carrying a bridge, i
put myself between
you
r uncountable

thighs. i have one, sometimes
hating itself it wants to be
split in two, sometimes
it wants to have a hole, a room
to peer through

she is my only friend, but
she costs more than my worth

(if this was about the scale,
i broke it already)
sometimes i feel old, not cold
when the temperature drops
i stick my tongue out
and warm myself
from
with
in

(if this was about my grades,
it should've ended
before it even started)

this, a figure
i failed
a long time ago:
a child, a daughter
a face, a friend
a student, a spoiled rich brat
each one has become a stranger
fast
and sharp, right where i want
the hole gone.

i sit in the parking lot
longer than at class
i eat in my car more
than anywhere

the answer sheet is not mine, mister
it's hers
always

It is the aftermath that is of most importance.
The moment where they take their hand and slide it up around their own breast.
Their mouth slightly agape in a moment of
Relief? Ecstasy? Guilt?
There is no word for this feeling.
And then they take their hand further up and ruffle their own hair.
Not too gently but not too roughly;
A swipe.
End to end.
They lay there in solitude.

I gaze upon thee,
And all I see,
But a mere particle of dust
In the cacophonous dark sky.
Our rambunctious attitude startles it's
calm state of mind.
Sending it into an uproar,
Of fire and fury.

The desolation of all known,
A certain redemption of all those alone.

Eons of discourse erode at this star,
Until he lie,
But a mere pile of dust.

is this liquid? i ask
myself because there's no one else
in this room i fall in love with indulgences
never falling out again
i'm a loyal lover of unhealthy desires
if you can call it desire
then i can call myself a lover
of anything that goes through my throat
in and out, in and out
i ask, is this liquid? the bed sheet
is white, translucent at the part
where i lay myself
dry

3/29/2017

steaming july days,
screaming at me that I certainly did not know
what I got myself into

i couldve slashed my throat and
bled onto the connn-creete
and it wouldve boiled

no, you dont understand
no, you dont understand
no you dont understand

you understand? no, dont
you dont understand, no
dont you understand? no?

no...you'll never understand.
twisting our car-seat conversation
back and forth like a rivet

you were right
i didnt understand and i never did, an ingenue
you see back then

i was young for my old age
and old for my young age
who are you now

youve grown your hair out
and youre as woman as me?
a better photographer, too

but youre odd and always will be
i didnt know the indications of looove
i was what i was:

just a
little
girl.

3/29/2017

Time divides us like state lines
coming together,
apart again

After all
the mismatch words
and my would not, could nots

Simmering, cooling
into stability
My past now

Agrees with all the books i read
i am not tortured,
i was

I have said before
that year, you didn't think of me
But i believe you did here is the problem:

Better to not be thought of
than cursed but
maybe they were secular thoughts

Don't you think and
there was an incident at the
canal street station today

Suicide- i was running late i didn't catch the 6:40 train
maybe it is better i did not.
as i got to the platform, hot-to-trot

"They did a good job cleaning
it up," i looked down sick to my stomach
vertigo rising in my chest, ailing at the fact that was my first thought.

the dispenser is out of water & i'm
going to die of dehydration

no kidding. i've really thought about it
and considered it as a way out,
but the pain is unnecessary

so i decided to cross it out.
that's an ancient game already
i've forgotten all the rules.