i’ve watched the same show for over two weeks
and when my favorite character was falling apart,
it put a damper on my mood.
i am that attached..
to fiction.
it wasn’t even real and i still cried in my bed
with my hair concealing my eyes.
i never like to think of myself as the most empathetic person out there,
it was a sudden jolt in my nature.
perhaps i see myself in his wild eyes,
not the wicked side,
but something in him that reflects in my heart.
i’m repulsed by my poetry.
i wouldn’t even consider it poetic in any way.
i tell my close friends that i write poetry
and i like to think that they scoff at that idea.
i told my retiring teacher that i wrote poetry
and she gave me her email.
what makes her think i’m good enough to be read throughly by an english teacher of forty years?
kinda ironic since i’m posting on a poetry website.
i’m embarrassed of my efforts,
ashamed of my achievements.
see, i’ve never been good at anything
i played basketball in middle school
and my friend would always say that i bombed a shot or i needed to do something more involving.
my past crush even said i was too short to play or something.
i tried being nice for a day because my sister and mother were telling me i was too mean,
i swear i’m not.
but i tried to be nice
and bad things still happened
and i called people rude names.
i’m not good at staying prompt to journaling
like tumblr girls at their highest.
catch my drift, i have never been good at anything,
and poetry is the only thing that makes me feel like i’m alive
who cares if it’s actually well written?
it’s self expression.
i hope everyone at least tries to write one poem once in their lifetime,
it changed my life.
step one: find a muse, trust me, if you have a good one, you might not even experience writers block
(that’s an overestimate, but sure)
step two: write about anything and everything.
write about your drive to work, how the highway signs started to feel like heartbeats because they were so repetitive.
write about your dreadful day at school and about the teacher who freaked out.
step three: find a metaphor in everything.
trust me, if you look hard enough, there’s always a metaphor.
step four: see yourself in other people. capture the conversation the bus passengers had. write from different perspectives;
you’ll learn a lot about empathy.
step five: don’t listen to my advice because i’m not qualified.
don’t listen to the writer of bad poems.
there’s no use in fearing rejection,
i get rejected by myself on the daily.
you’ll never be something to someone if you don’t just say it.
tell them you like them.
tell them they make your world glimmer
and they make bad days a little more bearable.
and if they shrug, it’s ok, souls don’t have the same meaning to everyone
and that’s beautiful.
you’ll live.
rejection is inevitable.
when i’m invested in a show or a person, it becomes my obsession.
when i lie awake at night, i’m wondering what will happen next,
what character is going to get killed off next.
i want my poems to be lengthier and
luckily i can rant like nobody’s business.
i feel less anxious when i throw my feelings onto paper,
and i think things through.
no need to have to suffer through all your chaotic thoughts alone.
write.
that’s advice to me.
write when your favorite character is stressed,
write when you feel peeping eyes on your back.
write when the world churns you out of shape like butter.
write when the music doesn’t seem to calm your inner self.
the world can be wrong,
that’s a possibility.
you are allowed to critique it,
you are allowed to believe in miracles
and you are allowed to ask God if you can’t conjure up an answer all by yourself.
that’s why they say He’s always listening.
they lie about lots of other things,
but definitely not that.
writing is not for everyone,
it picks its candidates with reasoning.
i guess i was chosen
and i won’t let my muses down.
they live inside of my heart even when i wanna tear them out.
i won’t send my poetry to my old teacher,
and i won’t live another day without the benefits of writing.
i still have two more seasons to binge watch of this show
and more and more reasons to be alive.
the world is wrong,
but i never said i was right.
i have no vendettas
and writing has infiltrated my mind.
no tickets are accepted at admission.
come another time.

the grass starts burning beneath callused barefoot feet
with blistered skin, bumps and bruises
shadowy figures form beside the campfire
embers and ashes
fiery and angry
the forest floor is enveloped and murdered
slowed appetite eaten by the pressure
i’m a dog at your feet
so wise but unable to communicate it
fog forms in the still dead woods
bits of my arms chewed clean off
and you’re the wolf with skin dangling from its teeth
pleased with your discovery

i never liked myself.
barely picking
myself
off the shower floor.
now there’s a storm
and it’s within me—
a dull buzzing
of a radiator
and a quiet alarm
singing its apocalyptic peace.

when all the leaves fall and change
when the sunset gets sooner everyday
in that exact pale chilly darkness
that is where my heart rests
perhaps i have dreamed once before
i dreamed i would see a dinosaur
in real life, in real form
and maybe i dreamt big things for my future
i have watched the shower nozzle water cascade down me
like some kind of wanna-be hot spring
the leaves have turned brown alike my heart
and my lungs grow heavy and wet like the morning dew that falls
i imagine that if i was a painter i would sculpt myself in autumn
in a tiny little cottage
with smoke rising from the chimney
alone, in an opening of deciduous trees,
here the leaves fall softly and slowly
and my heart sinks quietly and slowly
underneath the sobbing trees

