he thinks my expressions translate to admiration
he’s so stuck in his oblivion
the accidental glances must be for a reason
he’s so obsessed with himself
he’s thinks i’ll fall to my knees in front of him
jokes on you, i’ve only ever thought about you for less than a minute
i don’t adore you
the coincidences that align
are made up in your mind
i’m just trying to exist
i need to plant a garden within the constraints of the palisades
i don’t even know your name, nor am i enthralled with you
how come when i moved, you moved too?
it’s never ever about you
i need to build a garden in the middle of the woods
can i be trapped forever?
a vanished little girl
on the cliffs of doom

pinstriped and perfectly perfected into paper towns paper heaven paper falsities paper lies paper lucid dreams paper love
placate every single soul who’s about to go overboard
play my game with ****** fingertips
take those sandpaper words and smear them on my pinafore dress
tied at the waist
too small, no, too big, too stretchy, too loose, too tight, too everything
i perform every time i step out the door
poised and prodded and paced
problematic
sickness in this perceived health
parts of me floating bloodless in the ether
pardon me, but are you scared of places that your parents haven’t gone?
particularly i don’t believe a single sentence that escapes those perfectly formed prison walls holding gums and teeth inside
on purpose, i have patience
for people with the same patterns of personhood as you
and almost painfully,
i watch this perfect place catch flames, burn into paper perception paper wishes paper puppets paper precision paper people with paper powers with paper pleasure and paper pets and paper feelings
i deny this premonition,
i have been promised love if i continue with this patience
please paint my skies golden brown in this paper town
and i will pace by the doorway
peeking through the window panes
politely waiting for the headlights to pull into the driveway

—
no pressure, any time will be fine

just a line
just some item to buy
to place your grubby fingers upon
when the reflexes get
too repulsive not to surrender to
then lay those surfaces upon my heart
greasy fingerprints
then disown me,
only an object of desire

let the rhythmic pause of neurons
define your sense of being
just
please
don’t infect me

isn’t it strange that we don’t name ourselves?
because if i had the choice, i would be named: the girl with wavy or curly hair that never belongs anywhere
or the girl who believes in God more than herself
the girl who fears rejection like it is Covid-19
the girl who wished upon a star, but is still waiting on her delivery
the girl who is senseless who knows nothing about anything
the girl whose best friend left her when she was thirteen
the girl who associates made up or distant people with safety and security
the girl who listens to too much music and it clouds her judgment
the girl who re-enacts movies after she sees them play onscreen
the girl who gets lost in Disney movies and doesn’t enjoy reality
the girl who died after eighth grade and is despising the high school experience
the girl who purposely curses herself on friday the thirteenth
the girl who lost her mind and has lost all her glory
eruption, disaster, ugly, failure, useless, dramatic, romantic, not even close to funny, unintelligent, boring, exhausting to be around, psychotic, waste of space, crazy
the girl who is anyone, but what my parents named me
the girl named…

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

he ido al lugar donde descansas.
encontré tu forma en la arena.
algún día, te encontraré otra vez
en las señales
o en una cueva
con rosarios en tus manos cerradas.
te miraré con confusión
sorprendida con tu cara familiar.
no cárcel puede guárdame para siempre.
las paredes son demasiada delgadas
y mi amor para ti es más fuerte.
te amo con cada hilo de mi ser.

yo estoy sola
en mi imaginación
en mi realidad
en una multitud de personas.

te encontraré otra vez
cerca de los puentes
buscando tu corazón.
he corriendo miles de millas toda mi vida
cada paso más débil que el previo
rayos en el cielo
apuntando a ti.
ven acá
en el jardín donde el verano es para siempre
y nadie habla conmigo
excepto a ti
y no me importa
de verdad,
me gusta el ruido que haces en mi mente.

mis sentimientos te darán la claridad
cuando mi voz no te dará la verdad.

he te amado desde que tocaste mi corazón frágil
con tus guantes de oro.
eras un caballero
ahora no puedo encontrarte.
donde está mi hombre?
el tipo que se corre
más rápido que el viento
pero no te extraño
en este momento,
solo te quiero encontrar
en la selva o en mis sueños
no me importa.

