when you figured out i could drive
you took advantage of me real fast—
“i love you’s” and all that fake allegiance.
well, guess what—i will burn the town we found leave it in wreckage
i will be more than who i am around you;
spirit sucker
undercover.
i hate how you talk to people
all crass and aggressive.
selfish little clinger
i’ll leave these daggers in my flesh
that you placed there for me
after you got mad i didn’t give you everything.

sometimes the pain sits lightly atop my hair
never flowing past my shoulders
never dipping down below my collarbones
but sometimes the pain envelops me, knee deep
it buries itself in my shabby shoes
touching each toe and its nail, not leaving a part of me out

sometimes the pain leaks into my mouth and becomes a weapon wielded with regret
stains form on my clothes from ****** bullets ricocheting
sometimes the pain becomes my voice, hijacking my speech and blending it into violence

my flesh the proof that pain once owned me

but it doesn’t
it doesn’t own me
i let it think that it owns me as it terrorizes
each and every salty tear i let tumble bears witness,
but they know it’s just a way to get me to stray from the stability i deserve

the pain isn’t who i am
it doesn’t define me at all
it doesn’t make me any less strong or brave or fearless
it gives me reason to believe
that although pain does not own me
neither does happiness
a state of limbo, sometimes suffering
i own my pain, giving it power ever so often
giving it the chance to destroy me, yet it never does
it never comes with blades or doubt or anger

no matter how brutal the battle,
the pain will always crumble beneath my feet
and i will not let it crawl up my spine
and rest atop my hair from now on
i can be free from the pain that confines me
from the false happiness that life begs you to accept
i can be free in the choice to believe
to believe
to believe

i would like to love you like everyone else does
like a morning dove
awaiting morning
like a beautiful sunset
still forming
i would like to love you easily and breathlessly
count all the syllables in the words you say
watch you walk
watch you stay
watch you walk away anyway.
i’m so difficult to love:
i move in rhythms
i push away—i shove
i erode the land i pave
i can’t mend the things i break.
i can’t be in love with you—
that would mean i would have to stay.
i am disgusting, you are ravishing.
you are hourglass sand in my hands
and i have stab wounds too
you fall through
every time
through every corner of dying skin.
you would abhor me if you could just stop adoring me—
i haven’t felt useless since the day we met
but i have a selfish need to push, pull,
yawn and stretch
and move violently in indignation.
you were in the wake, you moving piece of innocence
you had no clue who you were meeting
and now i’m sure you regret
it.
i can’t be who you want me to
cause then i’d have to stay
and i’m not sure how not to move these legs.

in the end, i know that
i will watch you watch me walk away.

why can’t i be as pretty and translucent as water?
the little tiny ripples
the mistakes
the errors- they are beautiful

when i am worried
the tears fall out of my eye sockets
the only part of me
that i find admirable

water, why can’t i be exactly like you?
melting into different shapes
and sizes
shimmering in the strawberry light?

why can’t i be as beautiful?

it'll always be impossible
to forget
you.
in some kind of metaphorical way,
you'll always be standing rain-soaked
on my doormat.
the moon might sparkle,
your name floating inside its craters,
and i'll see every shape you indented into me.
i might lose the sound of your voice
echoing in an empty room,
my ears pressed against the walls
sobbing, pleading for myself to remember it.
if i ever get stuck on the interstate,
would i just stare at your phone number,
but refuse to call it?
i remember may, i remember march;
i was alive then.
i remember you with your hands that moved
up and down the seat,
i was always afraid
to attach some kind of meaning to you;
thought i betrayed myself when i did.
wrote so many poems you were the outline of,
almost forgot you entirely.

i'm living now with scars,
an absence of your space,
a loss of appetite,
a stained mouth,
a stomach filled with butterflies,
an esophagus polluted with their dusty wings.
i'm living now
with pages of writing dedicated to how it felt,
how i started to believe
i should've been someone else,
un-phased by your mercy.
i wonder if pennsylvania left you
in its clutches,
i wonder if ohio ever feels too foreign.
i wonder if i ever died on those
back roads,
i wonder if you were ever actually scared like me.

it was the greatest
a fairytale in front of my very eyes
theme park joy and bubblegum
my favorite destination was you
with your arms wide open like angel wings
patient and kind, never filled with pride
as i weeped on your shoulder,
yeah, i might have seemed cold,
but i didn’t mean it

you were ruthless
cut my wings just to prove your “innocence”
you’re a flute playing hypnotic tunes
but i’m not amused
with your faking and pacing and erasing of me
at the party when you stopped talking abruptly
and left me standing on the porch by the lamppost that moths were glued to
shivering in a state of paranoia
hearing the droning sound of voices unfamiliar
from the curtained window

perfume stuck in your hair
our promises float in smoke rings around us
it’s the holidays and you look as handsome as ever
i borrowed your sweater
and it feels like a warm hug
your nervous laugh, it’s so wholesome
the candlelight bounces along the wall
what would i ever do if i lost you?

a mirage of you
i sat on the docks
december rain poured on my back
an ache never soothed
a pathetic ruse of a love you tried to convince me we had
an empty fireplace
the moon a distant creature, she reaches out to me
but it’s violence and anger and blood on my sweater
you stole it, “control,” you wept
i lay in bed so afraid of the morning’s first breath
just nightmare fuel left

trust in the palms of your hands
you told me you don’t wanna leave me
it’s summer sunglasses weather
love you forever
in hazy afternoon smiles
your forever wild child
alive on the porch in the breeze
drunk on liberty
in between a quick kiss on the cheek
what a lovely rapture
intensity, love me, your silk shorts and pillows
you make me angry sometimes, but just for a while
you’re always apologizing for your wrongs
so easily, so selfishly

the thrashing and pounding from downstairs i hear
there’s a window pane and there’s not a single speck of dust there
a hush and covers going over my head as the stairs creak from a weight under them
it’s so quiet in Heaven
so silent in my reveries
but soon covers are pulled
legend of
cruelty  
lended itself to me
voice cracks and wine bottles broken
i shouldn’t have made the point to correct you
out of turn, out of time
always tears in my eyes
holes in the drywall  
trusting you is a mistake maybe i was willing to make
was it my fault?
it must be
it’s so cold in this room, so unfathomably freezing
but it’s summer; the time for believing
the time to find reason,
but i’m just a shell of a man with no guts to fight back when the pressure attacks
like a shark in the water
a bear hungry for flesh,
a lunging beast
beneath the undergarments
there are bruises and echoes that don’t show themselves
how could they?
no one would comprehend how fires diminish with enough wind

you’re overreacting, it’s just a simple scolding
let’s go on a ferris wheel and see how you just need a bird’s eye view
you’re the reason i wake up to chirping and coffee mugs and salvation
you’re the reason the day is bearable
to someone like me, how could you leave me in the dust
on the side of the unforgiving road?
i will be a rain puddle if leaving suits you best
you’ll never be happy
without me
over and over,
find a lover,
then they disappear behind the grocery store
you’ll never find satisfaction again
doomed to wander and wander and wander
but i am right here
with my arms open wide like angel wings
i’ll give you the strength to fly, just stay or there’s no point to do anything but—

“will you just listen?” stays my internal monologue
“if guilty had a soul, it would be yours.”
a worn down heart, so low in the ocean
i still will lift the blame from your shoulders any day if you desire
if it hurts you to realize the pain you caused me
it’s a black night and it’s cold, so terribly freezing
i can’t see life through the windshield foggy with rain
what am i if not a ghost in the dark of the night, looking for others like me
who cry in secrecy
and hide their nerves in scratched up arms?
what am i if not bent like a willow to your whim?
who am i if not alone in my own sorrow, begging to be yours, even when i want to be as far away from you as possible?
so easy to forget me
in story, you would have been kind to me
living in harmony
live for me, never laying a hand on me
but anger won you over and wrecked you
are you just as lonely as—

what did it give to learn and unlearn and learn it again just to unlearn it on purpose?
what did it give to make friends strangers to make strangers friends and then turn them inside out again?
what did it give to live within a dying house without ever exposing yourself to the outside world?
what did it give to push and punch and **** the love inside you just for simply existing?
what did it give to jail the one person who gave you wings and labeled silly old you a friend?
what did it give to dig only one hole in the backyard when you knew there would be too many bodies to hide and bury?
what did it give to sing and sing and giggle and smile when it was all for nothing?
what did it give to kick the benevolent for just being there
to hold your sore arms
and hold you till the damage almost disappeared?
it lingers still without a halo hanging like a poster over the bed.
what did it give to end up being alone in the end?
what did it give to end up exactly like you had always planned?