𝘆𝗼𝘂 wake up and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 smell the flowers and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 yawn and make coffee for 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳
𝘆𝗼𝘂 live in a demonic world and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 look through it with demonic eyes
the floor shakes under 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 weight and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 feel every single step 𝘆𝗼𝘂 take
𝘆𝗼𝘂 pose in front of the million dollar camera and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 smile at the homeless laying barefoot on the street
but do 𝘆𝗼𝘂 give them money?
they sit there in rags and they beg and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 watch them and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 reply “have a nice day”
𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 clothes are made of silk and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 go to work in fancy wear every single waking day
𝘆𝗼𝘂 sleep in linen sheets and 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 pillow is so soft that 𝘆𝗼𝘂 fall into the night so easily
𝘆𝗼𝘂 wave to passerby’s in cars and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 yell across the street to girls 𝘆𝗼𝘂 find pretty
𝘆𝗼𝘂 strut in the alley, but only the one with twenty plus people
𝘆𝗼𝘂 switch sidewalks when 𝘆𝗼𝘂 see a man with a rapid heart rate who’s walking faster than usual due to being late
𝘆𝗼𝘂 grimace at him and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 continue along 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 way
𝘆𝗼𝘂 don’t tuck 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 kids in bed at night cause 𝘆𝗼𝘂 don’t have any
𝘆𝗼𝘂 don’t cry when falling onto the comforter, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 laugh instead
𝘆𝗼𝘂 online shop during the midnight hour and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 purchase Indonesian products that were made in sweatshops
𝘆𝗼𝘂 don’t condemn those who killed for no reason, but 𝘆𝗼𝘂 don’t have such ruthless shower thoughts, i suppose
𝘆𝗼𝘂 witness the moon glimmer in the desolate night as the world remains still
𝘆𝗼𝘂 fall asleep quickly and 𝘆𝗼𝘂 repeat
𝘆𝗼𝘂 do this all when the sun hasn’t risen for some
the moon hadn’t shined in the darkest of nights
the war was fueled with gaslighting and bombs
the fog hasn’t lifted, it barricades the doors of little houses
the street wasn’t bright enough and someone got tackled
the gun hasn’t stop shooting in the courtyard
the prayer was never uttered from such posh lips
the emptiness never ceased to exist
how could 𝘆𝗼𝘂 be so selfish?

the old school i went to was filled with the best, worst, and funniest memories. i only talk to four of my friends from that old school; i don’t really ever talk to two of them, but i have texted them. it doesn’t really matter. there’s so many people that have come and gone that i’m not even phased anymore.

1. dear s, you. oh, you. you were a strange soul, but i always remember respecting you. my other classmates said you were really weird. you peeped over stalls and you loved this one kid, (i’ll get to him later) you got so sad when you had to leave in kindergarten. i missed you back then, i don’t miss you now. i barely remember you anyway.

2. dear t, so.. you were technically my first kiss. i chased you around on the tar playground thingy and i kissed your cheek right before the teachers rang their end of recess bell. you were my first love, i like to claim jokingly. i played some foolish kindergartner game with you and when you left in first grade, i had no more reason to play. so i didn’t. we had play dates at your house. your cat bit me, your sister was running up and down the stairs, you showed me your bunk beds, and you hid me under a blanket fort so that i didn’t have to go back home with my father. you gave up peanut butter for lent because of me in kindergarten. that’s honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. you now go to high school with me and i don’t think you recall. that’s insane to me.

3. dear s, i just remember you being best friends with the kid i mentioned above. you were quite shy and never talked much. i never really got to know you. the only thing i recall about you is that you had to put things in your shoes and you broke my best friend’s front tooth.

4. dear a, you and i played with toys together and we got along quite well. i was upset when you had to go. you were pulled out of class to be placed into a better school? i was bummed. i think i still see your face pop up into my mind occasionally.

5. dear j, you were the best at dodgeball and i always thought you were kinda odd, but i am too so… i don’t know. i went to your halloween party one year and you didn’t even speak to me. luckily i never wanted you to. i was a dog that year. when you left, it was just another person leaving. i hope you’re good now.

6. dear a, you came in third grade. everyone disliked you. it could’ve been the way you always read books while the teacher was teaching or the way you bit the collar of your shirt and your lips would get so red and chapped. when you left, everyone rejoiced. (no offense.) i was never really friends with you anyway.

7. dear p, i don’t really remember you much. your brother and your sister..possibly? if you had one…were really weird. no offense, i promise i’m not judgmental. we never talked much, that’s literally all i remember about you lol. hope you’re good.

8. dear p, you were a very interesting person. you sang let it go one time and said Hell instead of Heaven in the lyrics and everyone at my table was shocked. (that was in third grade.) you called yourself some weird name and everyone looked at you strangely when you did. you pinned one of my classmates against the wall and tried to kiss him. that was very creepy. you got sent to boarding school and i haven’t heard anything about you since. i hope you settled down after those years.

9. dear e, you always tried to steal my dessert that was in my lunch. (i’m pretty sure it was you who did that.) i cried to my parents about that. thankfully you stopped. one time, we played jenga and we couldn’t stop laughing so we had to go to the bathroom. i was peeing my pants i was laughing so hard. that is honestly one of my favorite memories. you got mad at me for how i read and you were a horse girl, but other than that, you were a good friend. you go to my new school now and you definitely don’t remember me. you’ve still got that red hair and those freckles. you look the same. i miss you a little.