now my veins are coursing with blood
taste it on my tongue
i can’t slow my pulse

he took my spine
and broke it in half
skipping heart inside my skin 
pounding
pounding
pounding
loud drums

the water towers i see from my bedroom window
to the storms you awaken in me
like bathing in chemicals
burning my skin
from within
why are his eyes so disjointed?
why do i sweat from my hands to my feet?
shuddering with anxiety
i’m so sick of having to give that disclaimer

do you feel my worry protrude from my speech?
the stuttering, the contemplation
i’m terrified i might say the wrong thing
so i don’t say anything
and hope the end passes
softly and—
i may have acted too hastily
shaking hands and paranoid and scared to bend my knees
cause someone might see
me
struggle
and then i’m ******* forever

and this attention, i’m not used to its hold on me
it feels threatening, can’t see the opening
at the end
of the tunnel,
vision is blinding me
what is a good moment to just say “no” out of the blue?
paralyzed with fear
maybe then you’ll know, it’s not worth it to even try with me
i hate hurting feelings, but this is hurting more than that
emails you sent me, just ask for my number
i could’ve given it,
but then i never would have texted
so you’d be
alone with yourself
and you’d have to be witty
i can’t see the future,
possibly
i might not want it to happen
so i try to push away
good things,
like they are mosquitos in the desert winds

but what are you attentive to on me?
for others have more than i do,
i’m poison ivy, i’m sticky glue
although once you have me,
i don’t want you
it’s like a burden, yet not how i treat you
is this too redundant or straight forward?
i’m sorry if this feels like torture to you
it feels much worse to me

maybe this is why i hate physics
the weird attractions
that happen
when you don’t even invite them in

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.

you know i’ve exhausted the idea of not being your friend.
remember when we were close and little girls
who thought they would cohabit when they were older
and weren’t we a mess with our sleepovers and jokes?

you know i’ve grown tired of being bitter and ashamed.
the blame game can only keep me untamed for so long.
remember when the growing pains struck, at least i did,
and our horizons were broadening on opposite sides of town?

you know i’ve gotten sick of the want to ignore.
remember how our mothers and fathers used to speak
and they didn’t stop out of anger or disdain,
so nor should we.

you know i’ve grown out of the resentment.
remember how it used to fall to the floor until i used it as a weapon
to inflict upon you the same hurt you caused me?

you know i’ve exhausted the idea of dying on this hill.
remember when we used to run down yours
or wish to sled instead,
and how the snow was streaked with brown sticks,
as we found little trinkets left behind and kept them as our own?

you know i’ve forgiven every minor error.
remember how we said we’d know each other until we were old,
forgetting kids and just spending our time together,
how we’d never be separated by the roughs of changes?

you know i’ve tired the idea of writing poems for you that you’ll never read,
knowing i’d dedicate myself to you again in a second
but being unsure if you would ever do the same.

only true poets listen to the voices in their heads

POV-
ur best friend of five years at least (ur horrible at math) has left you for a structure and you lay there on your bed confused. Life had just started getting good. U had a phenomenal teacher, “friends,” lovers (i mean you were like eleven so more like crushes) good grades and every luxury the world could give to you. it’s halloween night and you don’t even know it’s the last time you are going to be speaking with ur best friend. and after that you start to miss her and see her in unlit candles and McDonald’s hamburgers. you read ur old text messages and you bawl into your knuckles until u are sore and you have to stop for ur greater good. u avoid eye contact with her because now you are inside the place that she left you for and you feel immeasurable to its warm embrace. you don’t tell your new friends about your cluelessness of why she stopped talking to you. u leave this all untouched and no one can collapse the property you built for your furious self. And you grow tired every day of having to hide from such a public relationship that you develop social anxiety. u start to feel eyes all over you all the time and you can’t sleep well at night because there might be a ghost under ur bed. and ur life becomes pointless because who should you be living for now? u contemplate saying something to her, but you fear rejection so much that you cower in the dusty corner and u are safe... right? oh, but ur still gonna turn red and pink and purple after dreams are torn and scraped like the crumbs on the table. u ache with every bone in your body and every cell wishes you would just say “hi” to the closest stranger ever. but ur mouth shakes and trembles and you grow tired of always having to try after SHE left U for a building that would crumble in less than four years. a building that wouldn’t even last longer than ur “friendship.” but u don’t feel angry, you just feel numb and ur phone vibrates from other people who cared enough to call you smart or say you knew more than them in spanish class and you realize that some people will never care enough to talk or never want to rekindle what you thought they would and you are ok with it. because friends are fluctuations and you are probably never gonna see the man who asked you to help him walk across the street again, so why would you care if it was anyone else? u are unstoppable and ur best friend is just an old friend and that’s how the world is. and you will not cry about it

