Do you know what homesick feels like?
It feels like pain of heartbreak or guilt or depression. I want to cry everytime I think of my home back in Hawaii.

Do you know what it's like to have no one who understands you? No one that is like you in any common way? I miss home so bad. I miss my friends so bad. It gets even better knowing they don't give a crap that I left.

I hate my life.
I hate El Paso.
I hate my new friends.
I hate my school and my house.
I hate everything.

I wish someone would talk to me about it.
I can't stand keeping this locked up.
It's tearing me inside out.
I don't even think this counts as a poem....

ombre sky from the deepest blue to a sandy shade of
unspoken words
its one of those nights where there is an ambience gathering
around the soft light of the street lamps
and there is a chill in the air, the kind that reminds you
that you will eventually cease to exist
smoking cigarettes is a mysterious thing because
you don't smoke to feel
you smoke to die and although there is a sheet
of black ice licking the bottom of our shoes
and our hands are shaky from too much caffeine
i can not finish these words because
there are no sentences, i can not find the right
combination of 26 letters to say what needs to be said
just know that this night is blurry
and when your hand brushes mine
i no longer need these cigarettes to die

you said you need me like water, like air
as you braided flowers in my hair
and whispered sweet words in my ear
the truth is now, it's all right here
you made me feel alive, free
like there was some good in me
you kissed my flaws, all my scars
and said in my eyes you saw the stars
and life before was just a blur
and you didn't know just who you were
but it was me, your saving grace
you knew it the moment you saw my face
the pain i'd hidden down so deep
unable to cry, it was hard to sleep
but you loved me, gave me a song
watched me breaking all night long
but it was in the morning light
that i found my will to fight
never give up, no matter the trial
learn to let go & how to smile

Skyscrapers and mango trees wearing boxer briefs.

The tantalizing wind blows caressing paperclips and mortuary signs—
turning them indigo red for we all know that dead bodies are nothing but dead.

Hymns of love and soliloquies of the unconscious ego—
Id of our time but men of the past be our hero.
Leaving to wonder, if king Nebuchadnezzar was a crack-feign
would Coca Cola still educate penguins on the importance of Lesbian Existence?

For in this war of life, cockroaches are the real winners,
and the taste of excellence is only reserved for fire extinguishers —

so if nuclear clouds persist,
let the fire burn with love and you lay on the bed of oblivion
cuddling the moral that capitalism leads to schizophrenia.

So insure your sanity for free 99, this, with warm regards from yours truly,

                                                               ­              Rhizome of Golgotha.

i drink whiskey because
after so many
shots
something like a dragon wakes up in my stomach
and crawls out my throat with the exhalation of cigarette smoke
i drink whiskey because the dark brown
mingles with the fire in my veins
and the wild south of my soul is reawakened
a part of my soul that lingers in the bricks of marie laveu's and between alleyways in the french quarter
stirs up like a ghostly collection of downy feathers
and the fear that is carved into my ribcage seeps out
i drink whiskey because the salt of my fingers plays
with the back of my throat
coaxing all this fear out, chased with mason jars of water
i drink whiskey because it makes me feel ugly and fierce
i drink whiskey because it makes it easier for me to burn bridges and sever ties
i drink whiskey because it makes being used by men with pretty faces and holes in their dead chests easier to swallow the next day
i drink whiskey because it makes me rowdy and alive
i drink whiskey because snarling rage needs to be let out sometimes
i drink whiskey because it sobers up my headi drink it because it helps me forget that i didn’t say no
i drink it because it makes me angry about what you did
i drink it because i remember the way your hand pushed mine down and the way your hand curled into a fist in my hair and yanked at the top of my dress
i drink it because i didn’t tell you no

Falling stars make chandeliers and I wish upon each piece
To hope among a million dreams that my chances may increase
Within the creases and cracks of time as future becomes present becomes past
That you won't count me out even if you count me last

My hand, it reaches out for you like many a lover before
Closing my fragile, feeble eyes and opening my hearts door
In all and all in with the wager for a hint of you
No promise to be found in the stars or in the cosmic hue

Love is written on the blackboard of the universe
While passion's written on bed's backboard, gifting touch like verse
And as I lay in roofless rooms I look towards starlit skies
I wish for you and only you to stay eternally

let me love an artist so we can breathe in each other's fumes and get high off of creation and wonder.
let us spill out paints and ink and words and ideas onto a wooden floor and watch as it's corroded and falls away, level by level, until we're so deep that we're reaching into the dirt that surrounds us and slapping it on canvass like cavemen once did.
let you see me fully and not as the crazy girl who can't stop hooping and dancing and moving long enough to see straight, understand that when i run from face to face it's not because i don't want to love you so hard that i'm exploding, it's just that if i don't look into new eyes once in awhile i shrivel up and begin to fade.
let the world look at us and understand nothing, but feel a strange sense of desire to be so unique and drenched in the secrecy of the tiny universe we've created between us to house the wild way we wander over this earth, documenting piece by piece through our hands, eyes, and hearts.