the world is so beautiful and i have no place in it. every day there are birds and beetles and bodies off of buildings and they all fly and we take pictures of it. and skin smiles, and the group waits for the crosswalk to start talking, and the capillaries break, and we hold everyone in the world closer; and i drink from the plastic water bottle hidden in my pillows, and i slip out of the arms. i stand here a place-marker. let's say i **** myself. in all the perfect ways i know how, the train and the bridge and the car and the pictures. i'd steal little pieces from everyone and you would drag out the printer paper again, you would make room on the altar. the world is too beautiful for all of this, so here i stand, a monolith, here i stand, a neon billboard, i stand here a place-marker. please come visit me, yes take pictures of me yes take a look down the street see i'm still here. i'm still here! breathe that sigh of relief. my spade-end will dig further into the earth. my blood will not ***** the sidewalk, you can cross the street the light is green! my body will not wade under the bridge. the world puts on its swim-shorts.
Jun 17, 2023
Jun 17, 2023 at 4:16 AM UTC
i had never seen her cry, i realized
my skin was pinched pale
(i hadnt seen the sun in months)
when i came back to this golden-land,
look, from the window:
there goes those yellow hills
there goes the concrete strip mall
the carpet was torn up
and my childhood home was empty,
except for me alone, past artifacts
shoved into plastic boxes
i put on my charms and
we rode our chariot over highway 87
her palace was made of peeling couches,
long rusted cars stacked out in the front
swarming with people looking for
sweet wine in libation, or rolling papers
(whichever they could find first
on the decaying table in the backyard)
i hadnt seen her in 4 months, i had eaten
a pomegranate and was kept down, down
in an ice soaked world with white hallways
i didnt feel real. she called me a ghost
because it didnt sit right for us both
the thought of me, among the living
my brother said words to us both
simple things, wine soaked
but i had just been spit from the earth
and i was tired. she was too, she'd
been tired from the moment she was born,
cut from her fathers thigh
i mourned, then, open mouthed and thundering,
for the life i had left behind
but she just laid her head down, down
and her tears were so quiet i only
noticed them when they stained the fabric
and her face came up sickly red
i do not think i will ever see her cry again
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
the lovers
bright, bright, bright, i
haven't felt this kind of
burning since i
put my hand to the stove when i was six
neurons firing under our skin
in fits and starts you
would look into my quiet
what do you see, love?
push me up against that wall
race me down those concrete steps
one more time
queen of swords
greedy hands in the dark
you choke me and
it wasn't comforting this time
there are tear stains on that
blue hoodie now,
the one you let me wear
out of pity (take it back) when
we were stuck in the city
and my feet fell numb.
i tripped over them as we
ran across the street and
you laughed.
i just laid there on the asphalt
thinking maybe, maybe a
car will come, right now,
and i'll be flesh
in the grooves of it's tires so
i won't have to drive you home.
ace of cups
i'm saying 'she' sweeter because
'you' is out of my vocabulary now
she, she, she, the
way she leans against me at the park
the way her tongue searches for mine
like my mouth is the only thing left
in this dimension.
a rose quartz heart in between
our two hands, she says softly:
"pick a card"
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 9:58 PM UTC
i cried in your arms that night, under blankets and wires tangled up our shoulders. i carved something out of the deep insides of my chest and i showed it to you even though i knew you didnt have a place for it anymore. thats okay. you left when the sun came up. thats okay too. you didnt want me that night, not really, but you reached for me anyways, because we were high and lonely and stupid and i wanted nothing more to hold on and i still still still do the way that feeling pounds on my insides. i want to silence it or crush it under rocks something powerful and definite but i hold it in my hands and scream i cant i cant instead. im sorry. things would be so much easier for you if i could. i want you to be happy sometimes more than i want to breathe air, i want to burn that feeling between us that makes you cut off and cold but i know its no use because i put it there in the first place. i hope she loves you, and i say this with no hurt in my words, i hope she loves you like i never let myself when i had you, i hope she holds you tight like youre the light in a sea of nothing, i hope you show her all your favorite songs and take her to concerts and shower her in soft little words she knows are hers. i want you, more than i think ive let myself want anything in too long, and ill keep my hand untangled for you, but please, please dont grab on unless youre going to stay.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 11:11 PM UTC
theres a song about a cottage and rolling fields
and when im there i can only see you
we put bees in little jars and feed them sugar water
you walk with me through mud and too wet grass
and maybe its just because i have the pills you want but,
i hold it and i dont let it go
last autumn we walked through starlit streets and
i wore purple dresses and you picked me up on rooftops
winding metal stairs going down into secret passages through the earth i
i miss your eyes on my skin, my hair
those little things you told me before the walk home we’ll
be there soon
ill take you to the stream or i wont
words buried me once and they will ruin me again
tell me, do i fill that place in your bottle still? when
you reach for me under mosaics or tables
when that glass breaks and
swarms in puddles on our feet,
am i supposed to hold on?
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
im sorry i texted you too many times
when i was that sad kid in your literature class
who talked too much and wore that sweater too many days in a row
blue and orange are complimentary, and i painted with them last night but
i wasnt listening to your songs anymore
the ones i put your name on, at least
i smoked a cigarette during third period today to not feel this
gnawing
kind of gaping feeling in my stomach and
tugging at my dimples
your smile was all jagged lines this morning but
i dont know if you could tell or not. i hope whoever she is does
hey
do you feely guilty?
because i sure as hell do
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
the hallway is too bright for six fourty five am words
(you still end up looking soft in it)
morning bites at my cheeks smiling nothings with you on our way to sleepy history class
i want to fill liminal spaces with you
i want to be bright and undeniable
and write your burning words in the stars
we’ll walk endless 0 period hallways
under permanently purple skies
and it’ll replace her last words, spoken in cold morning air
with your name over and over
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
maybe if i yell loud enough
across fuzzy love songs after my last shift
you'll turn your head like
the way you look at her in literature
and, maybe i let my eyes linger too long on your
blue hoodie, the blonde bits at the end of your hair,
when you walk me to class on tuesdays
i've done this to myself before and ill do it again
maybe ill drown myself in the number seven till
i can finally shut the **** up
and can look at its lines without hearing your voice
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
thirteen years old, you were too young
i cant help but say it pitifully, words trickling down my chin in strings
of empathy i dont know is really there or not. i want it to be
there were cracks by your fingerbeds and they were filled with sun,
bright and noisy, humming into still summer air while you slept
i couldnt, not that year
youre i-dont-know how old now,
someplace far, someplace i-dont-know how far but wherever it is its quiet and cold, i hope youre sleeping
or floating, i guess
skin turning to stardust as you near a sun that was never your own
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
you hold him,
black hair against cold skin you hold him
even though youre still in blue spring
and he's somewhere else. somewhere over hills youve only seen pictures of, flowers and tall grass tying around your ankles.
like an ocean, when the wind runs through it right
he laughs on top of the hill you were supposed to walk up,
when its sunset by the lake
(the place no one would find, not for miles of blue water)
you were supposed to. you were supposed to sit under the little tree and sleep over rocks
supposed to cry little words into his shoulder,
supposed to hold him. supposed to hold him and stay there until flowers grew from your ribcage,
little twisting vines blooming gerber daisies
so you do. you reach your arms across oceans, scan skylines
walk across realities until you get to the picture of the hills,
the one with the oil paints your mother saw once, in a town with no name
and when hes not there you wait until they find you first. (it takes till summer)
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC