Hot breeze, 90 degrees. My shirt was soaking wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the sweat between my ******* or condensed beer bottle dripage falling from above. My days consisted of no work, all play. Vomiting out every ounce of fluid my body could hold once the clock struck 2AM, only to refuse the water and replenish myself with champagne in the morning. Filling myself with bubbles, hoping it’d make me more bubbly. For it was the season of the sun, of life, of vibrance- but I only seemed to be able to drag myself out from under my drunken mistake ridden sheets once night time arrived. I thrived in the darkness. It made it easier to put my tongue in places it shouldn’t have been, whether that be on a random salty neck or a burning bottle of tequila. It was the same cycle everyday, my goal to forget more than the day before. Until I didn’t remember anything anymore. I desperately wanted to find my way back to my old self, but it was left on the side of a road less traveled. A route with winding trails littered with shards of broken whisky bottles, and with every step I took more blood was drawn. But I was finally letting myself feel the pain instead of forcing its head down to drown in the overflowing liquid in my throat. Hotter than hell, late August brought a new fire to my eyes. I still don’t know how I survived the sweet, sweet summertime.
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 1:18 PM UTC
I’ve been dipping my toes
into his daydream.
The one where silhouettes
dance across the walls,
and unzipped dresses leak off shoulders
like guttered water finding its way
to the soil after a downpour.
The floorboards become puddled silk,
and I realize I wouldn’t mind drowning
as long as it’s in his endless stream of lust.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
You, the dead of winter.
I, the reincarnation of spring.
You’re my gospel, yet
you’ve never believed in faith.
You, the stinger of a honey bee.
I, sunshine and lemon trees.
Always giving you enough sugar
to make life sticky sweet,
but the lemonade seems to remain sour.
I still pour a glass and see it half full,
but you seem to look right past and
view the world half empty.
I experience life through a wide
angle lens, full technicolor.
But you always have tunnel vision,
my monochromatic lover.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC
I forget that my palms
are not your arched back,
as I continue to dig
deep ruby crescents
into thick skin
late in the night.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
I’ve been walking down the city streets,
wild night life running on disco feet.
I hear you with every step I take,
the loud cement cannot take your place.
Rushing blood in cracked bones,
your body was my home,
an avenue not of my own.
But people change with the weather-
saying the sun will make them better,
but 3 straight days of rain just left us
wetter than ever.
4 am reflections in the puddles of what
we used to be, imitations of you and me,
I’m so sick of reliving our tainted history.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Headache of a girl
stepping on sobbing floorboards,
rusty pipes and lonely nights.
I start my own fires,
tend to sweat out kerosene.
Rinse myself with ***** water
dripping from cracks above.
Break open a window-
smoggy air love, right hand slug.
You’re still sound asleep,
yet I stand in the city
interrupted by sirens
and memories of you.
What a pity.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
He’s never good for mouth play,
is only skin deep. Same old, same.
His heart, his tongue, his sweat
don’t come every night and day.
Is the sweet smell worth it?
I lie and wait,
you pick and choose.
But in the end,
there is no I in her.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
There are days when the sky is a vibrant blue and the sun expels its warmth
upon my shoulders,
then there are days when the sky is filled
with nothing but a melancholy grey,
and I embody nothing but the rain.
On those days,
I may have to drink an extra cup of coffee to pull myself out of bed and face the slight suffocation the real world places upon me.
On those days,
I may not have much of an appetite and will push away any thought of food, even though I know I should eat.
On those days,
my eyes may become heavy, filled with just as much water as the storm clouds lingering up above me.
Some days I wake up
feeling as radiant as the sun,
and some days I wake up feeling as
dreary as the rain.
But at least I always make sure to
wake up and be something.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
I thought I could shove you
to the back of my closet,
make you another skeleton with cracked
bones that were never able to mend.
But when it was midnight and my room
was as dark as the moon ridden sky,
I could still hear your blood pumping,
and the sound of your fingernails
clawing at the door searching
for the missing piece of your heart.
I thought I could ignore it,
and silence your scent that somehow
still lingered on my skin.
Until I realized no perfume could
mask the shadow you had casted on me.
So I unbox your pieces
and step back into my old life,
realizing maybe we weren’t dead after all.
The sensation of your lips touching my skin
once again was the warmest my iron lacking body had felt since the day I left.
It’s midnight again,
but I’m back in your room.
It’s as dark as the moon ridden sky,
yet there’s starlight drizzling over your face.
All this time I refused to believe that we were made of the same stardust,
until I finally saw our constellation
finding its way back together.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
Vulnerability is a funny thing. Everyday people urge us to be authentic- with ourselves, our peers, our passions. Yet when we cut ourselves open for the world to see, they run from us as if we are violent rip currents waiting to take them under. When in reality we are nothing but individual tide pools sometimes puddled into something so much bigger than what others want to openly accept.
But I refuse to not live a life of authenticity. So many souls become comfortable with safety, causing them to become deeply implanted in solely just the soil in which they have resided their entire time of growing. Genuine love for something other than yourself has become nothing but a fossil of a feeling. Streams of emotions have dissipated and turned into desert lands.
As for me, I took the time to disappear within myself. I discovered my flatlands and made them curved. Those rip currents everyone always runs from are big, but so am I. A vulnerable soul may be looked at as someone made up of only dainty fallen petals, but the truth is they're looking past someone with roots dug deeper than sunken teeth into bitten skin.
What's authentic to those who shelter themselves like boarded windows in the midst of a storm might as well be forgery to me. I urge you to not be afraid to put your innermost self into another pair of shaky hands. To not hesitate to whisper your deepest ridden thoughts into caverns of a mind that's not your own. To not second guess putting you're ragged edged heart into someone else's hollow chest.
Vulnerability and authenticity meet at an intersection that you must come to terms with stopping at. I hope to see you there.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC