you treat me like no one else ever has
some foreign way to the usual circumstances.

the audacity to call me, a stranger, spoiled
people i don’t know acting like they know me

i will get to the king, i will rip off his garments
i will fling him onto the wall,
i will rip the peasant’s sufferings from his brittle bones
he will fear me
and i will wear his crown

he has always tried to minimize me into an object
a hideous figure lurking in the midnight
i have been wrung out like a cloth

I BLEED THE BLOOD OF YOUR ENEMIES
WHAT KIND OF A SAVIOR ARE YOU,
YOU DEMONIC FORCE SQUEEZING MY FINGERS TILL THEY ARE SWOLLEN
YOUR QUEEN SHOULD TOPPEL OVER IN THE MOAT YOU’VE BUILT AROUND THESE WALLS
YOU STONE GIANT,
FALL,
FALL,
FALL

i am surfing on the waves of independence
so constructed, out of my own weapons
the fire burns and my legs keep aching
but i will get to the king

i will make him drink of the wine and puke out his guts
so his loyal servants can see he’s not perfect
i will whisk up a potion so deadly
he’ll forget the temptress’s melody
ringing in his ears;
where is Persephone?

she went to the churchyard and sat and screamed
in her puddles of self-wallowing

i will get to the king
i will rip his heart clean out
and place it onto the dining table where he was feared and fed by the same exact servants
i will scrape the blood from off my knuckles  
and dance around playfully

and his queen will survive
because she has no responsibilities, only looking pretty
which isn’t classified as a problem

i will schmooze with his friends
i will think of a ruse to manipulate him into losing his structure
bound by the future
he never will consider
and i will wear his crown
perched on his throne
in my white linen clothes
just a careful creature
creating plot lines with my ideas
he’ll fall like a feckless being
and i will be reigning supreme
over dreams, over kingdoms and avid
over gaining more power
yet i won’t let it devour
me into thinking i’m a
deity, poised like a particular person
who knows where to go when
the people don’t know
what has happened to them
or their (king)dom

i will wear his crown on my head filled with brunette hair
soft, strong, and explosive
deadly nightshade inside of his bed
while i stand in the corner
immune to his shivers
and quivering

               i will get to the king

oh the lights illuminating on the course
make me feel dead inside
paralyzed emotionally
can’t wait to leave
the sky is a deep indigo
watching silly people enjoy silly stuff
pretending as if this isn’t a charade
just being, loving, and having fun
things that i can’t do anymore
i feel stale
as i look out over all the joyous faces
what’s the purpose to this world?
i can’t find it in the dirt that streaks the road
i can’t find it in friends i haven’t seen in forever
i can’t find it anywhere i willingly want to go
i can’t find it in the roar of engines
i can’t find it anywhere
but it’s not like i’ve been looking

i don’t want to be a woman
standing on a suitcase packed with psychedelics
losing her remaining mind in a ditch on the side of the deserted road.
i don’t want to be a woman
who’s taught to love herself but the others around her
are peach trees in summer
with lips plump and red
with tiny thighs that extend.
i don’t want to be a woman
with frail bones because the calcium deficiency caught her early
shouting for her knees that are weak
and for her obsolete brain waves that forget their true place.
i don’t want to be woman
following the trail until it suits her no more
creating a secret code then tossing it into the river
with jaguar eyes and a lopsided smile
she’s fine with letting new histories die in her arms.
i don’t want to be a woman
in all truth, i don’t want to be associated with anyone
i don’t belong in this body, in this mindset, in this world
every word on each paper is screaming at me to rebuke my inner organs and to become a knight without limits
because i don’t believe in speaking up for the sake of speaking up.
i don’t want to be a woman
or a man for that matter
i just want to exist in the forest fires of los angeles
the city with no angels
no reason to be endowed with this city of torches and absolute tomfoolery
but look where i am now
i discarded my existence for fame and rash decisions
i don’t want to be a woman, do you?
if i put on a halter top and show you more skin, would you love who i am or the flesh that is impure and shameful?
i don’t want forced views to be my condemnation
i don’t want your silk dresses and pearls.
sham admiration is not my master
nor will it ever be in my mind or my soul.

        i don’t want to be woman, do you?