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.

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

when the wind whistles through,
poking, prodding,
doesn't even see
every minor infraction, even after plentiful inspection
in that it has touched me more than anyone,
has known which direction it would blow my hair
in that in no time has it made assumptions
nor presumed
only moved
about with a firm motion.
that just the other day, anger had gotten the best of me,
wishing the wind would stop reminding me of my existence
in that the bitter cold reminded me of every thought
that had been digging at the surface of my skin
and the wind did not know that i had not wanted
to be understood
in that moment.

i desired to be misunderstood,
a presence as unkempt,
as thoughtless, yet tender,
yet warm,
yet violent,
yet soft,
being able to know
the depth of someone's skin—their hair that stands on edge,
each scar and all its painful attachment,
each memory they've kept hidden,
that for some reason stay dancing on top;
and i stayed dancing
as the wind whistled
and
told me of my reasons
and didn't laugh
at a single one.

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…

the moon—she knows of who she is;
i have no idea who i am.

perhaps a jellyfish
who stings when she’s provoked
not always under duress, sometimes
just because she feels threatened by the enormous depths of the sea.
perhaps a lover,
a silly little heart
that glows when it’s full
that beats when nerves flood in.
perhaps a sailor,
wandering and contemplating a world
where one could be free
and devoid of responsibilities,
chasing the stars and seas
yet somehow sees them as omens
she must avoid.
perhaps a daughter
with harp string fingertips
with legs that waltz with no regrets,
who breaks her back to measure up
and sings the craving to bed at night.
perhaps a flame,
one swallowing all the elements
destroying every path,
begging that they’ll stay.
perhaps a girl
who loves unashamedly
and naked and like an ember
like a forest fire
like a jellyfish
like a navigator of the seas
like a throbbing heart
like a delicate daughter,
perhaps everything all at once
everything and everyone that ever breathed in my vicinity
perhaps an amalgamation of all the creatures leaping in my chest,
scraping at my rib cage—thoughts dying to be uttered
said
muttered.

perhaps no one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

your existence is a knife in the back;
i can’t complain,
i let you in with your murderous crime-plotting hands.
i stayed put and watched the blood drip
down each leg.
i didn’t try to plug the wounds.
i wanted you to hold me till my breath stopped and the time slowed to a lull,
till i laid limp in your arms,
still and hushed.
i wanted to be touched undecidedly
not knowing where to place the mess you left behind.
i wanted to haunt the memories in the front of your mind,
swiftly slithering about,
till all you knew was what you had done,
but it was passion
and yet i love you still.

every morning, i lose a little hope that you will love me.
there are weapons in my hands,
pointed straight at your heart.
will you love me if my temporary winter chooses to subside?
will you love me with my spring eyes and hopeful glances?

there are weapons in my arms,
pointed straight at your heart.
the night calls my name with her quiet lips,
her silent voice gliding through the busy streets,
straight into my soul.
will you love me if the distance only makes you guiltier?
will you love me as an extension of the adoration for yourself?

there are weapons in my heart,
pointed straight at your heart.
the morning kills me with her hands as i almost do to you;
unmistakably, regrettably, and embarrassed.
will you love me as i am, a summer child, with hopes as fleeting as the humidity?
will you love me if i cannot hide my fragility anymore?

i’m so ashamed to admit i’m too weak to love you.
but will you love me, without arms, without hands, without weapons aimed at mistakes, without window panes, without cold shoulders, without dying streetlights illuminating the bones of every fault, without shame, without killing me by accident, without drowning out the truth, without starving all the bad news as if it’ll just disappear, without eyes that burn through confessions, without flimsy notions, without sickness?
will you love me if the words refuse to escape from my prideful lips,
that i love you just the same?
will you love me even if the morning never comes, even if the winter keeps pushing its frosty thumb against the glass, even if the world around us keeps us knee deep in quicksand, slaves to our own habits of ‘run away’?
will you love me no matter the weapons i try to attack you with?—
i have no bullets, no sharp knives, no desire to harm you.
my inability of loving is violent in and of itself
so
every morning, i think less of who i am,
knowing i do not deserve to be loved
by you.

**** me

like you know how
like how you did a few weeks ago
like i’m a meaningless ant

**** me

like how you do every time i dedicate words to you
like how you drown yourself in your own convictions
like how you’ve seen others do before

**** me

like you would if we were not friends
like i know you want to
like i know you have before

**** me

like i wish you would
like i wish you would jab the knife in my heart to stop the pain
like i wish you were actually honest in your beliefs
like i wish you touched me with bloodied hands instead of careful ones
like i wish you would get sick of everyone else and their bodies
like i wish you would just be like everyone else so this wouldn’t eat me up inside
like i wish you were proud of the things you discard
like i wish i still appeared on your mind like how you do on mine
like i wish you killed me instead of reviving me.

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?

“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
to myself in the mirror
or maybe even
to a distant/immediate
lover
under
the covers.
“shine and be shown,”
one day i’ll yell to
the spruce trees
whose branches
hover over
me
or to
the way i
look in skinny
jeans.
“love the death inside of you
and keep the
life inside
of you as
strong as you can,”
one day i’ll tell my
grandchildren if i lose
my fear of giving
birth or
to somebody
needing
of a pep talk.
“be valiant,
don’t ever be false,
for that is worse than
the most heinous
of truths
you have hiding
inside your skull,”
i’ll tell you as
we sit
on
the kitchen floor
in underwear
under
the fluor
escent
flickering lights
eating brunch
at noon in the
afternoon.
and you’ll tell
me the exact
same thing
and i’ve always
been such a
terrible
liar.
“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
on the dock
by the lake house
with the really
suspicious murky
water
and i’ll say it
with pride to
the image
of my past
image in
the pitiless
mirror.
perhaps you’ll
say it to me as well,
as the fog
opens up a
new front
in my/our
front yard
as i peep
through the
blinds
and i feel alive
and the
poetry in my
veins awakens
to the beat of
the ripened heat.
and i’ll shine like
the sun,
just can you be
my spotlight if
my light suddenly
dims?
can you?
can you, please?

who said this would ever be fun?
i am a gaping wound
just passed back in forth between my mind and my heart.
i don’t know how to breathe without an oxygen tank
pumping filtered air into my body.
i’d much rather be dead than have some machine breathe for me.
i am a gaping wound
at every party, i wasn’t invited.
i just stand in the background
and watch everyone else
live till they puke
love till they collapse.
special: why did i ever feel so?
every place hurts
because i smell your scent here
i see traces of your sweat on every chair.
everywhere i look, you had been there before.
dancing with your heart on your sleeve,
you learned how to live at such a young age,
can you teach me how to breathe by myself?
show me the ropes, i can repeat it,
even if you only do it once, i’ll break my ankles and shatter my lungs piecing together any little part i remember.
teach me how to breathe without apologizing,
how to lucid dream,
how to be someone you would never ever forget
even if you get dementia and your brain doesn’t remember how to function anymore.
i am a gaping wound,
but please wipe the blood and bandage me up.
never mind; i don’t wanna damage you too.

could someone please fill the lines of their notebook with my name
write poetry
they may or may not wanna tell me about
but it keeps them awake at the witching hour
and they want my lips to leave marks on their pillowcases
they want my voice to ring throughout their hollow hallways
echoing through their bitten hearts
so i can finally be wanted
and i won’t have to stay up at the witching hour, crying tears of loneliness cause i’ll have someone who’ll sketch my eyes with charcoal and construct a poem out of my sadness and we can be best buddies
**** it
i wish it was all that easy.