every ache in my soul is a power outage
the lights are out
the electricity fizzing
the power lines lay on my house
the walls cave in
the fridge is rotten
the humidity lingers
the sink doesn’t run
the internet is spinning
my head is spinning
my brain is spinning
every room too hot to enter
too inhospitable
every little sigh is a sweat bead
dripping and falling
crashing and burning
i keep on turning
the fan on
but it won’t work
my head is spinning
my brain is spinning
my mind is spinning
spiraling into madness
every sentence you spoke is a weapon
the heat is sizzling
the telephone poles are screeching
and i cannot put the power back on
i don’t have the power to do such a thing
i don’t have the power to do such a thing
i don’t have the power to do anything
to do anything
to do anything
show me once, how to do anything
how to do anything
how to be anything
how to be anything
how to be anyone
how to be anyone
how to turn back on
can this turn back on?

i don’t care what she did
i don’t care what she does
she’s my friend, after all

my sister told me she’s full of red flags
she hasn’t texted me in over a month
she’s grounded, i’m guessing
(i’m low key glad we haven’t texted much)
(she can be kinda overwhelming)
i feel like a horrible friend for saying that

my brain hurts because she was always
so kind to me
she accepted me for doing nothing
i never had to prove myself when
she was around
yes, she may be problematic, but aren’t we all?

my sister told me to stop hanging out with her
and being friends with her
why would i break off a good friendship?
we’ve never done anything bad together

she tried running away with her boyfriend
his name is andrew and he’s much
older than her
in june, she told me he was good for her
and i was happy that she was happy
was i wrong for that?

now she’s reckless and crazy
(not that she was never before)
she’s only friends with ****
addicts and skateboarders
i’m the only exception
i’m the only normal stable (kinda) one

i hate getting confronted about my friends
i’m a good girl and i’m not a doormat
i know when things get sketchy
and when you should run away

i’m starting to rant, but i don’t
think it’s unhealthy  
who knows what will happen next
at least i get writing material out of this

(it’s just an innocent friendship)

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.

i am trapped.
glued to the floor.
quicksand around my ankles.
enveloping my lungs.
can’t breathe.
can’t stop.
dragging me down to the depths.
the depths of inescapable nightmares.
tumbling.
sinking.
begging.
screaming ****** ******.
sand filling my throat.
scratching my esophagus so roughly.
clawing at my sensitive skin.
scraping my neck.
open wounds.
hourglass specks falling on top of me.
quicksand pulling me under.
can’t think.
can’t breathe.
arms reaching for anything.
branches, safety—more sand.
bubbling stomach with layers of salty sand.
pleading.
suffocated by the dust.
head underneath.
engulfed by the vicious sand.
gone.

good thing it’s not tomorrow till tomorrow. so i will sit on the edge of an eclipse, chasing moonlight specks from the balcony. i look up and it’s always you. there is always a someone i seem to feel the need to chase in the stars instead of just sitting incapsulated and quiet. letting the wind whistle between my cheeks, allowing my hair to flow and move in whatever way it deems worthwhile. so many things have convinced me i was not worthwhile, that i was more a currency than human being. i let the weak tell me i was weak, i let the strong arms go for a more lonely route. i let myself be defined by the amount of words that slip my tongue, i let my name be uttered remorselessly from lips that only wished the worst in me. silence allows thought, empathy, love. i am silent and content. sometimes it feels almost too easy to remain at peace with every single attack and blow i receive, but next time i will be more ferocious. i will growl and fuss and scream for my sake. i will take your words and aim them at you with fiery eyes. seemingly a coward, i am just so brazenly tired of feeling not enough. for speaking, for lack there of, for being the one who stares at stars instead of laughing at unfunny things and associating loudness with eagerness and loudness for being simpler to love. i am a silent shooting star, begging to be watched by passersby’s too busy staring at their screens to see.