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

the ocean is still.
the birds fly gracefully over the fjord.
the snowflakes glisten during their time of the year.
the delicate warbler chirps, singing to himself.
the cows run home for milking.
the flowers whisper in the meadows.
the wind becomes a choir.
the sun waves to the whole of nature.

           and i stand here alone
i am only me inside of these harbors
inside of these ecosystems
i don’t dance
i don’t sing
i tried to be anything
but me.

i tried to be still
but i lost my patience.
i tried to fly gracefully
i fell down at my feet.
i tried to glisten like the snowflakes
i was still a mute color.
i tried to sing to myself and the trees
but i sounded like i was dying.
i tried to run home some day
but my enemies chased me away.
i tried to whisper in the meadows
i sounded like i was yelling.
i tried to become a choir with the wind
but i failed miserably.
lastly, i tried to wave to nature
they just turned their backs to me.

so i stopped trying altogether
i even stopped wishing
until i realized
i didn’t have to be the calm of the storm
i could be the eye
i didn’t have to be the breeze
i could soar on my own wings.
i could make a poem
about how the leaves twinkle like stars with the morning dew inside of them
about how the moon dreams of me
and how i dance for the rain
about how everything belongs in nature
and how i can fit in too.

fear,
an emotion i feel
on a daily basis
looking such a human
in the emerald eyes—
terrifying

they like my hair
the curls, the waves
the volume, the aliveness
but i can’t help but
tiptoe over the thought
that
the fondness of it
is disguised hatred…
fear

melancholy, but alone
oxymorons to me
being melancholy and
alone do not exist together
but somehow
when they all leave
my side like blurry ghosts
the sadness creeps up
slowly, painfully, brutally…
fear

the anxiety inside of me
fueled by gasoline
fires on my tongue
buildings dilapidated
lava flows softly
in a thunder city…
fear

children and their
dreams vigorous with
marzipan and cherries
their fake hair
and fake bodies
and overestimated “sorrow”
their heels snap on the floor
like cinderella i sweep
the dirt off the tiles
as they whisper delightfully
about the ball in
a nearby castle…
fear

oh, to be a swan
to swim in streams
that invite me
to glide in waters
that embrace me—
hunters!
they must have seen
our pure white glossy
feathers from afar
do you hear that noise?
heaven sakes, he’s
been shot…
fear

oh, to have a swan funeral
wearing our hearts
on our wings
fly away friend,
go join the sparrows
and doves
and peacocks in
Heaven
i wish i could join you
i’m alone and melancholy
down here where the hunters
roam
where the apple trees
are seasonal
and not forevermore
meet me,
but i doubt you will
given your circumstance
compared to mine…
fear

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.

i am content with being away from you
lost on my own continent
stranded on an island
your words seep through my skin
hurting like knives and shards of china glass

i am content with being away from you—from this, from us
i am content to hide inside a seashell and never come out
melted bones into hermit crab forms
fate accepted

i am content with being away from you—from the way you treat me
it is halloween in my nightmares
always dressed up as a princess or a queen when really all i feel inside is that i should be a
vampire or a zombie
meandering along the path of self-destruction

i am content with being away from you—from your fangs, from your grimy hands
i am content with staying put on an ocean raft just rising and falling as the waves swallow me up and spit me back up
selflessly free as a turtle riding the inevitable current

i am content with being a person far far away from you
making my own decisions with a smile gleaming on my face
waking up and walking outside on my own accord
listening to the sound of morning doves instead of the chaotic sound of sirens

i am content with myself—content with the life that doesn’t have you in it
gritty sandy harsh words grating against my smooth and vibrant skin
you will not give me heatstroke from the flames you breathe from the fire congested city
the tides will carry you, sandstorms will bury you, and tornadoes will whisk you away
far far from the whereabouts where i call home

i am content to be away from you.
i am content to be alone.

what do i have to bear?
an impromptu regression
to the form i was when i couldn’t feed myself
now i wander on the fields
connecting roads to their familiar destinations
i don’t want to feed myself
the sustenance that enters is a formidable beast
a creature who desperately longs to hurt me
my stomach hungers for a substance that won’t dictate the afternoons i have.
passed out upon a feathery bed
hands clutched to my stomach
as it groans.
when will the nightingale wake me up from this nightmarish disorder?
as though he isn’t already dead on my windowpane
i forgot to feed everyone else in my unbridled purge
once my life ends will i figure out that
the storm can mirror the looks of your body
and it’s not you?
if i saw a glance of my reflection
in the same pool that Narcissus did
would i drown myself because of all the hatred i feel towards myself?
it’s not me in the photographs.
oh, nightingale where do you rest?

ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀʏɴᴀ ᴊɪɴx ᴍʏsᴇʟғ
ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ’s ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ’s ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏssᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ sᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ’s ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ
ᴇxᴛʀᴀᴠᴀɢᴀɴᴛ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ’s ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪ ʟᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴏғғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅᴇʟɪʀɪᴏᴜs ʜᴀᴢᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴘʟᴜᴍᴍᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ sᴏ ғᴀsᴛ ᴘᴀᴄᴇᴅ
ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴄʜᴜᴛᴇ ᴅᴇᴘʟᴏʏᴇᴅ
ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ɴᴇᴡ ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛs ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ’ᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴇᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ’s ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ғɪʀᴇᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ sᴋʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛs
sᴍɪʟɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀs ɪғ sᴀʏɪɴɢ
“ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ.”
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴀᴛ ʜᴀɴɢᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴇssᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴅs
ɪ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ
ɪ ʙᴀsᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ɪᴛ
ᴅᴇᴇᴘʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴅʟʏ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛɪʟʟɴᴇss ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴇᴇᴍs ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟᴜsᴇᴅ
ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏssᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴅᴏᴜsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴇɴɪsʜ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ
ғᴀʟʟ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ
ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ғᴀʟʟ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ɪɴ ʟɪғᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ sᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ’s ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ
ᴡᴏᴡ, ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜɪs ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪs sᴇᴠᴇʀᴇ

it’s funny, you told me
that i would be popular in high school
you were unbelievably wrong

you said that out loud back then
and i felt like the coolest
person in the room

as you can see, the past
fills my mind, my body, my soul
and it’s not worth letting go
at least after all this time
my tears are still not manufactured

spot me—
under candlelight
because when the night comes
like a tidal wave
all my old victories
present themselves
as fantasies
when in all reality,
i was just as washed up then
as i am currently

before i even had a phone,
you were there.
i snapped photographic pictures
of you and you stayed in my
memory like hot glue
and i got burned and burned and burned
and now i hover around
as a burden in a blood soaked satin dress

you’re funny, until you feel threatened
and call every warm-blooded force
around you
ugly.

it hit the brunt of me,
and you never asked me to dance
i was waiting for you all night
your father kept talking to me
and wouldn’t
shut up for some reason
he always told me the
spotlights exploding
were just our hearts

or at least that’s what i gathered when i
read his mind

you laughed with me, you waited on me,
you conversed with me, you talked about me
and i would dunk
my head in the water beneath me
to rid of the cruelty you pushed on me;
to combat the rings of fire that you hurled me into

all these people who get to talk
about their feelings
yet, you never admitted
how you felt
and i was getting mixed signals
and i was young and dumb
and crazy and selfish and
hateful of myself
and you didn’t help at all
and..you know.. i never needed your help
it just would have been nice to be able to
know that you cared at least a little

i hate that i have to remember you
i don’t like me because of you
although it’s not always about me

    got your driver’s license?
  how does it
feel to not
     be in control
all the time?

it’s not as empowering as you would have liked
and good
your ego doesn’t deserve to be bloated right now

i am not in love with you,
let’s be clear; i never was in love
with you, honestly
who could be?

i was about to see your new flesh
a couple months ago
but a spirit must have taken over your
mind
and the excitement i had
vanished
into the august midnight breeze

don’t you know that:
I DON’T NEED YOU
I NEVER NEEDED YOU
I DON’T WANT YOU TO RETURN
I DON’T WANT YOU AROUND

hopefully our ending can be brutal
but not too brutal
for i need to see you once more

how am i still hopeful?
dreaming up plots that are impossible
who do i wanna be?
can you laugh at my jokes?
call me invincible?
pull me in your arms so it doesn’t get cold?

make me your Heaven in human form
cause you’re an angel, i hope you know
as long as one day you can laugh at my jokes
maybe i’ll be invincible

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

i am homeless in this hopelessness
aimlessly bound in the instability
fragile, weak, pathetic.

there’s a string tied to my seemingly weightless ankles
brutally thrashing
splashing in inescapable fate
along the carefully constructed dock
two hands hover over the water
they do not reach in to pull me out.
they do not reach in to pull me out.

humoring the doubt that inhabits a single house above an ocean current
counting the comets in the sky
this is sincere gasping
clawing at the murk
there is a bright lighthouse lamp flashing
but there is a blindfold closed over my pupils
nearby a ship sits docked upon the shore
held by a ten-foot anchor
the captain does not try to reach my boat.
the captain does not try to reach my boat.

