hey, you.
i don’t know who you are
or what you look like
or where you work.
actually, i don’t care.
you are enough.
  i am a hopeless romantic.
  i hope that doesn’t scare you.
  i just dream of starlit picnics.
  dates on tiny boats in swampy lakes.
  looking into eyes full of diamonds.
i don’t know how this kind of thing works.
i have never had a boyfriend before.
teach me the ropes.

  this letter is awful,
  but i can’t wait for you to come along.
  dear future boyfriend,
  i hope that you’re the one.

my old classmate had a written hit list
one of my teachers was in bold red lettering
i wish i had been on it

i feel like i don’t give the benefit of the doubt for the victims of my poems
they have their own sides of the stories
that they’ll never be able to tell

the moon has craters because those are the steps i envisioned taking before i was born
i was sent to earth instead

panic is the worst responder to stress, but it’s usually the first

hotels are small pieces of home i never got

i am afraid to drink a glass of alcohol
i don’t wanna lose control
besides my mother’s dad was a raging alcoholic and i don’t wanna be like him
his own sister says he’s unbelievably stupid
i don’t want my sister to call me a wreck so i won’t get drunk like other twenty year old kids

i didn’t learn to tie my shoes until the fourth grade because i wanted to ground myself
i ended up breaking an iPad when i learned
was it worth it?
i broke a screen, but earned a skill, cool
i was face-timing my best friend while playing basketball in a made-up hoop when i cracked that screen
the iPad is far gone now, so is she

had boughten lunch all throughout school because i always had to be different than other little children
(i didn’t chose to be)

my favorite artist is one who endured abuse by her boyfriends and possibly her mother
what does that say about me?

never been scouted out by polite boys or cute boys or any boys at all
a few liked me at my old school
but i haven’t seen them for years
and one of them called me ugly
reverse psychology?

always loved holding old fashioned phones to my ears to pretend to be more elegant than i actually am

recently, i have been scared of everything
journalism class, my two name alias at school,
junior year creeping up on me, myself
I JUST WANT TO BE SURE, DANG IT

imagining through the blue light on my screen
whispering profanities at my low life presenting personality
having had brunch with my cousin and my aunt pretending to be more of less of myself
it’s good to know they won’t know my full truth and personality and quirks since they wouldn’t come around anymore if they did
keeping secrets to secure family lines or at least the manifested faulty ties inside my mind
getting more comfortable with the fact that people shouldn’t have identities
never wanting people to know who i truly am or what i stand for

when we are younger we want everyone to be our friend and we don’t judge with cold steel eyes
we go up to the nearest person and we start playing with toys together
of course, i never did since i was the shyest kid ever, walking into kindergarten for the first time was traumatizing for me
kids don’t think about things such as slim waists or “too much” kinds of personalities
i don’t think i was aware of my identity till kids starting calling me ugly and saying they didn’t like me anymore
i came home crying, turning on the shower, knowing i wasn’t good enough for my peers
terrified for the first time in my life that i wouldn’t be accepted and i would be the bullied one on the outskirts
always wanting to be popular and liked was on my mind constantly, but at least i was being  
myself

nowadays, i hide away from people, knowing that when they speak to me i won’t be able to hold a conversation, knowing that they wouldn’t like the version of me that is embedded deep into my skin
my identity lies in my hands, manipulated to feel established, fiddled with to earn head nods

when i am older, in the partying age, someone might want to experiment touching my skin and creating divots where they placed their heavy fingers
might only wanna know what time i go to bed and purposely make me skip it, won’t wanna know what my favorite place to eat is after a long and strenuous cry, won’t wanna know why my identity is so secretive
won’t wanna know the flaws on my body that my mind has scrutinized for years upon years
just like harry styles said in fine line, “spreading you open is the only way of knowing you.”
we are so body and pleasure focused, knowing anyone anymore is like finding a needle in a haystack

sometimes i can be afraid to meet new people because they might not like me or i might never show them my true colors although the latter is a me problem
i’ll make friends who won’t know my favorite band and memorize all their song lyrics like i did when the anxiety was pumping into my veins rapidly
i’ll make friends who will come and go and get buried and get taken advantage of and maybe i won’t know their backstory because they might have chosen to hide their identity one day just like i did

proving your place in this world is exhausting and having a couple friends sprinkled in every capital city is soul *******
it starts to make you feel like these people are only around so you can raise your social status in the midst of robotic people with plastic instead of skin because they always hated their flaws and no one ever said they were beautiful and that it was actually society that shoved botox into their faces
wrinkles aren’t ugly, they are aging factors
stress isn’t avoidable, you can’t pile wax in your face to make it all come to a close

we stop being innocent and thinking the world is pure in middle school, some even earlier
we realize santa doesn’t come down a chimney and give us gifts every year, it’s our literal parents
our parents sell and tell us lies and we believe them because naivety hovers inside our brains
no wonder adults always call kids stupid and inept, they sold us detrimental lies in the first place, telling us to believe in magic, saying that the easter bunny actually came around when we should be talking about Jesus, it’s literally His holiday, God forbid

identity sprouts from human beings desiring to put each other into tiny boxes
“evil, shady, kind, jerky, angsty.”
no wonder everyone’s so ******* up nowadays, they just wanted to be accepted into these tiny labels and they never did so instead they cut themselves and slit their throats
their guts might be considered to be conforming, so the jousters will leave you on your death bed alone, in silence, smiling in ghost form, so happy you made the decision to just cut the world off
some of us aren’t that devoted

i have had plenty of different identities in my life, but never once have i loved myself
even if their lyrics holler “self love” i won’t be able to relate to that
good for everyone who can, it’s just not me
look—right there, what is me?
who am i?
in this world, what should i be, what identity does society want (need) me to be represented by?
but
whoever i am, i hate her

your fists are like cannonballs
hard, closed
you trap me in the palm of your sweaty hands
crushing me
but the warmth is the only temperature i feel
so i stick by your disheartening side

what would you do with all the sand in the world?
if the tides disappeared, a dry land appeared
what would you do?
would you pile it on top of me to smother me?
would you put it over my head to taunt me?
or would you make it fall, ever so slightly around me, filling up my space with sandy fumes, glass trapping me inside?
would you give me a slow death, watch me suffer?
or would you pull me out after seeing me take the brunt of it?
what would you do with all the sand in the world, one may ask?
nothing, just leave it put

was she just a friend when you kissed her chapped lips?
was she just a friend before we called it quits?
did friends ever equate to the same definition of mine?
you could’ve told me so i didn’t have to waste my time.

am i inherently evil cause of my skin color?
do these blue eyes define evil in the shadow of brown eyes?
why must i feel ashamed for my pale skin?
i didn’t chose to be in this body.
didn’t chose to look this way.
half of the time i wanna punch myself in the face and turn purple so my skin color doesn’t protrude through my clothes.
i wanna hide in my blankets, cover my head with a bucket, my legs with a floor length gown.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
let me be someone else.
someone with browner eyes.
someone with black flowing hair.
someone with darker skin.
someone with more joy.
someone from a place prettier than here.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate who i am.
i hate it.
i hate it.
i absolutely hate it.

she was dreams filled with dead trees and dying bees
she could fake tat her entire skin canvas and drive herself insane cause it looked better that way
older men impressed her, they acted like the ocean in which they caught her up in their tides and then she was trapped
she was twisted headphones pushed deep into her eardrums, blocking out the overwhelming echo of negative voices

she wore basic tops and regular ripped jeans to fit in with the rest of the bleach blonde “be fake friends” squad
but she only ever got glanced at
she was rambunctious, but cautious
she took refuge in greasy hair and cardboard cutouts
her bed sunk where she sat just like her heart did when she would feel worth and then it would disintegrate

she cowered in the dark, shadows looming over her, coming alive to terrify her
she was confusion and crises
her insecurities turned against her, choking her and catapulting her against the nearest wall
she was rabid social anxiety shouting at her 24/7, shaking her, berating her, changing her
hair fell in clumps in the shower, the faucet raining down on her, disguising her tears
she was short curly strung out brunette hair

she filled voids with smiles from people she didn’t even know
painted her walls black to cover up the darkness she could feel circulating in her soul
she was overgrown weeds corrupting luminous gardens, invading the soft soil buried beneath the rugged surface
a balancing act wavering on insanity and death, dithering whether to end it all or to let psychiatrists determine what her main issue is
she had an avoiding tendency, not wanting to hear the truth pour out of choosers’ mouths

she was admirable though, she gathered all her thoughts and apprehensions and threw them on paper using ink pens to secure its existence
she never let it get too out of hand, she returned to her safe haven; her room, where she would make her knuckles sore from bawling cause she would not strike someone other than herself for destroying her pride
it had to be her fault in the first place

she struggled, but she got up, climbed the cliff with jagged edges, arrived at summit with ****** ribs and scraped knees and hands rubbed raw
she swallowed the pain like it was some chalky tasting pill, not grieving herself, not mumbling one complaint
she’s strong
she’s proud
she’s accomplished
she’s alive
she’s who i am now

there’s something about belonging
that sounds so sweet
his clutch on my skin
my devastation from his manic-like episodes
his huge sweater dangling off my body
something like being someone’s pawn
look in the mirror and tell me who you are
without a him

the dance floor is crowded and the floor shines like it was freshly polished.
dresses fitted tightly and loosely, dresses purple, blue, yellow, unladylike.
hands moving like torpedoes, high kicks, deep dips, choreographed nonsense.
twirls, spinning in tent like shapes, hips gracefully swaying as the trumpets scream.
waltzing my way back into reality, into the arms of a familiar stranger.
clouded with the strawberry coated thoughts of a busted up balcony with my dance partner swinging me into a trance.
must have been love in the folds on your forehead, must have been love in the lights reflecting on the dance floor, must have been love in that gloomy air upstate, must have been love where i never saw it appear before, must have been love; nothing else has ever made me feel the same brilliant surge of energy as your touch on my back.
it must have been true love.

the beat of drums pounded into her heart
releasing signals in her brain to jolt her head up and down to the rhythms.
she sang and screeched and carried on long into the night as she kissed the cheeks of some man who called her cute.
she returned home with his tattooed arm in her coat, clutching onto her for dear life; the way he should have treated his phone on the dance floor.
he flopped on the sofa, slurring his words like a sorority girl; hammered.
he blacked out belligerently drunk on her couch and at one in the afternoon he arose, coughing, residue on his fingers.
his face covered in drool from sleeping dramatically like a madman.
she handed him an advil, a glass of purified water, and her phone to call someone he had had any contact with before.
his face was pale and sickly; she could tell he felt crushed by the weight of his bewilderment.
his eyes, though strung out, were jet blue with a glimmer of teenage angst and a spark of the hopeful nature of a child in a field of dandelions.
he uttered few words and collapsed into the firm motherly hold of the couch, struck from exhaustion.
he gazed up at her, who was half naked since she had only been awake for three hours and had nowhere to go because she was too embarrassed to bare the bruises in the creases of her neck to the public.
but instead of speaking to her, he started gulping down the water after taking 3 pills of advil to make the pain disintegrate.
carefully, he set the chilly cup down and stood up slowly and steadily.
he gasped feebly, but managed to prop himself up on his two wobbly legs.
“you alright there?” she asked as casually as possible, to make him perceive her as less of a threat.
“where am i?” he inquired to this woman he faintly recalled.
“oh,” she giggled, “my house. you blacked out on my couch yesterday and i didn’t want to move you, you looked so peaceful, so i just left you there. hope you’re ok with that.”
“okay with that?” he asked gently.
“well yeah, i’d feel pretty worried if i ended up at a random strangers house on a saturday morning.”
he chuckled.
“well, to answer your question, yes i am quite confused, but i am a free spirit. so this is basically just a new experience i can add to my repertoire.”
she raised an eyebrow. “repertoire?” she pondered.
“well, i write music for a living.” he smiled sumptuously.
“you do?” her cheek bones got visibly higher and her eyes didn’t have the same troubled look to them as they did a few minutes ago.
“yes. i am not a very good musician, but my band and i get by. we play gigs at places. oh right, like last night. we were playing for fun and then...oh! a girl was kissing me. now i remember!” he was quite proud of himself for that.
“well, that’s the funny thing,” she started, “i was the one who was kissing you.” she laughed briskly.
“you were?” he asked, totally perplexed.
“of course. i didn’t know you were playing for that place last night, i thought you were a waiter or a pedestrian or something. ooh, or an alcoholic!”
“ouch.” he grinned delicately.
“no, no offense though.”
“too late, i already took it to my cast iron heart,” he joked.
she laughed.
“well, you were one cute waiter at that,” she stated seductively.
he smiled with his lips pushing into his mouth a little bit.

“thanks for everything. the couch, the advil, the talk. maybe you should see me another time. i play at bars all around the city. i’d love to see more pretty girls come around and hype me up once in a while.” his grin turned into a beam.
“no problem, i suppose i would like to spend some time around people who are rich and aren’t fun sponges,” she joked effortlessly.
“i can be sometimes.” her little giggles poured out of her mouth.
“well, i’ll see you around. hit those drums!” she called out to him as his uber arrived.
“sure thing!” he waved as he entered the car.
and for the first time in forever, his heart caused him to feel more emotions than his wicked hangover.

IF ALL THE PLACES I WENT WERE STRETCHED OUT ON MY PALMS, I’D SCREAM FOR THE PLACES I HAVEN’T GONE, THE EXPERIENCES I NEVER EXPERIENCED. I COULD SCREAM AND SHOUT AT THE WORLD, BUT ALL IT WOULD EVER DO IS TOSS ME IN THE DUNGEON OR WRING ME OUT LIKE A WASHCLOTH USED TOO MANY TIMES. I FEEL THE SHEETS I AM GRIPPING TIGHTLY ONTO, I FEEL MY HEART SURGING AND RELEASING AND I AM A HUMAN. A LIVING BREATHING DEPRESSED ANXIETY FILLED ORGANISM. IF ALL THE PLACES I HAVEN’T GONE REVOLTED AGAINST ME, I’D BE IN FOR A ROUGH RIDE, BUT THE WORLD DOESN’T RUN LIKE THAT. THE PEOPLE WITH MACHINES INSTEAD OF HEARTS AND SCOWLS INSTEAD OF SMILES ARE TAKING OVER, THEY ARE POISONING THE SOIL, DAMPENING THE DRYWALL. THEY SELF DESTRUCT TO THE SOUND OF THE TRUTH OR THE WORD “RIGHT.” THEY WEAR DARK SPRAY PAINTED SUNGLASSES TO COVER THEIR EYES FROM THEIR ISSUES ARISING. THEY ARE GUILTY. THEY ARE CRUEL. THEY AREN’T THE NICE KIND HEROES FOR MANKIND THEY MAKE THEMSELVES OUT TO BE. THEY ARE ALIVE, THEY DO NOT GET TO SPEAK FOR THE UNBORN OR FOR THE PLACES THEY’VE NEVER STEPPED FOOT IN. YEARS AND CENTURIES AGO, EXPLORERS WERE LOOKING FOR THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH, INSTEAD THEY FOUND THE FOUNTAIN WHERE HALFWITTED ADULTS MADE LIFE THREATENING DECISIONS FOR THE YOUTH OF TODAY AND TOMORROW AND CALLED IT FAIR. THERE IS NO FOUNTAIN OF SALVATION, THERE IS NO FOUNTAIN FOR THE YOUTH IN ANY COUNTRY OR PLANET IN THIS UNIVERSE. THERE IS NO REST. AND THERE IS ALWAYS UNREST OVER THE RIGHTEOUS WAYS. PEOPLE ALWAYS FIND A WAY TO ASSOCIATE WITH DEMONS AND LABEL IT “FUN AND MORALLY CORRECT.”

i don’t crave your big green eyes
but you’re using them to watch over somebody else.
i know this relationship is over
but i wish i could’ve ended it with somebody else.
and i don’t like that you’re sharing drinks with another woman
who sells her body to get money
wouldn’t you have liked to be with somebody else?
she has your favorite songs on cds and i never did
i wish you could’ve ended up loving somebody else.
somebody who’s rude to waiters, somebody who is only good for a first date or
at least somebody else.
now i have to hide my cold hands under my winter coat
cause you’re too busy holding somebody else’s.
your dog still loves me more
but he has to spend some time with somebody else.
just like you went and forgot me
cause it was more beneficial to see yourself with somebody else.
now you’re happy go lucky
since you’ve replaced me with somebody else.
lonely eating ice cream
while you’re shoving it down in the house of somebody else.
perhaps, i don’t miss your company
i’ve just been enjoying it more with somebody else.
or maybe this is hopeless
and i should let you make love to somebody else.

i don’t want your body
but i hate to think about you with somebody else.

snapped out of existence
in a rustic flannel
lying at the bottom of a pit
far into the mushy ground
the core of the earth
pinned against my ribs
lips as cold as the Antarctic
stomach as empty as words
left to rot
as rain descends
on my emaciated corpse

the red light distorts the cigarette smoke coming out of your nose. in the haze, i’m caught up writing prose with a bottle of coke in my left hand. trying not to choke on the heavy smoke ruminating throughout the suffocating room. your eyes the same shade of blood red as the lights. i’m boarding windows claiming i need no fresh air in my paper mâché lungs. pollute me more.

candle wax dripping down your hands
a tablecloth tied around your waist
dawn feels like the apocalypse
cause it’s so still
and endless
we’re both helpless in this realm
but you are gripping me so tight
i’m going numb
how come you can ease this pain
with your bruised arms
hidden underneath the tablecloth?
immortal love
is a concept i only heard of in the
highest heavens
speaking of that, where are we?
gravity seems too difficult of a subject
matter to explore
i’ve only ever been on one planet
but you can be my next
although the dark seems like
a cloaked monster with
bear claws
and candle wax
seeping from every vessel
it can’t envelop us
it can only change our ambience
nothing can capture us
through the tight grasp
of our arms together

where did you come from?
cause i lit every candle in this room
now they’re all blown out
and the darkness doesn’t exist
science can’t explain this
neither can my lips
so i dance in the burning kitchen
with your hands on my waist
and mine on the tablecloth
you wrapped around yours

“forever?”

                             “forever.”

it was when you looked at me as the fireworks exploded in your eyes that i realized this is what life should be like

ballrooms and bokeh lights

the water, though murky
is full of life
in all forms
juveniles, females, males
fish, dolphins, whales
heck, even coral

your heart, though cloudy and guarded
is teeming with life  
a pulse slowed in tempo for love
for stability, for affection

you are like the ocean- though murky- it is still the most beautiful wonder on earth

there were people dining in a roller skating rink
i was a waitress in a tiny skirt
you saw me
possibly in the corner of your eye
i was pretending i didn’t see you
but it didn’t matter
cause you saw me.
you were so excited
for...me?
i thought you hated me
but you brought me over and
begged with your eyes for me
to extend my arms and
embrace you
i did, cause why not?
and then
it faded to black.
now it’s back to reality.
yes, it was just a dream.

happy birthday to the best friend who left me in the dust. who left me to fend for myself and my frail bones. i guess i am wishing you a happy birthday from an app whilst your new friends are probably throwing you a rager, but i am not mad. i am never mad at you.

some of the best memories and moments that came from you; they sure aren’t the same:
you told me about stranger things, that was the first i heard from it. now the fourth season has come out and i haven’t heard a peep. and don’t even think i forgot about how you told me the entire plot and how scared you were in your little bedroom in your old and memory filled house. how the horror lined your bones and made you tense. and you couldn’t forget it even as the night air twinged your skin. it stung a little as you begged to forget you ever saw the demagorgan or realized will was missing.
i still watch the dang show.

you and i trampled around in the woods with my older sister who you were super close with because i couldn’t leave her alone. you ate some snow and i told you it would be *****, but you said it’s clean.
don’t eat the yellow kind.