park benches and arm stretches
hugs that feel like roses blooming
like footsies fooling
diehard chasers and fearless makers
high heels carving holes in the concrete floor
how is that possible?
holding hands on carved bridges made from men so long ago
touching each other’s shadows
behind telephone poles
dreaming mid-yawn
spinning in silk and satin spindled suits and dresses
red streaked eyes and tempered smiles and luxurious bodices
dancing on picnic looking tabletops
laughing our butts off
swinging from low hanging chandeliers
drinking from low budget wine glasses with koolaid since we’re minors
laying on each other’s chests and stroking each other’s hair fervently
trying to ***** dance in the sparkle of the sunlight
catching each other as we fall into trusting positions
pretending to be spies on top secret missions
grabbing my waist and falling onto the sparkly clean floor
becoming so mad yet never unsure
captivated by your lips and the way your skin twinkles a million different shades
and the way your voice calls my name in a billion languages,
some completely made up even
meticulously planning the way our shoes will leave marks in the dusty spots of the castle
sweating and eating brunch for dinner and not eating filet as an entree but as an appetizer
falling into your strong arms and losing control of what we are
seeing stars in the retinas of your eyes and mysteriously feeling dead-alive
like never before
nobody would have ever seen the manner in which you bat your eyelashes at me
and how the soft murmur of the breeze echoes across the coarse part of your cheek
and calls for me
safe and compact into a life that’s so magically intact
loving would never have been so tranquil if we had planned every single sought after moment
candidly slow dancing in the velvet summers day
being odd and obscure and strange in several colors and in multiple ways
touching the surface of your ocean wave body
sloshing so wonderfully
the rhythmic sound and all your capabilities
the rampant sweat clinging to your face, your throat,
looking at me
clowning around, tackling each other while grinning wildly
pillow fighting so hard the feathers exit and get caught on our wet tongues and shivering bodies,
and we collapse and watch hours and hours of tv while we sing karaoke from the 80s and pretend to be heartbroken like in the mvs
sitting on established thrones without the grueling jobs and committed work
losing sleep cause we stay up all night playing monopoly, but mostly it’s just you making fun of me cause i don’t participate i just grab my knees and admire the way you pick up the cards and still lose to me
and watch your rage fuel our fake arguments so we end up with full stomachs and happiness
watching theater from the highest balcony and grabbing my shaky hand and ridding of my anxiety
lovers spit, kissing cherry lips in the darkness of the abyss
kicking papers off of desk offices and messing around as if we are two tiny kids
having the kind of love that doesn’t get trapped beneath the sofa cushions that are crusty and ready to give away, but haven’t yet
the kind between gapped teeth, white as ivory, licking the dwindling flavor and savoring the last moments till it’s not sugary
taking life so seriously is absurd,
instead dance ballroom style on tabletops and try ***** dancing for once in your darned life
it ain’t gonna hurt

my skin has red blotches of scaly patches all over my arms and my legs and my face and my neck and everywhere
they dwell as if they own my body and i put a do not disturb sign on my door and i locked the windows and i bolted the door to the moist ground in hopes they would never return
i thought i evicted their jaws out of my property, but they return like an unfinished disease
these skin problems linger and travel like rockets around my disgusting body
multiplying, in deadly divisions, making me claw against my skin, feeling like the human kind of razor blades

and here i am, red and angry and beyond eager to get this over with

in moonlight mist beyond my fingertips
i trace the lunar patterns and come down
with a fulfilled thrill cast fishing pole hooks
inside the wild Milky Way galaxy
starlit strips against my lips reflected
by striped curtains folded on window panes
sweet Sirius on stilts along the brink of
reaching slight nightmarish ultimatums
hosted by my own unenthused gimmicks
that sink upon sheepish fragility
imposed by God, the sole pure deity  
though one must utter to the stars thinking
they are to suffer alone, forsaken
instead awakened by the knock of morn

sometimes i write to no one
nobody is filling the void deep in my soul
so i make up fantasy men to take up the space
to fill in the cracks with their vibrant smiles
cheekbones accentuated
i instruct these prosthetics to heat my freezing
cold heart
stuck in a plain old reverie with kisses and children dancing in a ballroom
these fake and imagined life forms leave behind a vestige of fantastical beauties
these creations are flowing like water in secret caverns
dancing around my empty body
healing my blemishes but they still return to the creations’ surprise
they lift my limp limbs and lower me over the ancient greek pond
letting me drink the rich and luscious stream
filling my body with water, weighing me down
more mass and a bigger center of gravity
btw i am almost dead by the time they finish these rituals
these fantasy men care for me day in and day out, but they are sculpted from my mind
not real, this is not reality
they make me feel “happier” and “fuller” in my eyes but i know this is all a façade
naked and no one shall know
that the girl who waits here for fantastical sculptures to touch her and clothe her is a deep and dark disappointment
some say, “what an ingrate.”
some don’t even bother to care
nobody truly cares
and i figured this out many months ago
i am finally letting go
and as i turn to these creations i have created inside of my head
they blow and dissolve into the wind
therefore i have virtually no one
so i weep into my pruny hands
then draw the conclusion that i will never be loved
at least i know one thing for certain  :/