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

your hands were fire
i needed to be warmed
in my little flower crown
on my hesitant head
but
i denied it
it makes me sick with sorrow
as i paced in my own selfish delusion
losing focus
losing faith
we danced on the patio
as the night thickened
i turned you down
left you turning black
underneath my touch
you grabbed her hand
reaching for a soft resolution
did you know?
i forgot how to process
i wrote you notes in candlelight
hoping moments could become
real again
real
real…
i once believed i would marry the weather
and its mood swings
but i lost my way while walking back home
tripped on the beaten path
i lost the fire that was contained in your soul
it couldn’t turn to solid fast enough
i died alone in a abandoned bar
as you dined in a two story house with your children at the foot of your bed
but i didn’t love you and i still don’t, so why do you seem like my missing piece?  
why do i feel like i need you?
something real, something real, something real

i talk to my friend on the phone
but i can’t help but wish it was a boy
cause we could sneak out late just to laugh at ourselves
or swing on the swing set and you could catch me midair
but wait, these are fantasies
i will never be loved
by a boy who will wrap me up in his arms
treasure me and tell me i’m one of a kind
and not want my body but long for my soul
yearn for my presence and not for the immodest clothes that i wear
i wish it could be like 1922
when boys were men and girls were women
all of the romances written at that time
were sweet and delicate and dainty and slices of life
whereas now i hate every boy that i see because they like my figure and dislike me
but maybe i’m a rambler
and i have nothing to complain
even so, i’m just as lonely at the end of the day
i wish there was someone who would be my umbrella in the rain
but those boys are so scarce nowadays
i fear they’ve gone away
extinct
dead
eliminated
i’m waiting for the day we are all monsters
not waiting for the day when i find a 60 degree day love
in between my polyester sheets
when we both wake up
and we are just in peace

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’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?

you know,
when i was young
i saw the world as a canvas.
a blank sheet of material waiting for my curious little fingers to touch,
to sculpt, to model.
and oh, did i paint.
i moved mountains with my palms, i made rivers flow with the touch of my hands
and you know what?
i thought myself a pretty esteemed artist.
i imagined my future living in a huge penthouse in the biggest city in the world i could think of at that age and that was
pittsburgh.
i would tower over the laborers and the tax workers and the mailmen and the street performers because i was the new “it” girl.
glistening in pearls above the city people who always take life so seriously.
inside of my kindergarten classroom,
i believed everything to be possible.
we learned about Noah’s ark and what two plus two was and i was smart
and quick on my feet
meanwhile some other child was crying and i couldn’t understand why because everything i could have ever wanted was displayed on the chalkboard in that very moment.
the world was a thousand colors in that classroom.
there were always crayons at my disposal, in which i used them to sketch part of the planet that was still blank on the canvas.
i believed.
i believed that Santa still existed and that the tooth fairy would bring me money instead of a tooth under my pillow but guess what?
i didn’t lose my first tooth until second grade.
back when the only worry i had was that my teeth weren’t loose and wobbly
back when the world looked friendly and the only things that were hostile were my pugnacious teeth that wouldn’t budge.
i saw skies where there were vicious mirrors, blessings where there were flaws.
my classmates were foolish but i-
i knew what i wanted my canvas to be.
but
soon
i
started
getting
older
and cancer was a real thing. violence was a real issue not just something i saw in a batman comic. society turned her back on the very children she birthed.
my hands stopped painting with bright colors.
highlighters were stolen out of my hands, pencils placed in them.
gray graphite with no emotion except “do this math problem or you will fail at a future.”
what future am i exactly preparing myself for at this speed?
what happened to the coloring books
and the watercolors and the all about me posters i made?
where did they go?
did they disappear into the void of shame?
because once the authorities took away my liberties; my freedom, i started slacking.
the world became a barren wasteland like the one after simba left the teeming pride lands.
bulldozed over.
all that creativity pent up in me..it had to be slaughtered.
it had to be executed.
so i breathed smoke to **** the formation inside of me
it choked, and so did i
and i
felt bad for it.
creativity was the one driving force, the one constant in my world that was falling apart and making room for the erratic world that punched through the walls of my love for the old world.
what would i be without a classroom full of tools that i could use whenever i saw fit?
this is insane.
people started coming into my life and out and i could not hold their hands and beg for their stay; they would leave me kicked and scarred
and maybe they whispered “sorry” to me because some of their empathetic nature still existed.
some of their light still hadn’t been stomped out.
it was fully wrecked when their parents got divorced
and there were screaming battles
and that’s when they heard that vile swear word that comes up in every conversation now as a teenager
and that word makes them upset
yet
they can’t remember why
just like their parents never understood why their child got so depressed jumping from house to house.
whiplash to the extreme.
and i can’t breathe without the creativity that connected the dots in my childish brain
and now being childish is an insult and i cross out all my experimental portraits and replace them with whatever the teenager next to me is drawing
because being original is easy to pick on.
and i didn’t want to be 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 kid.
no one wants to be 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 kid.
the canvas i once held in my hands is ashy and blackened and
unsalvageable.
its poor soul destroyed by a tiny bonfire by the woods
because no one likes when you decide you want to create the world in your image
cause it’s corrupted in everyone else’s
and they want you to suffer just like they did, to discover that innocence and ignorance are apparently now synonymous with each other and you can’t think otherwise!
what was looking at another kid’s artwork as a child?
there was only seeing that john had the color purple drawn on his paper
and sofia had the new stamps that were put up near the bulletin board.
that was all.
none of this body dysmorphic garbage.
the world isn’t beautiful as it was before on poster board and i don’t remember the last time i was truly physically and emotionally happy.
i now found the art of wanting to rip the hair out of my skull and there are times that i contemplate if i should just end it all,
but then i think back to all those years when i was younger and how big the world felt in my tiny fingers,
though i know—some tiny fingers build rocket ships, some tiny fingers get involved in cancer research to save other people from the same thing their grandparents had to battle with and lose to, some tiny fingers become doctors and nurses and good people with good hearts with hope for the restless world.
some tiny fingers might have lost the canvas and the poster board,
but they never lost sight of what world they were gonna leave an impact in,
what world they were gonna make great one day—one child with a crayon at a time.