there is an island in an unnamed ocean in an unknown location
the organisms gnaw on my skeletal structure
and among this plight
rare will a light start to shine
there are feet that ne’er surrender
but there are lungs that must concede
there are nights upon us that will slip me in underneath the veil of false serenity
there are failures that will taunt us
with their vines
like black silhouettes that howl
in the deepest darkness.

and the fair truth is that i will never be rescued.

i hear the
soft murmur of
distant firearms
loading and
reloading
backup called
i hear it from
inside my cozy
apartment walls

i dreamed in silhouettes
sold my heart for
a dozen dimes
the old women
on the street
kicking my joints
with their polished
high heels
pantyhose in
their wrinkly hands

i woke up when
the flood water
came in through
the windows
and broke
my slumber
and catapulted
me out of
my dreams

i remember
the news channel
buzzing with
kelly- or some
other generic
radio host name

her laughs
were loud and
evil and
had not even
a trace
of remorse

her pretty
face was reserved
for the microphone
poor gorgeous girl
it must be awful
to be stopped on
the street
because you’re so
incredibly attractive

they’ll tell you
a man doesn’t make
you a woman
but i’ve been the
**** of a joke
for never having
a boyfriend
to hold
what happened
to letting young
women be
independent?

some stuffed socks
down my throat
and told me
to inhale

i dreamed that
the bridge
in my small town
burned
to the ground
like the london one

i felt the heat
climb up
into the clouds
the atmosphere
coughing
while they
shopped at
the most luxurious
retail stores
in the
gigantic city

they poured
the children’s’ blood
down into
the gutters
of their
hampton estates
and they
just shrugged

she told me
my clothes
were too
poor-looking
i get that
you got a
brand new
toyota for
your sixteenth
birthday and
i’m pretty sure
you were driving
with your crush
or whatever
kind of
relationship you
have that i
couldn’t care
less about
it might have
been your “vicious”
parents car in
that instance

girls don’t
support girls
they stab them
and call them basic
i would know
cause i do
i’m awful
to my age
demographic

and the streets
are still littered
with rusty nails
and stale black
nail polish
with trash bags
no matter what
length your
haircut is

and the oceans
are still polluted
with makeup products
and coffee shop cups

and my heart
is still battered
and sore
from underneath
the sole of her
stilettos

letting go is
simple, yet
you still need
me to spell it
out for you

perhaps now
you know why
i was always
so good at spelling

knife marks on my deadbeat frame.
lingering emotions
but they aren’t as excruciating anymore.
wasteful injustice, crawling up my veins.
digging holes in my white blood cells.
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.
𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵.
jokes on me, sunrise isn’t rebirth.
it’s rubbing it in your face
that the world doesn’t stop turning
for you, it never stops.
you never get help,
no matter how many buttons you press
or how many hand waves you give.
𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠.

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 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮
𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪
𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙
      ❞𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨
       𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣
       𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙
       𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜  
       𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙚
       𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙭𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙚
       𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚.❞
𝙞 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙
𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙛
𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧
𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣
       ❞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩
         𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙚.❞
𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙
         ❞𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝, 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢.❞
𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢, 𝙣𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝
         ❞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.❞
𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣
          ❞𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨
           𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙮 𝙪𝙥, 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮, 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙩
           𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧...❞
𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨
𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨
𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧
𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙
𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮
𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚
𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚
𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡
𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚
𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙

𝙞 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮
𝙡𝙚𝙩’𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙮
         𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚 :)

i write and bruise my fingers just to escape
just to get a remedy for this pain
the pressure stops burning ever so slightly
but the scars still remain
still hang on my flimsy body
making towns and cities and villages
people living inside of my solar system

STOP!
calm down.
they can’t see you.
their eyes are like steel.
like iron.
life kills.
that’s what’s so evil about it.
but you can’t escape the jaws of the inevitable.
you need to stop thinking.
i mean, the overthinking type.
the type of thinking that makes your brain spin.
that escalates every tiny situation.
your pain comes from opening your eyes too wide.
shut them.
breathe.
stop panicking.
you will never be able to escape except in death.
but even the dead are lonely.
even the dead char and sear in pits they were locked in.
stop overthinking.
you write because you want to evaluate what you feel.
not just because it’s the only way to bolt away from crowded rooms and upset stomachs.
don’t bruise your fingers while touching the pen.
stop overthinking.