10. dear s, you were my best friend. i got to show you around the school as a resident, (idk lol.) i complimented your lunchbox on that day. later on, i would stay a little after class so you could gather your hefty science book in your arms and we would walk up the staircase together. my cousin and my sister always claim i had a crush on you, but i never did. i was very upset when you left the school. you now walk around the halls of my new school with your head lowered to the ground. i wish i could make you happy like i used to. i honestly miss you. i really do.

11. dear b, i thought you were funny, but you were always disrespectful to the teachers. you once did this insensitive imitation at lunch. i didn’t want to sit next to you cause you would spit your food everywhere. you were the worst kid i think i ever knew. i once said to you “die in a hole cause you really are dirt.” maybe that’s why you claimed people at that school bullied you. but you were popular and everyone loved you, right? you could be pretty mean yourself. you go to my new school now as well, i don’t know if you recognize me, but i definitely recognize you. you’re a lot more tame now, i think.

12. dear a, i went to your birthday party and everyone was shocked since i never went to any party i was invited to. it was a lot of fun, you considered me as a friend then. but when i said hello to you a year after you left that school, you didn’t say anything back. i was humiliated. i missed the version of you back when i had to move my seat cause another kid and i were getting too rowdy. we sat beside each other and we became best buddies. perhaps only on my end. you came from minnesota and you talked about how cold it got and what scary tornadoes looked like there. you liked my stupid best friend, but you never even liked me, i’m guessing. everyone at my new school hates you. i don’t think you go there anymore. i never really liked you anyway.

13. dear z, you were fun. you were always quite fond of me. you saw me on the playground of the other middle school and wanted to say hi. i was afraid and didn’t think you really wanted to. but i said hi anyway. i told you that your mom looked like mine one time and i think you laughed or something. you go to my new school and you stare at me like you remember me, perhaps you do. i miss you.

14. dear e, the art teacher used to say that she wanted your hair type. she tried it one day, it looked awful, and i don’t even know why. it was kind of weird how obsessed she was with that. on the first day you came to school, you read two paragraphs too much about smoky the bear. how do i even remember that? we were the rowdy bunch in second grade. we laughed at everything. in fourth grade, you did something really creepy that i don’t even wanna say. i won’t out you like that. you were rich and pretentious, bringing fiji water bottles to school every day, but i miss you. i don’t know where you are now.

15. dear s, i had the fattest crush on you in fourth and fifth grade. everyone in my class liked you, it was kind of funny. my best friend even liked you. it was crazy, i tried denying it, but everyone knew anyway. (you actually liked my best friend though, you said some weird things about her.) i almost killed you one time. i gave you a peppermint because you asked for it and you started choking on it and had to run to the bathroom. our teacher was so worried for you, and i hid my head in shame. you were fine though; you didn’t snitch on me. you told me i was strong and you picked me to do a project with. i was so shocked and happy that you wanted me to be in your group. my sister said we were best friends, but i never thought we were. i really thought i was that unlikeable. i miss you? that’s a question.

16. dear b, in seventh grade you would only stand beside me during sparkle or whatever game we played. (if you never played sparkle, you haven’t lived.) my friends would call you out on it, especially a, but you would just smile and say nothing. one of the only male teachers was obsessed with you, probably cause he didn’t want you to feel left out. you almost cried every time you couldn’t solve an english sentence or when you got a c on a test. you were a wreck. i don’t even know what school you go to now, but i guess i wish you the best.

17. dear a, scratch what i said about the other kid being the most troublesome person i ever came across. you brought the board game chameleon to school and i had a blast playing it. sometimes you would cheat or stop halfway through the round and it wouldn’t be as fun. i defended you once to a teacher. you called her assignment dumb and she said, “are you calling me dumb?” and i was like, “no, he’s just calling the work dumb.” and you were like, “yeah.” you rarely came to school and i was shocked when you would actually turn up. a rumor flew around that you got expelled and God only knows where you are right now. prison? lol, probably not.

18. dear m, we sat on the same bus together and we laughed in the back every day. we both “hated” each other. we had debates on who could stand out in the freezing cold longest. it was me, always me. you once left in third grade after an ice cream party, but then came back. you left in sixth for good. you still live in my neighborhood, but i never see you. i miss you.

19. dear c, you were the most fun person i ever met. you told jokes and they rolled off your tongue so easily, you made me laugh on my most difficult days. you touched my neck one time as a joke and we talked about it from then on. you would always mention it. you called me so many funny nicknames and i know for a fact you started liking me. you loitered around my locker and tried any chance you got to talk to me. it was very flattering. i miss your laugh, your weirdness, your enthusiasm. i miss you more than most of the others for the attention and the kindness you showed to me. you didn’t show up to our graduation cause of covid and march thirteenth is the last day i ever saw your face. i wish with all my heart that that wasn’t true.

20. dear k, you were knowledgeable about everything and i always thought you were a know-it-all. you were never particularly nice to me, but again, i didn’t really notice. you snitched on people so much. you liked my best friend too and you wrote her a note and asked her if she liked you back. you both go to the same school and you talk to her a lot. that’s upsetting. i think you remember me and it’s awkward. sorry.

