the ocean swallows me.
this midnight is a still midnight,
where the birds don’t coo and the waves don’t move.

the emptiness is not the ruler of all.
the tides continue to wash over the beach.
each wash of water awakening its earthly daughter.

each blush in my cheek i was taught to be ashamed of,
every desire deserved to be stomped on, twisted at the bottom of a shoe.
each nightfall i am forced to be tamed.

a seafaring sailor, drunk on each lifeless wave,
carving through sea walls.
i once believed in magic, but i have grown up and i know

that every sickness is a truth revealed
that every doubt can drown you, child.
that every word i’ve interwoven in your story has kept you reading,

candle-lit and curious.
that every reason i once had goes out with the tides,
that every blessing has six bullets and a sharp knife.

that the sea can feel like home,
an immense calling that never ceases.
that the world alone is meant to burn

each finger, each word
that i could ever sing, speak, or whisper.
that every human is incapable of loving you.

that every human is a desert
when all i need is an ocean,
a constant, a still midnight.

i’ve been stuck
and you’re here.
your silky clothes,
your gentle understanding.
does the night seem heavy to you?
does it make you die inside?
does it make your bones shake
and your heart ache?
does the day take its toll,
leaving you an empty shell?
does it bring sadness in its arms?
does it leave hope dead in your yard?
all i’ve known is the void,
a sizable gap inside of my body,
a place no one dares to explore.
how am i stuck in a rotting bed,
in a world that’s unforgiving but won’t take the blame?
what will i do when the branches i climb collapse
and break these legs of mine?
fragile limbs.
frost bite.
what will you do
when the hole in my heart gets bigger
and i cannot hold it inside of me anymore?
if you cradle me, like the baby, the child i once was,
will i see my parents in your eyes?
will all this confusion make it even clearer
that your strength will carry me out of the deepest ditch?
my limbs are failing.
will you lift me to bed when i cannot climb the stairs?
lay me to rest, away from all the pain
and suffering in the living room
making jokes at someone else’s expense.
no one ever asks me to stay.



but you do.
you always do.

i was never what you truly wanted, i was just someone to look to.
look for me on the road
either scattered or waving hesitantly,
warm sunlight beaming down upon my shoulders.
you were what i truly wanted, i was just too scared to tell you.
deathly afraid you’ll see how much you mean to me
and then you’ll disappear into the corpse of our love.
i’m so terrified to tell you,
so sick of being unsure.
sick of being second;
all i want is to be heard.
and if you do not adore me
how will this all go?
when i love you till i’m dying quick,
how fast will you hold me?
oh, how fast you know me.
when no one quite understands,
i hear your voice and smile,
wishing you would speak to me,
i haven’t seen you in a while.
i’m always second pick
i’m sick of being pushed to the side
i miss you—i miss us.
i miss every conversation.
every contemplation of whether i’m in love with you,
every expectation you had of me,
every quiet moment where i didn’t feel like exploding.
i wonder if you know that you know me better than anyone.
i wonder if you know you’re all i think about when i’m lonely.
i wonder if you know i love you.

more? there’s nothing to give.
not with my sore pale hands
clutching every last fiber that stands
between our two shapes.
not with my bloodshot eyes
pleading for responses that eat at every surface.
not with my black dying heart
wincing at the sight of every disaster that, in vain, keeps me alive.
not with my hollow brain
the fight or flight tendencies defining the reactions i give.

you want more?
there’s nothing to give.
there never was anything
to give.

need a friend?
the doubts live inside of me like citizens
that walk slowly in courthouses ready to sue.
all their passions are out of wack,
they only know how to survive by shooting down others.
every hollow house i was led to, hand in hand,
as i trusted you to guide me.
i need a friend.
i need the fever, the fire, the rage, the shooting star, the red seething blood.
any warmth to remind myself of tenderness,
even if it is without at the core.
i need anticipatory silence, waiting your filthy hands to slap the dinner table and i rush to clean the shattered plates.
don’t hurt me,
be gentle,
don’t make me smaller.
make me smaller,
make me writhe,
make me smaller,
quieter, less of a burden.
be responsive,
make me spill.
i need a friend.
the panic has large hands that choke me,
has a large frame to push me deep
and never lift me out.
though, i will not make do with violence,
i am not silent when it comes to love that festers.
need a friend?
the breaths i take will be for you.
the day is wicked
and you are so tender,
i would like this meal to be filling,
i would like you to stay a while.

and i’m swallowing each impossible love
and letting it fill my stomach lining.
i have touched this ****** with shaky palms.
i have taken my fill,
i have loved, lost, loved, and gave birth to a body i never conceived i would.
i have been in my own company
each night with stacked dishes and undone laundry
and puffy eyes that cannot seem to shrink.
i’m swallowing each sweet nothing as if it belongs to me—as if you belong to me.
through flesh and blood, i see your insides.
they are living. your aura. the soft delicate smooth manner in which you exist.
i live to see the sunrise from your bedroom window in a nightgown,
observing whole towns awakening
as our hearts have never known another
as clearly worth living for.
we are alive and i’m swallowing each emotion
i forced myself to deny.
i breathe what i feel, i am what i want, i am wanting
and oh dear, there is nothing wrong with that.

i am a dying wish—yours to be specific.
the wish dying in your arms every time the sun makes its rotation around the Earth.

there’s no life in me; i am a carcass strewn over the highway,
crushed and mangled and torn to shreds.

what if, if after every pound i lost,
i lost more of myself?
a skinny figure who changed herself to please a piece of glass.

when you said my name, i felt like you would leave me in a cornfield unconsciously anonymous,
yet you streaked my sky.
i’m shedding tears like skin, like burdened rain
seeping from the clouds on a day the world decides to die a little.

when the night is still, my muscles tense up.
i’ve been waiting for the memory of you to remember me,
dancing shameless on the ledge,
unafraid to look childish, knowing you were the first to make the empty void cease.

wide-eyed at the ceiling, losing two strands of hair in the shower, mailing you my address, begging you to stay.
you won’t—i won’t let you.

i am a foggy backroad, you cannot see through me.
all you’d see is a figure, clutching her stomach,
pinching herself for eating two meals,
for not resisting the temptation to feed the pressing hunger.

in your mind, the quietness i exude is only when my brain is confined.
there are shapeless memories and words that float until my arms are strong enough to grab them.

what if after every pound i lost, i lost more of myself,
drifting away into an unwelcoming atmosphere, unfit for someone as bewildered as me?

what if i love you and i don’t know what to do with that
so i write on a night with no moon visible from my bedroom window
and i lie awake wondering whether you are dreaming of me or whether you love me too
or whether we are nothing
but two memories floating,
remembering the other as their favorite one?