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.

my innocence floated away in fourth grade
when all my classmates grew up and it petrified me.
the world has ruined my bones, has ruined the soil where i planted my first milkweed for the monarch butterflies
we have all been destroyed
we just don't realize
or maybe we do, we just shower and bask in it.  
every soul is so uncouth and the world now stings more than the crack of the whip.
termites are crawling inside our mouths
moths are being inhaled through our nostrils.
when i was nine, everything had a clear answer and i was always happy
but now that my innocence has been scraped from the bark of a crabapple tree
i am so bewildered and i can’t find any sanctuary and life is so unendurable.
restore my patient calm and timid mind
i loathe this planet and this wicked institutionalized harbor where i now have to spend my days
all because i lost my innocence in fourth grade

ships sinking
as you stare across the bay
memorize the smile on my lips
the hallucinations i’ve secretly kept

breathe me in, don’t spit me out
i’ve outcasted myself enough times for the both of us
don’t give me that solemn stare

take me back to the roller rink
to the depths of my heart i haven’t explored
to the party of yours that i missed

i’m so sorry for the past inconveniences that haunt you and quite visibly me
can we be friends again before the ship sinks into the void of indigo ocean water?
making you smile so often was quite possibly my greatest accomplishment

there is nothing on this sinking ship except naivety and

(in my quiet solitude
though uninhabited, i see a force that wears the skin of a wolf
and it circles around me like a vulture to its prey.
there is yet to be found a validity
alive in this misfortune
obscenity has a spiteful home here.

have these bones grown too brittle?
have you turned into a surge of unnecessary memory?
the pressure folding my lungs like cards
the violence raising me as a scapegoat.
have you seen these ugly acidic tears turn the ground into a salt mine?
if you have looked for me, you have not seen me.
my intuition pulls and hides and repositions me
these conditions we instill are making us suffocate.
and these borders are making me unfamiliar
to the uproar i had grown so accustomed to.
to the sewer, we were flushed
and we lost the foundation that was hardly standing beneath our groaning feet.

the fury i breathe through my tired nostrils
entangles me
like a vine in a rainforest that only knows how to be sunny.
if you have looked for me, you would have seen a corpse instead.
a semblance of what used to exist.
a current swept over terrain that remains, that never
changes.
the barriers across miles of lands picked over, lands filled with dry tumbleweed, lands uncooperative with human life,
we rested upon.
in painful oblivion,
we lost the voice of the siren.
our qualms swelled
manically filling us with unease inscrutable to our undeveloped skulls.
we wear our burdens like unwashed clothes.
we walk within the hands of famine and loss and destruction.
we hear each other’s names, but all it causes is…)


pain.

same man who told me i would be his girl
ripped my heart out and slammed it onto the floor.
haunted by betrayal, it twists around my room
it sits upon my bed and it refuses to listen to you
or me.
same guilt pressed against my skin
my own friends lost so much sight of me.
i’m sorry.
he was accidental tears falling from my eyes
makeup worn to disguise
the melancholy deep within my soul.
same man who told me i would be the one to take home
told me to go.
stretched out on the beach,
nothing but the sky and sea
reaching towards a meaning you would never give to me.
somehow now it’s all my fault
i misread all your calls
i had mistaken your sudden advances for something meaningful.
you’re a narcissist, a crawling goblin,
a regretted kiss, your knife still sharpened
over my silk body, over my salty tears
over all these doubts
you couldn’t heal
carved a heart shape out of my chest
left in a dying mess
i bet you’re happy
knowing you hurt someone like me
for the hundredth time
do you ever learn?
before you hurt people like
me
who just want to be seen
by a man who tells us we’re beautiful?
does it burn you to see the fireworks sink from the sky
beside your bedside?
or do you never regret anything
never apologize when you’re mean
never have to take accountability
for your stupid actions.
you are the glass shards in my back
aching intensely
the extra teeth in my mouth just puncturing me
you are a brutish maniac, a life threatening heart attack
you are a dead man
run ahead, man.
same man who loved me for months
says he’s done
with this.
same man who betrayed me
still thinks he’s holy.
same man who broke my heart
still thinks he’s an injured part.
oh, you never knew me
but i must not have known you too well, either.