21. dear k, you were my best friend. we were partners in crime, but i’m not gonna write you a huge letter since i have written about you so many times and the wound just gets deeper every time. we sat together in every class. one time, we had a substitute teacher and we both changed seats so we could sit together. we got snitched on the next day. ugh. i miss you extremely. you wander the halls of my new school and you’re just everywhere and i can’t shake you. you hate me, i just know it.

22. dear c, you got ridiculed for your weight and i might have participated once. my friends joked about you needing to use head and shoulders because you had dandruff. i’m sorry. my one friend would act like i had a crush on you and he would make you sit next to me to see if my face turned red. i hated it, but i could tell that you didn’t mind. i have little clue where you are now. i don’t really miss you.

23. dear k, i’ve seen you a couple times since going to my new school. you’re still best friends with one of my good friends that stuck. we went to an escape room together and we laughed like old times. you’re shy like me and you make me feel comfortable. i hope to see you again soon.

24. dear c, you and i would fool around before class every day at seven thirty. it would get annoying sometimes, but i never acted bothered. i don’t like to make people feel like burdens. we would do morning announcements and i like to think that we were really good friends. i’d like to think that you thought that too. there was something about you that was just so welcoming. i miss you and i wish we could’ve kept in contact so we could’ve hung out more. my friend saw you at the ice cream shop the other day and it would’ve been cool if i had been there too.

25. dear a, you sent me a message and you don’t know how much that meant to me. i even wrote a **** poem about that, (don’t think i’m crazy though hehe.) you asked me about school and i took a whole ten minutes to answer because i didn’t know. should i have lied or told you the truth or what? so i just said it was good, just different. and then you showed me pictures of your new cat and her scratches on the drywall. she was a cute kitten. you wanted me to go to basketball games at other schools and i always came up with an excuse on why i didn’t go. dang it, i regret not going now. after my best friend left school, you and i became closer and we sat up in the math room together figuring out confusing problems. i miss spending time with you and i miss seeing your wet hair in the morning. i hope we can reunite and meet up soon.

26. dear s, you couldn’t go to the restaurant you wanted to for your birthday because you misbehaved. i told you about that incident a few months ago and you claimed it never happened. it did. my friends all used to pick on you since you were such an easy target. you don’t get social cues so i rarely ever try to joke with you. you said my voice was pretty when i was singing and i have always hated my voice so thank you for boosting my nonexistent confidence. you left in kindergarten, but came back in third grade and you were gonna go to a different high school, but you’re stuck where i am. we text now and we have lunch and class together. it’s fun hanging out with you sometimes.

27. dear f, i write poems about you all the time and it’s kind of embarrassing. at least you’ll never read them. in fourth grade, my old crush said you had a crush on me and i brushed it off. i know you still did all the way to eighth grade. you gave me so many nicknames and all of them made me laugh. you placed things on top shelves and put your arms against walls to show how much taller you were than me. i liked it secretly. we had spelling and academic contests together. you won some, i won spelling. i miss you more than everyone else i think, even though you made me feel like disgusting trash everyday. you’re the reason i still call myself ugly in the mirror. thanks. i still miss you, do you miss me?

28. dear j, you’ve helped me so much through high school and i don’t think i’ll ever be able to thank you enough. you introduced me to so many people and they have been excellent friends to me. we were never super good friends back then, but now we are. we text and we laugh and we have inside jokes and it’s all i could’ve ever wished for. you used to be a snitch, but you aren’t anymore. we have three classes together this year and i can’t wait to see you again on the first day of school. see you there.

and these are all the people who have shaped me into who i am,
wherever all of you are at this moment, thank you for spending most of my life with me.
thank you.

in the moonlight, i dream of being you
partially blue, but all there
unafraid and unbelievably able
if i were to be stable
perhaps i could be capable
of holding my arms outstretched
to reach a release that yearns for me
perhaps i could be capable
of moving the whole ocean around
in a tiny bottle
to lay in the riptide
consumed by the violent rise
and fall of the swells of
dwelling little white-caps
i could be more than you would ever know
i could be a you you’ve never known
never shown
never grown
up to be a “when push comes to shove” kind of
love-
r
i could be a you you’ve never heard of
never dreamt of
never conceived of
never believed of
but, of course,
the good ones never know
never show
never grow
up to be machines
always own up to be-
ing flee-
ing
i could be a me many have never heard of
i could be a me that is silent and swift like a dove
a silence warm, reached out in a hug
a soft streetlight that shines light not so bright as to blind
but as to awaken the right light in one’s eye
and in the moonlight,
i dream of being who i can fully be.

i wrote you a poem
where i’m scared to say everything
for fear of seeming too open.
where i loved you without embarrassment
or agitation
or sudden fear.
i wrote you a poem
where you were shining—
the sun looked like you tonight—
so i cried
staining ill-fitting clothes
on an ill-fitted body.
i wrote you a poem
where i showed you the admiration
i hold quietly inside
in tender unspeakable dreams.
i have countless dreams
sleepless feelings
of you and to my dismay
i drift to sleep
with your name floating above my forehead like counting sheep.
i wrote you a poem
where you smiled
and your tear drops fell,
up sprouted a garden.
i harvested your flowers;
put them in my hair.
i wrote a poem
where you care.

