once I was yours, truly.
now hate is a blanket I wrap around myself,
but despite its comfort my blood still runs cold.
I’d rather shiver in its warmth
than ever let you touch me again.
it’s worthless rage –
a feeling I use to stitch old wounds.
it never stays together long enough to heal,
but it only unravels when I am alone.
in a room full of observers,
I choke down all the names I could call you.
I put my grief in a costume,
powder its nose and paint its eyelids,
until we're not wearing the same face.
my only memory is a light.
I think you tore it out of me.
I think I stopped breathing.
I think my lips turned blue.
I woke up the next morning,
and haven't felt a pulse since.
you threaded needles through me,
hung me up and played with the strings.
a marionette never moves unless manipulated;
a marionette never speaks for itself.
once I had no choice but to be yours, truly.
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 12:56 PM UTC
you speak in soft daggers.
I put on my best performance for you.
I bleed and bleed and bleed,
throwing towels on the floor beneath me.
love is an insatiable wound that can't be mended;
an affliction that will swallow me whole.
and though I am moribund,
I'm still apologizing for the mess.
I'm still thinking about the carpet.
I catch glimpses of you in spotted vision.
I hear your footsteps head towards the door.
I remembered to keep it unlocked this time.
the same love may never come twice,
but different love always leaves the same way.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
I'm jealous of the sun,
for it gets to kiss your face every morning.
it gets to caress your cheeks,
and watch as your eyes flutter open,
a sight I long to see.
and I'm jealous of the moon,
for every night it gets to lull you to sleep.
as it cradles you in its soft light,
I wonder how it would be
if it were my arms around you instead.
and I'm not sure if this is potential.
you planted my hopes in love and let them grow.
this is a garden I was hesitant to tend to,
afraid it would wither once it had my attention.
but now the flowers are in bloom -
reaching for the sky,
the way I reach for you.
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC
my body has taught me
everything I know about forgiveness.
it has pulled me through despair,
one foot in front of the other,
then closed the wounds left from my resistance.
it has turned the light in my eyes back on;
I can see the future again.
I must teach my body
everything I know about being forgiven.
I will not pick apart what was fixed
just to prove that it was broken.
I will not open old scars
just to prove that I was hurting.
I will not walk through hell again
just to prove that I was burning.
I will exist as I am now,
if only to prove that I can.
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 2:03 AM UTC
I've set old limbs atop a funeral pyre:
hands that reach towards the past,
and legs that carry me there,
wrapped in skin too tight to wear.
I mourn with flames in my hand,
but it's either that body or mine.
so I set alight my desire to live
and it fights to burn down
my mind's desire to **** me.
I think the procession will go on forever.
I've been wearing a veil for weeks now
and that body has not yet turned to ash,
but from the fire is beginning to rise
a person I will learn to love.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 1:57 AM UTC
the last landmine is set off in my head.
I surrender to myself.
I beg myself to spare me.
I grovel at my own feet.
I ask my body,
*how can you ever forgive me
for being so cruel?*
there is silence.
then the wounds turn to scars.
from somewhere inside myself
I hear a voice say,
the same way I always have.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 2:05 AM UTC
I am my reflection's marionette,
and it has turned me inside out.
I am bones and bones and bones.
my skin has collapsed in on itself:
a body like a star that's been crushed
underneath the weight of its weight.
my world is upside down.
all the blood has rushed to my head,
forcing the illness to vacate its home.
the malignant weakness pours into my limbs
until they are too heavy to lift without the strings.
cut me open and only shame comes out.
numbers begin where I last felt alive,
and end when I do.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC
every year you recycle the wish
of something to wish for.
there is nothing you want
except something to want.
there is a glimmer of hope
burning above a frosted foundation.
you will extinguish it
with an empty mind
just like you always do.
next year, you won’t light a candle.
you won’t set the room aglow
and your eyes will stay dressed in black.
darkness cannot be the absence of light
if you never have it in the first place.
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 4:13 PM UTC
living in my body feels a lot
like waiting for a home to be foreclosed.
I know I must be leaving soon
because the signs are all there,
I just don’t know if it will ever feel right.
I suppose it never does.
living in my body feels a lot
like taking the locks off of my front door.
too many people have attempted to wander in,
lovelorn and lost and lonely,
and I’m starting to wonder if being open
was my first mistake.
now it’s too late to replace the locks,
to take down the signs,
to reclaim what was once mine,
because this home is inhabited
by someone else.
living in my body feels a lot
like waiting for a home to be foreclosed.
I know I must be leaving soon.
everything is in boxes
and all that’s left is this
empty space.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 3:40 AM UTC
I throw my voice down a wishing well.
it ricochets against the brick,
then crumbles to the ground.
repeat after me.
you are worthy.
my affirmations stumble out of my mouth,
and I wait for my voice to return to me.
my eardrums wait for the words
to knock some sense into them.
silence plays an elegy.
repeat after me.
you are loved.
you can lead your head to sunlight,
but you can't make it think.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 1:26 AM UTC