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.

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.”

for the millionth number i can’t count of times you’ve made my heart want to spout out profanities and send a flood a ‘rushing your way
i hate to say
but i will with my entire chest cavity
i do not owe you.
i am not your pretty princess ready to bend to your wind or your will
i am starting these words with “i” because even that you didn’t allow
my opinions didn’t matter, my music taste didn’t matter
for the meaningless songs of yours i just smiled along to and tried to humor you about them so you wouldn’t feel slighted were awful
you can’t treat people like objects who are only supposed to serve you and expect me to love you back
and the audacity for your mind to be so clogged and to think that you will make mine too
i can forgive your crimes, i will forgive your crimes,
don’t you even dare think that i won’t.
you’re pathetic and that’s honestly incredibly sad
that your parents never loved you and all the experiences with awful people is the only love you’ve ever had.
tearing people’s skin off and expecting them to kneel at your feet,
you thief,
you merciless useless shell of a woman
what mercy do you think you will receive when you give me nothing when i have done absolutely nothing to hurt you
and trust me, i’d be the first one to know.
where’s that conscience of yours?
not in that heart of steel, nor in those dying robotic eyes
you are nothing to me
after how you play me like a toy
like a mendable device,
i will still be so nice, so smiley, so personable, so favorable to you
and my brain tells me that you don’t have an empathetic bone in your body,
and it would be a million trillion times right.
it makes sense when your parents haven’t taught you a single moral in your almost eighteen years of living, although you act like you’re three years old with a problem with sharing.
sorry, i’m using correct grammar, something you don’t know.
how many times can someone make excuses to just avoid you?
why will i haul you around this town just for you to call me the b word and act like it’s some kind of silly goofy joke.
i am not laughing.
are you?
oh, of course you are, you plotting sinister smarty
and i feel remorseful for saying those things about you when you say way worse and never move your tongue to apologize.
it’s just one word girl.
oh wait, it might be too hard for you to pronounce.
“i’m sorry” takes too much effort.
you never loved me
and i always knew that, but admitting that to myself would make me feel more alone, but now i don’t care at all
i am completely apathetic to you.
completely indifferent to you.
i never loved you.
come on, it was obvious.
it is obvious.
get a grip.
treating your friends like trash on a dirt road is not how kindhearted people act.
you are childish, childless, erratic, insane, a literal crisis in and of itself.
you are not my friend.
you are not my support system.
you are no one to me except a brutal dictator, picking and choosing what i can and can’t do with my life.
heck, i treat the ground i walk on with muddy shoes better than you treat me.
must be nice to feel so high up, but know deep down that you are just so low.
so low i can’t even see you from here;
i don’t want to.
you are utterly awful and i forgive you for that,
some people just can’t help their insufferableness
i think i just made up a new word,
but it defines you perfectly so i will devote it to you,
you slimy intolerably unempathetic (another word) angsty teenager.
get a grip and be nicer.
it really is not that hard to treat me like a human being.
i’ve been doing it to you this whole time
and you’re lucky i haven’t complained once.
so for now;
leave me alone.

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

the atmosphere seems bleaker through the second story windows
on the first floor, there i scramble, breaking through the wake of the waves in my illusion crawling mind
creating a line of sea water from the teardrops that tumble onto my shaky hands
trudging through the unbeknownst woods,
seeing mini faces carved into tree logs
and then i collapse
over and over again.
every day feels like a shank in the veins
as if a phantom has taken the reins with its cold bony hands
and i am left to sit in the carriage of death
with Belonging, Happiness, Optimism, and Life itself.
do i look as stormy and gloomy as the earth through the second story windows of this prison?
i hope not.

