it doesn’t feel so good
watching you drown
after all—
but,
at least, i say,
we’re down here together.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 3:11 AM UTC
why are the walls always blue...
in the places where it hurts to be?
in the places where i watch
a little girl you grow up through pictures of
a little happy family in
a house that’s big and round...
who am i in this story?
.
trailer park trash assuming the role of
dignified enough to be
in that house...
with a kitchen island,
and a garden, and a beautiful, bright blue
fish tank...?
**** you.
**** you for having what i wish i had
when i was small,
when my parents first cracked my head open,
and accidentally filled it with illness and
bugs
from our gross, apartment floors...
for i did not grow up with a happy garden
or through pictures that mommy
keeps on her wall...
if you are unhappy, i must live in ******* hell.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 8:43 AM UTC
creation builds houses...
brick after brick,
and
she works hard in the face of adversity.
creation builds a house,
and i build a home,
for tiny children... but i cannot keep them
warm.
you don’t believe me, when
i say that
things are not well... but when
have you ever had an answer,
anyway?
all blank-faced, and
angry...
i guess...
i was meant to be alone,
because
creation means building a house.
and
being someone means keeping it
warm.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
i can’t laugh the way i used to laugh.
not for you ...
and not here...
and i can’t create circles just to
run around in
squares, as if i didn’t give you
a piece of me and then
more than all that...
do you remember how we would
watch movies together,
about girls with white hair who would
go swimming
in oceans made of trees?
and do you remember how you
never used to tell me i was wrong,
back when you still understood that it
wasn’t your
place
to fight me...
because...
i remember that.
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
prosperity comes in…
prosperity comes…
she comes in...
shades of black and blue,
like bruises
when you hit me and tug on my hair,
and like
apples that ripen and then soften...
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
i am four
and i learn how to cower:
to put away
my disobedience,
my words,
my innocence,
and look at you like an animal.
i am ten and i know how to cower...
and how to go to school,
and how to live alone,
but by now, i’ve learned to wish
for things greater than mom just
coming home and for you to simply
stop
screaming.
so i turn fourteen, but still you are
evil, and i,
broken…
a doll, that grows but does not extend its
limbs
past the deep end
or grows any new sets of teeth.
i age into fifteen and get broken by someone else...
and then i turn sixteen, as time goes on,
i guess,
and still feel broken, but this time its
different than from when you first
broke me,
and i become harder but happier…
sadder, but sharper when in a
stasis, and
try to heal through watching people have a love
for others...
but i fail, and still become happy,
anyway
and
finally, it is now, and i can say i grow up,
as i will always
continue to grow, and when you come back,
i extend my hand in thinking
it’s finally safe when
you grasp it again...
and break all of my fingers.
it is now,
and i learn how to cower.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 1:56 AM UTC
you could be such a handsome, loving boy,
and live in a
big,
nice house
if you didn’t insist on treating me like this...
you know?
we could be neighbors, the
two of us, the
kind who smile and wave at each other at eight in
the morning before we drive to work.
.
.
you at the office, and me...
also
at the office.
can you even imagine:
laughing at whatever winter wonderland party
they hold
with no worries,
no secrets,
no walls...
but i have given up,
as you have grown cruel,
still thinking of me in that mean, wretched way,
despite the fact that you probably say you don't really care...
but you're just that animal,
the one
you turned into for him-- what
do they call them again?
pigs?
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:05 PM UTC
you stand among us,
as though we were not shattered when
you took apart all that we made
to give you...
and i become that seething
sniveling,
mess on the floor...
when you tell me that you are leaving again,
as if i didnt just
create love to place in
your hands,
a kiss and a blooming rose, you
are all that i am,
and yet
still i feel lonely,
empty,
as you stand before me,
naked and in pieces,
but singing on a stage that i made just
for you.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
i pull down my pants,
underpants,
and then i pull down my skin,
and it seems as though there has been blood stains
there
since forever,
so when i look down and greet each thigh,
i have begun to greet the floor
as well...
in thinking that they would laugh, when
i trim myself in the mirror,
i
make cutting motions and
pretend
to slice open my skin and everyone else
who says i am
not worth it
..
but my curves are warm when they hug me,
and i think
i see a girl hiding
between their folds, in the dark...
lost,
but in her own body.
so when people look at me, i've learned now
to cower,
to put away my teeth, my hair,
my words of indignation,
and
turn into that tiny girl, where
i'm always safe, always small...
always alone.
where i am crucified, but loved,
hungry, but not wanting,
satiated...
but only for now.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
so you say that we are from the people
who buried their dead
with flowers.
and you say that when
the world ends, we will simply learn to fall
apart.
i wonder,
if there will still be love when we convince
ourselves
that everything is still alright.
but how can we love the children that
we lie to…
and how can we trust those who
we forsake…
when you look me in the eyes next time,
or when you look at that spot, right beside
me,
i will remember our dead,
and i will remember
how you never truly meant to leave flowers.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 1:28 AM UTC