you, a garden of hydrangeas and rhododendron bushes.
me, a nomadic soul too obsessed with being accepted in the natural slip of life.
my midnight moonlit sorrow
is eating me alive.
you, a sun-drop dandelion, too glorious to be planted near my seeds.
my tainted heart,
an obese beast lingering like a ghost that never passed to Heaven.
my inability to place value on that vessel.
you, a rose petal blowing in the wind.
me, lost little ladybug trying to find her way back home.

you wouldn’t love me anyway.

i don’t wanna be that girl who uses her body
i don’t wanna be a little toy for one night and one night only
i am not that kinda girl

i will not be the kind of girl you can just push around
i will not be the laughed at puppet in some circus show for morons
i will not be her

i hope i am never the kind of girl who throws away her life
i hope i am never the person who loses her head and doesn’t go to church
i hope i am never her

and right now
i don’t wanna be the girl who cries cause she’s lost and lonely
but i am
and i am sorry that i let you down

jet blue were your lips
frostbitten and clueless
reckless nature, pure bliss
lining across my face

living creature so fortunate
sad soul, contortionist
lucky human, determinant
skeletons in your closet
close the doors, they might see it

how do you like yourself
when you’re hurting everyone else?
how do you live like this
jet black heart, pure bliss?

seeing stars in the rear view
so selfless, aren’t you?
painted goodness upon you too
how does it feel to only feel true?

wanna know my life?
the pages i have turned
the cages i have broken out of
aches i still feel to this day
wanna see my tears build up in my eyes?
so painful to love someone who’s destined to die
you must feel worthy in your sickened life
the paintbrush is your friend
the eraser, your companion
it must feel satisfying to change the story
to change the history of the truth

you’re jet black in nature
with a petty sideways grin
always out for blood,
the blood of your kin
no matter how hard you try
to live a lie
gifting yourself the decency
of at least pondering the idea of being right

you’re a crawling creature scanning for
something to attack
jet black compassion

bring them back.

i imagine falling in love is like watching the rain fall onto the porch, dampening the surface
i imagine it is sweet, like drinking soda and downing smarties in the embrace of a summer day
it must feel tingly, like your whole body is on fire
it must be stone cold yet hot as blazes
it must ache and churn and screech and beg you to quit, like a silly addiction

i imagine falling in love is like tumbling headfirst from the sky, diving into a world of the unknown, but you know that’s where freedom lies
i imagine it is fluffy, marshmallow, cotton candy type
it must be fabulous, must be scary
it must feel like the world is crashing down, but you are saved by your parachute
it must tear your insides open and make you scream for mercy

i imagine falling in love is like dancing alone in a rose garden, holding hands with the perfectly positioned statues
i imagine it is heavy, like a weight you almost cannot lift, but you manage
it must be fairytale like, almost as if you are captured in a screenplay, so you act in a Hollywood way
it must be light, like floating on top of clouds or touching silk that softens your skin and removes your scars
it must be troubling, having something so momentous happen to you without any sort of control

i imagine falling in love is like staring into someone’s eyes and finding their soul and reaching inside of their eye sockets to pull it out
i imagine it is fruitful, one nudge and it is a cherry blossom tree, evergreen and forever spring
it must be quick witted, it must happen so fast you don’t even notice the difference
it must be rapid, like heart beating in the middle of the night when life creeps up on you
it must be filling, like eating mounds of bread and filling up before the main course arrives
it must be everlasting, the feeling, the rush of a glance shooting straight to the gut, to the heart, to the veins
it must be enveloping, dragging every part of you into its embrace

i imagine falling in love is like smiling in pure silence, feeling your reflexes calm because this is what your body is supposed to do
i imagine it is perfect, perfect in a way that isn’t entirely godlike, but it feels like perfection to such joyful eyes
it must be like leaping and bounding in fresh magnolia fields, erasing the anxiety and the pressure of society, just so you can be free and flap your hummingbird wings
it must be like finding home and never feeling lost ever again
no matter the circumstance

in a yawn of disbelief
you sat beside me
you must have wondered why i never say enough.

swaying trees and
impending horror
climbed into my bones
i was frozen
with fear
and you were so sure
so perfectly intelligent
so courageous without a hint of
cockiness

i’ve never kissed anyone
except in my dreams
of a man who takes my hand
and we sit on the ledge
above the leaves
and i shiver
but it’s so warm
i can almost feel the surge
of real life, real life
taking over

stillness of fear
creeping upon the backside of my neck.
wingless.
sometimes there are echoes echoing from my cynical brain
slamming the alarms, singing the warning calls.
a twinge; so sudden and immersive.
this primal fear;
a part of me that aches in the depths of a realm unheard of.
silence is feeding off my weakness
yet i am too proud to put an end to it.

i’m so terrified
of the dawn that creeps up behind this cabin in the woods
i’m so scared of the violent rush of seawater
pinning me to the sandy shore—slamming my body, so rough that my esophagus stops for a second
when there are people in front of me,
i push them away
so violently, so quickly
immediately losing sight of everything in front of me
and i’m so sorry.
what should i do?
watch as the things i wish for fly away into the dark atmosphere?
watch as the flame i ignited dim in front of my very eyes?
i’m decision-less
so perpetually confused
what should i do?
should i love you?