my teacher and you had the same birthday. as well as donald trump. but he doesn’t matter. you laughed with her and showed her your teeth. must be nice to be birthday buddies with someone. someone who desired to be.
you better wish her a happy birthday.

i was jealous back in fourth grade because you liked leah better...or so i thought. you sat on the opposite end of the table although i told you to set yourself by me. it bothered me. walls of jealousy put up just because i realized that was the first time i had low self esteem. a picture of you and i at the lunch table still made the year book.
leah was in it though.

sleepovers at your house. that same stupid house. in a different town than you live now. by the pit bulls you told me about as soon as you moved in. you better have gotten that pepper spray to ward them off. anyway, i brought my sleeping bags and threw em’ in your mother’s car. you played basketball and i had to watch from the sidelines. with your dang mom and dad. your dog ate our popcorn when we clothed it in salt cause of course God gave me allergies to everything i can see. we laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. or the time when you invited all your sporty friends from other schools and they made me uncomfortable. they were too mature and riskay for my nine year old liking. we watched the sand lot.
i am on the bench.

and it’s your birthday. another year has passed and you’re still gone. i think it’s too surreal for me to handle, so i keep writing you little notes (or long ones) hoping you’ll stumble your way back to me.
i still miss you but

happy birthday for now

blood courses like crimson rivers
in my cells
i envision darkness through the corners of my eyes
****** into the core of this earth
we never get out, do we?
we never change, actually
i know us humans
lying is our defense mechanism
we can’t capture oxygen in our lungs
without running off our tongues
people don’t lose touch
they consciously “forget” something that isn’t convenient for them
a person
it’s that simple
it isn’t rocket science
they make it quite apparent
we never change
our bones grow
but our souls-
they don’t
they just age along with what we are taught
what knowledge our brains can wrap themselves around
so we create new memories
but we never truly move on from the past ones
they stick like honey
along the walls
breathe-
they won’t dissipate
they don’t dissolve
people don’t change
people are selfish
they want your body and they’ll do whatever they want to touch it
no matter your decision
unless you ruthlessly punish them
or let the storm do all the ***** work
we cry with the sixty percent of liquid sloshing inside of our skin suits
we pound on the outer edge
sometimes scream to let us-
the hostages-
out
but somehow
conveniently
they forget we ever meant anything more than a change in the air
a change in their environment
a little switch
people don’t change
no matter what they say
the amount of times they’ll say they are sorry
they’ll never actually mean it
with every fiber of their being
you 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 change
your petite self ain’t gonna change him
he’ll still go out with girls upon girls
and open up doors
and legs
he’ll still reprimand you for doing absolutely 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠
like being 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝
he wants you in 𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑐
he wants you 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟
people don’t change
ever since the fourth grade
he’s been beating himself up cause he was always so 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒
so 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦
so 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠
and you can’t fix that
with the fragments left of your kindhearted heart
people don’t change
we’ll never escape
school is just preparing you for more school
work waits patiently with you
for retirement
your back burns from trying to staple your spine back into what it was a few years ago
the crushing of skulls
is the only motivation you’re receiving
i sat in a 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦 desk
my gluts were aching
as i just had to sit there until the grim reaper lifted my feet up
he left me hanging there on the rope-
i don’t even believe in the grim reaper
he ain’t gonna collect my cold and desolate body and place it somewhere-
in a grave
where people who will never be better
will place me in the ground
they’ll be corpses soon
but they aren’t aware of that
cause we get no due date
for our own deaths
no warning
unless you’re slowing deteriorating on a hospital bed surrounded by white walls that
swallow you up like a man-eating whale
people don’t change
life slams into you with the force of a ten million ton freight train
it leaves faster than a scared and lonely teenager when they are asked if they are fine-
quick note: they are never ever ever ever fine
asking that question won’t do anyone any good
won’t cause their bodies to slow the process called life
that stings more than death will ever be capable of
people don’t change
they only like to think they do
so they can act like they are changing the world
when they are really just getting 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟 and
𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