Your home will shatter

Emotionally not physically

The wood panels still fused

But your security dissipated

Dishes still in the kitchen sink

But your routine in shards



You will pack up

Backpack up on your back

And down on the ground

In your new compound

You will attempt to create anew

And you will

But it is unlike before

It will never be like before



So you will try a return

You will, desperately,

Grasping for breath,

Ride your bike to that old gate

That old entrance to that previous exit



But I regret to inform you,

It is no longer your home

He might invite you in but only to see a new couch

Some other woman is in the groove

But it’s not even the one you once made

The bathroom will look the same

Same  portrait

Same book on top of the toilet

But a new towel hangs

And it’s no longer the perfume of your shampoo filling the room



I am so sorry but

You will feel like you are in a bad dream

Everything is familiar

Everything is yours in a no longer tucked away memory

It is still real if you open it and prolong it

It is still yours in some existence

Where that moment froze and never stopped

But it is changed

At the same exact time

It is hurdling forward as fast as it is still

It is as foreign as it is memorized

Everything is off on the same track



I am sorry but you can never go home

They say that after the Big Bang
It was a myriad of collisions that began to form our universe.
Masses of gasses hurling into each other,
not to explode and dissipate
but to violently combine and form
the entirety of existence.

On one of the floating specks
Formed from those chemical crashes
I exist
Constantly searching
for something
anything
with which to collide.

Dark, warm bed
After bed
After bed,
Ingenuine, primal ******
after ******
after ******,
and I return to my cluttered mind
More unsatisfied and lost than before each orchestrated clash.

My biggest fear has always been car crashes.
Stories of dead families strewn across a ****** highway have haunted my nightmares since I could strap in my own carseat.
But they also say fear is love
and now at twenty,
I embody
Shards of broken glass
more than a walking soul shell
that mistaken minds call a body.

And as I lay touched and swollen,
with the taste of too many someones' in my mouth,
I think I might crash a car into a star and see if maybe then
instead of aching as a million pieces I become violently whole.

His name was slapped across my moving boxes
the last label and favor he ever gave me
But sitting in an empty room, clear carpet
Except for his sickly guts across one corner
(Second to last parting gift, yaking new year!)
I saw that I had
hit refresh.

All my belongings:
Bed,
Clothes,
Pride
Were puzzled into a car ready to never return.
So I
steam cleaned the stain and
swept each Newport fragment from the porch and into the boxes,
X-ed over 7 letters,
and plopped them down in the dumpster.

I used to think a clean break was an oxymoron
And moving on, a cliche
But in my new room,
even my mind is pristine
because no dust of our past remains.

paper thin hypocrisies

smoking and shouting smoldering “**** the democracy”s

if growing up meant going up

without the down,

i’d weigh you up

and shut you down.

but gravity’s a *****

and karma just knows

so we pick a flower

every hour

downtown and up the road.