wAiT...
i think that i get it
sorry for all the run-on sentences
i don’t care much for punctuation
i sure don’t think rapidly about that
i just do it
so, in settings where it matters
everything in my brain halts
and i freeze
why can’t i just breathe?
it pains me to think that i am hurting my own self with my own knives
stabbing me in the heart
i shouldn’t let my hands become numb because of scribbling in the lines
i should press the pen gingerly upon the paper
softly
and i should just do it
without hesitation
just prove i can withstand the erosion
but at least i know
i write to express
and
life kills
that’s what’s so evil about it.

you know i’ve tried to be worth something in the world to you.
my submitted requests reaching your inbox,
my rampant desires begging at your throne.
i have never liked cruel,
so i don’t understand why i still hold high hopes for you.
you must be so used to people discarding you
and leaving you out with the street rats and rabid animals,
but i; i am opening the door for you.
you can come in and take a seat and you can drink and eat whatever you want to,
i couldn’t care less.
i want you to make a home in my home.
i can **** myself for you if you give me a knife and the motivation.
i can twist and change myself for you if you admit that my façades are better than my actualities.
i can bleed myself dry if you adore the color red.
i can be at your beck and call every day and every minute and every second of the week.
i can admit that i’m a fake, i’m a fraud
when i write poems about your hold on me
i don’t understand you.
i don’t think i will ever understand you.
these hips of mine will be treasured if they have your printing on them.
do you know how hard it is to convince someone that they are the only resource you need?
impossible.
i’m constantly trying to fit the word count on my acceptance essay to you,
but i just can’t speak the language that you do.
and that might be a me problem,
but cut me some slack.
i just want you love,
send your adoration my way.

i’ve spent years being mentally malnourished.
chasing sparks in the dark only to be burned.
on the edge of never knowing what i would do.
i asked myself where my mind was.
probably in a sinkhole buried deep in the earth.
i betray myself before i hurt anyone else.
my mind controls my body.
i’m so sorry…

in an unstable way and way that is incapable
to recover from
i am incapacitated
weak stringy sick
poles for legs
twisted ankles
that don’t stand up
out of their own will
but by the unruly gravity
of planet earth
the clock strikes august
intake watched,
just parsnips
upon shaky lips
hesitant to chew
with the fear of a black hole—
endless unhappiness in all manners
inside of me
is a miserable mechanic
who keeps drilling
and replacing
and hollering
for continuously
i have lowered my brow
and combusted
leaving pieces of machinery
burnt and ruined
for his sore hands to
pick them up
and work away
slaving precious days away

i saw you with your chariot of horses in the sky, sparkling brighter than the cosmos
perpetual glory seeping out of your crystal eyes, beckoning the stars and the sun and the moon and the milky way
i was frozen on a cushy cloud, drifting on strong gusts of space matter
you kissed the universe and the black hole almost swallowed you whole
when you saw me, you lifted Heaven with your ******* and guided it towards me
the gates shimmered as i glided closer
your ravishing voice rang in my ears, it felt like angel choirs singing
you sculpted planets with the tiny blue powder inside my eyes and filled my heart with fragments of stardust
iridescent galaxies twinkled, enveloping my earthly body in sparkles
his chariot of stallions floated, leaving this part of the galaxy as a gift for my celestial self
he waved his heavenly hand and disappeared into the constellations
the solar system; undisturbed, goes back to how it was
a triumphant smile creeped onto my cheeks
he owns the cosmos and the galaxies and now he owns my heart

when the mountains
come crashing down upon
the crops
and smother us
like a mother
maybe that’ll feel like
love
or wanting.
cause you fed the fire
in me
but now i’m burnt out
you planted the truth in me
but now only lies slip out
of my mouth.
come to think of it
the mountain
peaks are lower
than your
self esteem
can’t believe
i trusted you with
my blood
my tears
my values
you trampled them
like an avalanche.
liquid pours out of
my ears
my eyes fizzing
in them,
carbonation
is making an appearance.
sometimes i don’t know
what to do
i have no clue
what i am writing
right now
let alone
why my mind won’t
stop flooding with
images of your ivory skin.
this prison sentence
is on the brink
of ending.
thank Heaven.
and
i write to fill space
and that’s what
i did
with this.