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

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

feel that one morning, i’ll forget your light,
wake up dead in a dying world
stop stomaching the night
that spins its ballerina feet
upside down on the ceiling
and with its mouth it mutters
words that i cannot speak
i’ll wake up without feeling
with tears staining the pillowcase,
lose the melody of hymns once given,
know to every ceremony i’ll be late
when the soft footsteps lull
dispersing into the dark,
i’ll forget the gentleness
that once lived inside my heart
a heart that became a wasteland
an exile for evils never committed
a world where once someone forgets you,
it cannot be remitted.
when that morning comes,
when the morning dove will mourn
something unborn that is already dying
i’ll bury my lungs in the grave you dug
i’ll destroy what we built
until i’m forever wounded in love.

your lover wears silk and paints her nails.
her hair is blond.
meanwhile i was blind to your longing.
you laugh at my jokes
while she dances in restaurants with her model-like accomplices.
she’s spring,
i’m a winter chill climbing over those limbs of yours i long to lay beside.
does she make you laugh
even when the jokes aren’t funny
even when your nose is runny
and even if you spill out too much of you
would she adore you just the same?

mind; so generous and kind
you can be.
so smart and so free-living
you can be.
i’m homesick for you
in another dimension.
held captive by the dying hands of others.
mind; so wondrous and loving
you can be.
i wasn’t sure what i had before in this garden of weeds,
but you were always there,
always there for me
and i’ve taken you for granted
made you my supposed enemy.
mind; so delicate and beautiful
you can be.
when the loneliness was the only comfort
you were right all along;
i want to be alone.
alone with you.

i have an innocent disposition
pacific ocean blue eyes
eye bags so purple they look like bruises
two hands that write and move
sometimes in ways i despise
unruly instances
i have thoughts beyond your imagination
purposes beyond your comprehension
values, morals, and attitudes you will never understand
i have two fists, red with repressed anger
legs strong and stable
to contrast the ground beneath my feet

i have to rid you out of my bones
your feral smirk and your vehement denial
i just wanna live in a state of safe haven
without my black heart or your carnivorous confrontations in the way

the adamant repulsion i feel
stapled to my chest like i own the compulsions that generate from me
scream into the microphone
my boiling blood the driving force in my disgust
these restraints like sandbags tied to my neck
choking me into a state of agony

i want to shower
rinse this uncomfortable filth that gathers on me

you should feel guilty