not purgatory. girls can't recall anything, for threat
of severance. here, there is no language for joy,
only cheap rewards and the occasional Sour Patch Kid.
when snow falls we play in it and cry. please, don't
call us imprisoned, call it a next step.
i say my own name when i write.
i go out for pizza and sadly, come back.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
the girls huddle,
wallflower themselves
away from the bell-toll
of mean-girl chatter
gucci gang comes on,
& a few blood-boys
come out with juul-destoryed lungs
and sip their smuggled *** punch
someone shouts 'begone, thot'
& instead, i vanish,
into summer-stretched air.
you're only young once, &
then there's the in-between
of reunion. the late night fiends stay
until the sun peaks
through the cracks in the
façade of adulthood.
finally, somewhere near
the end of the night,
the intercom comes on.
the superintendent asks us to leave,
the bathroom is filled with brûléed vapor
& the ground has become as much of an ashtray
as the dirtied mouthes of those still dancing,
drunk enough to numb the memories of
the worst three years
of our collective life.
when the chorus of
**** that, **** you
fades out,
it's because the system is
crackling again
& everyone's head is turning to the soft voice asking;
where are you now?
what have you done?
are you perfect yet?
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
ain't no disability, i'm a superhero
- kanye west
/
who i am
is a complicated shit-show of
mental illnesses, diagnosed
and medicated to make me able.
according to the kids at school,
i will put you in a chokehold for flexing your double-
jointed finger.
/
autism is strange,
because words hurt more
than you could image.
a few words are no longer spoken
in our household.
freak is one of them.
/
have you ever feared someone
because of rumors?
if you have, then i announce you as an enemy,
so let's duel with choppy movements
and irrational fingers.
/
school is out,
and i'm thinking that
who i am
is a delicate shit-show of
who i want to be
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
i have done it again
once a day,
lean
a sort of walking miracle, my skin,
look at my wrist, about ten
my middle finger
a paperweight
my body clothed in supreme
and bape
peel off the layers of autotune
do i terrify?
or do the rooftops i jump from come back to haunt me?
the wide nose, the pink and blonde
the dilated eyes
all vanish within a recording session
soon, soon the skin
the thots, the tricks
they will be at home on me
and i, a frowning man
only sixteen
and like the cat, i have nine times to live
this is my last leg,
what trash
what lies we tell
with a million filaments of light
the xanax-crushing crowd
stops for one ******* second
and looks down at the stage
the beat starts, my mouth is powder dry
ladies and gentleman
these are my tattoos,
my war paint,
i may be skin and bones
nevertheless, i am far from who i once was
the first time i drank lean, i was ten
my brother dared me
the second time i meant it,
some way to escape
and become liquid
over beats
when i drank too much, they had to call and call
and wash the ***** off me like bloodthirsty leeches
singing/rapping/living
is an art
and like everything else, i do it way too well
i do it so it feels like midnight
i do it so it feels so real
i guess you could say i’m dope
it’s easy enough to loose hope
it’s easy enough to go crazy waiting for fame
but fame comes, and it plays games
come back with me,
to the same place, the same face,
the same dreaming eyes of a high woman
an amused shout,
get out of here, eskeetit
but there is always a change
for the touching of my hair, there is a change
inside, for the eying of my new gucci sneakers
there is a change inside, that rarely goes outside
and there is a change, a really big change
for any pill or drink
or drug
or a strip of fur or silk that i wear with pride
so, so my child, unborn within a groupie
so, my enemy behind a mic or a show curtain
i am your high
i am everything you ever wanted
the pure silver bullet
that melts with no bang or pop
i turn and burn
do not forget, mama’s still concerned
and and
you push and pull
xannies and perkies, there nothing there
a red stripe
across a wrist with
a broken whiskey bottle.
my mother, my father
remember?
remember?
out of the bitter smoke
i rise with rainbow hair
and i devour pills like air
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
//
yr gun does not reach me,
so u make black boxes.
not like the ones lost at sea.
//
we all can be pretty at least once,
even with dangling nerves,
even with blood dribbling down our chins
//
we live in the sunken place.
try to stay awake, but it's too easy
to fall asleep.
//
i like to think i have wings.
cuz i swear, i swear they're somewhere on my back.
but maybe they took those too.
//
if we was still alive, while the swallowed us whole,
would we fight or flight?
i heard a story about one us of, who didn't drown.
//
i could touch the sun and fly with my not-wings
to a place better than this. can i drown
too?
//
we all can be beautiful.
cuz i tried so hard
to make this place safe.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
in dream-light, still
you are incredibly wasteful
syrup-mauve soaked,
you drank whatever
cared enough to ferment
itself.
the entire fester-rot of
flesh growing & decaying
with time & ****** fingers
believe in yourself,
& see where it gets
you
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
SUN GIRLS: sun-kissed goddesses, some a little darker than others because the sun loves them just a little bit more, writes poetry sitting outside a local coffee shop, always happy all the time, loves the color yellow, wears mom jeans and tucked in t-shirts all the time, is soft and loves love, long hair, mostly in braids or ponytails.
MOON GIRLS: dark circles under their eyes, parties a lot, drinks to forget their heartbreak, red lipstick and black eyeshadow, sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety, owns over 20 different leather jackets, loves adrenaline, risk-taker, a smoker, strong smell of cigarettes and mint gum, smirks a lot, flirty, secretly likes sun girls
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
my mother taught me how to work the dirt,
grub it between palms, savor the smells of chickenshit, and
raw flesh. she knows that crops are grown fifty-fifty,
a little coddling, a little resentment. look at the thing
crawling out of your leaking womb, purpled with lacking.
she taught me how to heal, let my body mend itself with
time. when i was born, the salt of my mother clouded around my
eyes. they broke me to let me live, and so forth. but i have never
stopped with the needing. i became a **** in the dirt i worked.
empty, glad with unwanting. i wanted to spread my branches and show my mother the world she forgot. i remember. i remember.
but my chants fell upon deaf ears. my prose too purpled to read.
if you can bring nothing to this dirt
but another dead body,
this is not a garden for you.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
your eyes,
waxy and chromatic
seeped through my clothes and
soaked my skin,
bent my bones and
dyed my concrete spine
blue magenta.
forgive me, forgive me
my revolving-door mouth,
my pendulum heart,
my clammy hands.
my religion is jazz but
i swear to God,
I'm Roman Catholic.
and so I brought you some tulips,
cause I can't lose you
to New York.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 12:07 PM UTC