i can’t seem to write poetry deep and soft and emotive. i can’t seem to do anything with my splintered hands and my lazy blue eyes.
i can’t find the beauty
in words;
no one reads my words to find the beauty in them as well.
i can’t seem to recite poetry off my tongue and into
my brain cavities when
i sleep with my lulled anxiety. i don’t understand how
life can be beautiful from in these cell blocks.
you can’t read poetry in vacant reveries
with deadbeats and
coffee and midnight mental breakdowns.
i can’t find poetry in my bones embedded deep beyond
my unfamiliarity.
you can’t find poetry
in centuries of instinct
or in your skinned knee; unless you see words in forms that people don’t know and can’t comprehend, therefore i am assuming you, as the reader, can’t
find poetry in the worst types of things because i have before,
so what
am i even rambling about anymore?
maybe poetry can’t even
be found
in the bones,
it’s in the soul.

i met you in the flesh of an early morning
swinging on rainforest vines
sparkling san francisco golden gate haven
sun, so radiant yet so tranquil

i met you, hazy with some byproduct of devotion
i was standing in rapture
an echo of aspiration
and restoration
an outline of a happiness that somehow seemed like closure

i met you, a symbolic glimmer
drunk in your joyousness
meeting as the morning dew barely dries from the damp grass
blue eyes like sapphires, like rubies, like gold

i was struck with akrasia
i forgot how to shake hands
i mumbled between my teeth
i met you, so shimmery, so wonderful
so full of mirth
     and
      i
      lost
      yet
      another
      thing
      to
      my
      greed
      and
      selfishness

do you go by some pseudonym at this moment in time?
i can’t find you in the rainforest trees, rains, or vines
you can’t be lost
forever

i am daft and i am dominoes crumbling
and i am
debris
from a rotted sea

and you are faithful and cheerful and jolly and dopamine rushes
and how dare i quell the moonlight inside you

if you have broken hands, i promise i will fix them
if you have died and went to Heaven
i dare you to send me
a safe haven of angels who all know my name
a safe haven of ballerinas loose on a stage
a safe haven of happiness where songbirds dance and dancers sing
a safe haven where violets bloom after the gloom
i hope your absence doesn’t contribute to the atrophy of my being

but if it does,
i least i met you for a little while
in the carcass of a morning apparition

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

my tears could be your tears
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
          ever so s
                          l
                            i
                             g
                               h
                                 t
                                   l
                                    y

                        ­                      different but not
                                              quite noticeable

my tears could be
a part
of the rain
d r i z z l i n g
onto your

                                f
                       a             e
                                c
                  
                                                  my struggles
                                                  could­ transfer
                                                  to yours
          
                      through the w
                                            a
                 ­                           t
                               c y c l  e
                                            r
          
   ­       we aren’t so different
          after a
                       l
                         l

does this corner house have space for me?
should i be taller or smaller?
hiding or should i come out from under my bed?
cause there are children
and they’re laughing
and i’m smiling
but who’s counting?
suddenly, the light is not a pale yellow anymore;
it’s gold

beneath darkness, i fold the laundry
i pick the towels off the floor and shower
in freezing cold water
no dry skin, just instinct
cause there are raindrops
that fall like missiles
just not the violent type
suddenly, the moon is not a pale white;
it’s pearl.

it’s so hard to stomach it
that i would feel freer without your grip
to leap from the cascade of waterfall
blood in the water
stab wound under the blouse
it’s a woman killer,
staying put.
that when it’s airplanes plummeting from the gaping sky,
or when it’s thrashing swords,
it’s better to just stay silent
or run away
but how come running away is so tricky?
to just move those little feet
and leave the ditch you lay in
for blooming gardens and sky-kissing cities
but it’s impossible.
bruises gather on satin skin
snake bites bubble
and tears slip
and
the realization hits
but doesn’t hit hard enough
and it’s just sitting in trenches
waiting for the enemy to consume
me
but it’s a slow burn
and
it burns so terribly.
i have remained unspoken
i have let the automobiles crash into my haven
i have given them a place to rest,
a place to stay in
and i
regret it.
regret meeting you
regret encouraging you
regret being anything near you.
you’ll stare at my grave in the ground
and you’ll just shrug it off,
move some dirt over it,
but it only covers the evidence
not the girl that sits
with her knees clenched
sobbing in fits
of anguish
caused by your tyrannical hunger
to give life to lonely people
and then take it away.

yet sometimes the water is calm;
there are no ripples caused by incongruity
no collapsing dams, no inundations
just peace.
and it’s safe in this place
i say
but one ever knows when rain
might be too heavy
and one never knows when their house is about to get flooded.

all i do is damage myself for you.

looking around the room
watching the door
the windows
every entrance
just to see if you would come back to me

crickets.

only my eyes are lit up by the moon
the tears are streaming in slow mo
the door still hasn’t opened

that’s it.