seized—
deceased people around me
see the anxiety that
towers over me
like a dictator hungry
for tyranny

frightened—
held by the nightmares
that heighten my senses
tighten my vessels
take into account
my unenlightened downfall

conquered—
off my rocker
stabbed with blades,
they knocked her
out and she cried
but not ta’
worry, she’s
bonkers;
shocker

captured—
years since i’ve felt rapture
left my optimism
in a time capsule
fractured my bones
discarded them in a chapter
book
lost my laughter
caught in disaster

just when i assume the worst has passed,
the peril continues
strong and decided
seizing me,
frightening me,
conquering me,
capturing me

the reflection of tangerine sunset on the rainy road and the wide expanse of kansas is the pretty i want to be.

the mystery soaking in the wound.
some sun-tanned lady with a ballgown.
a rose bush absent of the thorns.

the burial sight of an isolated victim.
an unspoken but understood shadow.
the willow tree’s branches after a nightly frost.

the strange white light before death.
the neatly tidied vanity.
a polite aftershock after a raging earthquake.

the sandals,
the beachside condominiums,
the skyline with white stripes.

my amiability
surging through the atmosphere,
singing for salvation.

in shallow tides
in open waters
the water slips through every crevice in my hand
nothing is
and do you think the lovers have everything they ever dreamed?
do the lovers themselves lose the meaning of love?
turn it into
something transactional
something found because of loneliness.
sick of being a lover in a loveless world
where the love i reach for is
just beyond
my physical ability to touch.

no one cares what books i read
my “best” friend cries on the phone to me
she says it’s just a matter of time
before we go on vacation together
or the april child she loves will
wind up at her ivy-covered door
with lips filled in apologies
or half-hearted “i adore yous.”

she says it’s just a strange world
comparing each of my companions to her
i don’t allow myself to get worried
with her obvious emotional manipulation
her selfish need to conspire against me
constantly thinking it’s for the best.

her mother speaks so softly
tells her not to get so out of hand
tries not to let her wash her life away
in a trailer park fever dream
with cigarette smoke and boys that come
and go, but they never know
the brutal need for her to skin her victims
package them away in garage bins
and leave them to handle their mangled limbs
by themselves

one day, i think i will freak out
and rip up the bluebird-colored tablecloth
and pluck the shards of glass
from my weakened arteries
and she will meltdown in a sweaty bar
turn soggy and white in the face
and her relatives will all disown her

she says i’m one of the only friends
to chose from
to swim in a pool by the ocean
she wants the florida marsh in my hair
the cypress smile sticky on my top lip
but she doesn’t care about me
and my irregular temperature
my august windstorms
my maine hemispheric cold-spouts

her merely view through telescopic lenses
magnifying me
but she says slurs and she thinks it’s ok
and it’s not
multiple skeletons lying upright in her closet
as i try to open the doors
she slams them shut
freckles from the sun and the never-ending daytime hour she rarely sleeps and
maybe that’s her issue
all blue and purple, bruised legs
and egos falling on the floor
like dominoes
springtime wishful thinking,
but winter betrayal sinkhole in my backyard

she says it’s about time for
her to come to my house
deposits her eggs for me to chew on
or take care of or whatever
she thinks this transactional
friendship is
or how it looks from the inside
lurking along the corners of the creaky fence

she moves in muscular anomaly
she uses me like a chess piece
bent to her inconsistencies
face flat on farmland
and flannels torn to holes
from her constant urge to
crunch up all my simple pleasures
leaving them like mush
and stomach acid lingers
on their polyester remnants
smelling like old shoes worn by
some old storyteller

but i am in hibernation,
comatose on the dewy grass
my liver sits untouched inside of my belly
crabapple seeds are planted
but rarely the trees ever sprout or venture
farther than one foot
buried inside infertile ground

she waits attentively for my eyes to bat open
for the coma to subside
so when the morning wetness climbs
atop my powdered-coconut nightgown
sallow in complexion
i rest with shut pupils
so the fools don’t bolt into
the inmost part of me  

she tells herself he’ll write her a letter
stained with decaf coffee or maybe
his own sweat or spit or
passion dipped into a quill pen
and out onto the parchment
pathetic diction and apathetic vindication
she tells me one day,
he will regurgitate it back for her
onto her palms and she will recite
every word like a well-thought out poem
sprawled out upon her chest
heaving his misleading justifications

but i won’t be waiting
for her
as the florida air stains her soul
from the inside out
until her heart is black as coal
and her hands are stained from the
peeling of my brain cavity that
leaks blood she thinks
makes oddly-familiar patterns
across her guilty figure