if you shatter into a million fragments fallen like a disco ball,
i will lift them with both my hands and put you back again.
sweating brow and unhappiness
i’ll take this weight from off your chest.
to live with the regret of losing you
would be the worst kind of eternal punishment.
it’s a vulnerable hour
coarse tongues and sharpened claws.
i awake to the shameless sound of your howling
bouncing off the walls
torn apart.
nightfall is brutal but i have the pieces of your heart
to wrap around my cold malnourished frame,
swallowing me whole involuntarily.
it’s all gonna be ok for me.

tonight i sit with a tightened noose

and a woman with tights
and jaguar plotting eyes
sits beside my body  

there’s dust and gravel
in the crevices of my sandals
and the laundry is upon the floor

tonight i sit with a bruise on my cheek

not from the pure pain i received
but from the pain that was
once masked as love

there’s a tree where i once stood
beyond the voices of doubt or condemnation
and the branches sway without hesitation

tonight i sit in the halo of the red moon

and
tonight i wish it wasn’t me,
instead that it was you

violent thrash of a sword
to the fortress
that i call home.
there is always some
silver coin
or biology
that takes from me.
i have no one, but…
individuality and religion.
each destined to be stolen from me
yet i will not surrender
like the blue girl
that lurks by the docks
resembling the runny river water.
i will not lose the lens
that formed me.
the end of the tunnel
is bleak and empty.
there is nothing to hold your flaky body
if you don’t have the lens.
what do you see in your reflection
if not an extension of what you dislike the most?
the inner workings of you
are strikingly wholesome
but the lights within you
are soon to be stomped out.
when you change yourself for the unforgiving blank void of life,
what is there left but a shell of fool’s happiness?
the point in feeling whole is
lost. my hands tremble, a stormy body
on the edge of today. and what is it worth
if not living for the truth? what is it worth
if my existence goes completely unacknowledged?
who will be themselves?

how was the picnic in the wide expanse of country land?
did you cry with your mother and beg her to agree with you?
the garden withers, the flowers wilt
beneath your callused hands

in the pile of firewood, what a sign to see
it was your jawline, sharp and refined
you bled from your eyeballs
blue, the color of your bones

fountain of truth is visited by you
you toss rocks inside, pennies and wishes
do you see the reflection of your firm shoulders in the water that tells no lies?
that one woman on the street corner gasped when you tied your hair back
but you gave her a reason to weep
twiddling your thumbs
you undermined your fragile expertise

you don’t get to be me.

you don’t get to wear my nightgown so you can smile pridefully as i bleed into my knees
you don’t get to use that vocal authority to silence my concern
you don’t get to laugh in spite of my own definitions, confined in your delusions, all happy and carefree
you don’t get to disillusion me into worshiping your inconsistency and make me loyal to your sovereignty
the sky knows you’re lying, the sky knows your smile hides piranha teeth
the earth knows your structure, the earth knows your mortality

you don’t get to be someone like me.

silky skirts and powdered makeup and sparkly high heels
you even start to consider how that makes me feel?
to feel undermined inside my own mind, inside my own fibers of being
twisted force, villainy, how does it feel to surrender to a falsity, a bogus claim, a nonsense meaning?
how does it feel to steal my countryside, my silhouette, my solid truth, my skin, my body?

you don’t get to be me.
you don’t.

even for a glimpse of a minute, when you think you’ve conceived it, it died
the freedom came crawling, came screaming, came then leaving, starting shooting profanities out of the barrel of a gun
you still pirouetted, ballerina in shoes too small for your foot
fireworks went off when you sighed
it’s powerful to sabotage the weak
it makes you the king of hypocrisy

you don’t get to me.

you don’t get to be me.

white lies in a tall cornfield
roll with fallacies in deep wet swamp with alligators
you punched one a few months ago, so hyper aggressive so ruthlessly

you don’t get to be me.

and for a second there, you nearly had everyone fooled
if i hope hard enough, that’ll be how it turns out
everyone will scowl at themselves for participating
adamant with fury, so much so that you burned down the village
resorting to pillage in a mysterious war effort
you don’t get to ransack my belongings and claim them as yours, as yours to claim, as yours to change
up in flames when a simple contemplation becomes your reason for existing

you don’t get to be me.

how sad is it that now my bones are stolen from my coffin to make room for the aspersions that you cast on me?
in decease, there is
there is solace in that

you don’t get to be me.

when the taylor swift concert ended
and you didn’t even ask me how it was
that was the second i knew
when the only thing you commented was how
far away the stage was from my seat
your jealousy creeping up like a monster
you only talk about yourself, never ask me how i am
i might be asking for too much, but maybe you don’t ask for enough
and you didn’t ask about it once just, “how was the show?”
the most bluntly asked question ever
do you ever consider how you make me feel
when you constantly degrade and insult me?
wallowing in my own loneliness feels better than being around you
i’m sorry i don’t know who you are
wait—of course i do
you explain every detail of your life
lamenting over your “struggles” and your stupid little petty dramas
spouting out nonsense like a fountain
do you even know i have a brother
or that he beat down the walls
and the tears from the years of his constant fist fights and head banging?
do you even know about my love for taylor swift or lana del rey because it feels like they actually listen to the things i have to say
even if it’s just their lyrics that i sing to the dusty mirror by my bed?
do you even know i have anxiety festering underneath this forced porcelain skin?
do you even know how sad i get, just how unwanted and melancholy i feel when i pace around my room having nothing better to do?
do you even know how much i cry at night, just ripping myself apart and not even for anyone else’s sake?
do you even know the pain i feel knowing that even my best friend won’t ask me how i’m doing, won’t let me get the flames off my chest?
do you even know my dreams and aspirations?
do you even know that poetry twinkles in my soul and brings light into a vast void of nothingness?
do you even know how much i vouch for you in the vehement conversations i have with my parents?
do you even know my favorite songs, my favorite shows, my favorite movies, my favorite foods—the most basic facts ever?
how do you even sleep a wink at night knowing the lack of details that you know about me?
i saw my favorite artist two days ago and you didn’t even ask me how it was.
you didn’t ask me if she played my favorite song, if it was loud, if it was as fun as i expected, if it was the first time i’ve seen her, if it was a sudden realization that letting go is beautiful?
do you even care enough to ask me anything at all, or should i just keep asking about the boys who constantly blow up your phone, about the “friends” of yours who don’t want to see the best in you, of your “totally unfair” parents supposedly wronging you over and over again?
do you even care about the girl you call your best friend?
do you even care?

your flesh is brackish and bruised and covered in melancholy
it seems like you work in the coal mines with those oil stains printed all over you
i am worried that you might never return home after you were swooned by some blond chick (pawn) at the rowdy city bar and dazzled her with your charm
i am starving from the core because of a perfidious promise
licking up the crumbs and rummaging through the schemes
locked and loaded like a rifle
but you know i would never fire
cause i am the coward
who fell for your clownery in the first place

she touches me—
leaves me for extinct
while you
graze your fingers up my arms
and i am a desert revived by your touch.
i feel like if i showed you my favorite songs
you would nod along
and appreciate every sound.
her mouth is like a razor-blade
splitting the hairs on my skin
like a viper, she pounces
streaked red crimson blood
with bite marks like tattoos.
you’re a calm ripple to her tsunami waters;
i drown under her oppression,
i live for just a taste of your connection.

only true poets listen to the voices in their heads

died young.
who’s to say it won’t happen to me?

they say change isn’t a bad thing
though it feels like a woodland monster
grabbing my arms and tying them together
in knots
i can breathe, but it’s heavy and uncontrollable

and you’re not even eighteen
yet
you feel so different
as a person
as a human
 as a creature
as a
i can’t even finish the sentence
cause i can’t describe you
help.

he was cornered
and alive on the highway
seeing signs become distant items in the desert sand
maybe his friends cried after hearing of his death
i don’t doubt it
cause he was so young
yet so permanently engraved in their minds

she is caught up in the tide of fake love
that comes around and swallows you whole
and then leaves you to cry on the floor
a waste of a few months
of cursing someone’s name
and
taking the blame
until suddenly you realize nobody loves you
as you are

and the moon she swells
with unhappiness
as the tides change
and you do as
well.
you think it is a good thing
yet it makes you insane
like a drunk driver upon the road
who is racing like a thunderbird

he will hit you, head-on collision
the brakes slamming hard,
but no use
and you’ll die as young as he was
did you know the gasoline would be your noose?

almost unrecognizable
almost delirium
almost a 180 change of perspective
you will dazzle in your movies
that’ll last for a couple years
until the camera gets too harsh and you beg it to stop
with your remaining adolescent brain
and your misunderstanding of things
so easy to comprehend,
you will get in your car,
tears on the steering wheel
speeding on the empty highway
you will lose your sense of direction
someone won’t notice your light
and you’ll be gone into the night.

don’t plead and cry now
this love is temporary,
you know it too.
don’t pretend that he loves you,
it’s not you that he sees,
it’s the opportunity for him to get attention
yet you’re naïve like every teenage girl ever
so stuck in your chic flics
you didn’t even notice,
him running away with your pride.

future is coming
future is coming
future is ****** and brutal
future is coming
it must be sad, trying to be melodramatic
all the time because you think you have to

you never know, the car could appear to be going slow
but you never know
how fast things can change in an instant
i hope you don’t lose yourself in the smoke
in the exhaust from the engine
i hope you know there’s more than one way to grow
don’t lose yourself under the influence
with a boy who’s dated all of the friends that you have

change is a strange
thing
deep and
consuming
i know you’re no james dean
pretending on a screen
so don’t become a chameleon  
unrecognizable,
they once said change is good,
but i’m doubting their answer
what’s your hope for the future?

you crumbled in my hands like flimsy bricks on lazy made housing developments
tumbling like rocks on sides of cliffs
dull guilty eyes stared back at me
black circles gazing presumptuously
at my porcelain skin
we were not bad people
we were just victims to cruel assumption
you took the brunt of the dazed collusion
and they stole me from you
as the spaceships coughed up fumes
capable of killing a single man
in under five seconds
we all cry the same tears when we hear the world is coming to a close
we travel to tiny towns where our families are stationed
and we weep in each other’s arms
because all our tears are made up of saltwater
none are fresher than another  
none are clearer
none are holier
i danced with you as the world was bombed to ashes
and minimized to dust particles
but you broke out of my embrace
and shot me in the head instead
the darkness poured out of your grim eyelids
and into my soul
i choked on my own rotten blood
feeling fire slither up next to my paralyzed body

you lit all the corners of the rooms
with candles
now they’re burning
burning the wax all the way down to the bottom
this time,
i’m not dancing,
i’m burning alive

forever is a crueler way of saying never

the laundry done and hanging
the bread kneaded and baking
the smell of Levi jeans
with rips on the thighs
Pablo Neruda’s poems
rolling off my tongue
along lakeside vistas
piles of ice in soda drinks
he hums “la vie en rose”
and i get lost in the world
i envisioned.

teach me how to drift in the wind
how to build homes out of charred wood
teach me how to dream
how to change stuck mindsets
teach me how to grow as wild and as old as the aged sycamore trees
how to paint stars in gloomy night skies
teach me how to capture saturn on film
how to be the best i possibly can
teach me to be unbothered like the ocean tide
how to make imaginary planets with the cellulite on my thighs
teach me how to love myself
how to love you as well
teach me all you know
the waves, the breeze, the undertow
teach me how to adore love
how to preserve nature
teach me how to be carefree like dolphins
how to roll in flower fields
and how to feel beautiful
teach me everything you know
everything

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful

to maintain a kiss
to be something to miss
to be a wife with kids
you have to be beautiful

likewise, all of us feel we’re the detriment
in a society that loves to see us in bed
but we cry soggy tears on our sheets
and we don’t stop just because a model says we can be beautiful on the inside

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful
buy a diamond studded dress
and go out in the reeds
and sing a sailor’s song to your bride to be

likewise, all of us feel the world’s back turned
our royal blue skin on her selfish lips  
giving us dead flowers and then wishing us the best
sends us away with so many backhanded compliments

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful
raise your arms up to the afternoon sun
and remind everyone you were sent from God
and baby, i was too but there’s no use to prove it

likewise, i turn jewelry into stone
i make this critical conditioned heart into gold
i sew my bedsheets to represent some home
i believe the truth comes bleeding out of our eyeballs
our lungs just trying to catch up to this world

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
we all call you by your given name
but you stomp on our fingers
you linger like a bad disease
it doesn’t pay to be kind and pretty

unlike you, i slave the day away
trying to feel the taste that gathers on your tongue
even when you do things wrong
i must try to feed the monster inside of my stomach
but it beats me to a pulp
every time i want something even as widespread as love

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
you don’t need all the credentials
you don’t even have to have potential
as a valued person for anything other than your outer self

likewise, one day i might slip under the rope
being able to stop playing limbo
but what does it matter?
i’m still not a rose quartz in the middle of a stage show

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
dance in alleyways
sing in outer space
be someone who can be replaced



be easily replaced
and then you’re beautiful
in this world

i thought of this
in the sparkle of the early morning sunrise
that women have only one ****** purpose in life
to find someone suitable,
and then get pregnant right after
every single ****** function that happens to a woman is because
she is preparing to have offspring
our hips are widening
our bodies are thick
thick especially around our stomachs
patiently waiting for a child or at least an egg
in hopes of a tangible pregnancy
i watched myself in the mirror
slowing fading from the grasped image of myself
who is that life form staring back at me?
i realized if i don’t have a kid later on
i am going to have to become a nun
it’s not that i hate God or something of the sort
there is just no available information
and with this body of mine,
that only functions for something that isn’t even born yet
in my own body
i am not the main goal or the main crop of my body
a baby with brown, black, or blond hair
will plop out onto the table and my body will say, “good work, time for another one.”
and i don’t even know a man who could gift me such a valuable being
after all the mass murders and violence and shooting
i don’t think i wanna send my child into a world of fear
where every corner they turn is another disorder or a world order or a thief’s ******
but somehow my skin wants to breed another living breathing specimen
and if i create another girl who turns into a woman
i am going to have to tell her at some point
that the most proud thing
she can do in life is give birth to another child
and if she asks why
with my teeth gritted and my bloodshot eyes
i will say, “i don’t know, it’s just life.”

as a girl with a brain who is taught not to use it
to abuse it
to misuse it
i refused it
concluded
that i wouldn’t yelp about every single non congruent disillusionment
told to be angry
to be discontent
with the world and its faux barbed wire
but i’m not discontent.
i am quite very content.

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

de vez en cuando,
me siento con Esperanza
sobre una silla
en el patio.
hablamos como amigas
pero no conozco a ella.

con una voz como una brisa de la primavera
el sol palidece en comparación
a su sonrisa.
un olor hecho de cerezas.
ella se sienta a mi lado
y,
a veces,
hay un vacío que llena

ella sabe libertad
ella la tuvo
aunque se parece que
ella está atrapada
cada día
ella no es una esclava.

de vez en cuando,
ella se besa mis mejillas
entonces
deja con mi alma
y espero que
ella regresa
algún día.