Different meanings to the passing bird
I heard you've been mentioning my name
I heard it all until 5am
I dream I'll hear it again
There was no moon today
In the place where it should usually be
At this hour
It was full the night before
The sky is clear now
I wonder what it might mean

I went on a walk
And failed to find any cool rocks

I feel closer to my childhood self
When I am sobbing

I am a vessel
for what, I do not know

everybody would have seen it coming
i've been waiting my whole life to die

I've always known that I'd die unhappy
Ever since I accepted I would die at all
I don't know why or how
I just know
I'd be lying if I said it didnt hurt

to claim the biology of desire
is to acknowledge desire’s presence

recite me sappho
through your breath
and beneath your palms

my eyes are
the color of the earth
as seen
from far away

The empty square where the app had been
I used it only to speak to you
so now the lot is vacant
It is a new level of disconnect
a notion I can't help to feel
that I am repeating
I can't stand the silence

they told me my painting was ominous
While I was thinking
It was pretty self-explanatory

My fifth grade self got down on her knees
In the center of her childhood bedroom
Held a steak knife to her stomach
Juliet-style
Because that was the only way she, (at that time of her life), knew how to do it
Other than jumping off a London Bridge into some clamoring river
But she couldn't figure a way to get to London
And was more afraid of heights than she was of death

My dad is the only man on Earth
who doesn't assume that
he was "The One Who Hurt Me"

and I think that, in itself,
is quite ironic

fbi can watch me all they want but
all they'll find is
blue hair and pronouns

i know that i'm lonely
but i know i'm a dreamer
my projections of longing
are merely my hypotheses
a demonstration
of my understanding
of love

I used to think of ancient people
as such ominous
all-knowing beings
in their footprints and their art
it was supreme,
it was transcending
they knew things about the universe
that i could never imagine
but theyre the same
as you and i
theyre just the same

please please please
don't comment on my poetry
with a quote from the bible

i am getting to an age
where my suicide means
less and less
the question then becomes
will that help me
or make it worse?

jack white on the radio
i'm headed home,
afraid that im too far
i feel further from you, too
but too many journal entries
are my doubts
and too many closers
are testaments
of your patience with me

what revelation am I supposed to come to?
it’s tiring
i’m tired

how are you okay with the void?
i vote we say ***** it
and just become vampires

its 71 degrees and mostly sunny in new york
which is 4 degrees warmer
than where you are

near midnight, hello again
I’ll be in no one’s company tonight

my sister is gone
and the cat is gone
and my brother is gone
and my mother's been knocked out since noon

Sometimes it really pays off
To shred your legs
With the tip of a protractor
To grow out your nails
For the purpose
Of sinking them into your skin

await me
& forget me
this terminal state
this lawful ending
like an archived scrap
waiting to be trashed

for those of us whose arms bend backwards
I see you behind the mirror
And I know you die
The moment those headphones are in

here i am again
somehow eternally stuck in this position
scrubbing the guilt off your shoulders
as I pack my bags

My instagram
flows and flows
pictures and snapshots
at the top of a waterfall
ready for flight
raining down in full
relentless
I do not write when I am happy
I do not write when I am okay
I cannot capture security with words
I take pictures
Here is my cat,
Here is a latte,
Here are my friends,
Here is a cool tree
that reminded me of the one
that stood in the field
of my elementary school
That I cherished and loved
They cut that one down
I couldn't show you a picture
But this one looks quite like it,
don't you see?
And so they flow
Outweighing the scraps
of my written despairs
pouring like paint
to color my memory
of things
that are good
and things
that are okay
into the feeds
the scrolls of squares
they flow

How many letters
Murmur the name of hide and seek
Where the seeker has always been
An undesirable position

people look over crowds
the same way
they look over the hills

we need more poems
about being *****
straight up
¯_(ツ)_/¯

im just
2 cool i guess

now that i am older i can say
that i was always meant to be this way

I think our souls have touched
Though we haven't shared our names
But your words have moved me
And you've grown attached to mine
And we brought ourselves here
Because there's something underneath
That we both want to explore

why can't i just be who ive always been
but reinvent myself
so that i dont face this world alone?
why do i have to make myself
convenient, conventional
in order to be worthy of
understanding

there's not enough talk
about accepting death with no afterlife
I can't read hundreds of articles
on how to comfort myself of this fact

the air is cooler
and the taste is bitter
these last moments of comfort
are my only solace
for what's to come

Hyperfixations
Why does everything I write
Need to be coded
I realize that everything I say
Is equally so
I feel less alone
When I can say it aloud
Even if it's only underlying

People were shuffling into the halls in tears
I turned to her and said
'I think I have apathy issues'
She told me she loved me
Squeezed my shoulder
I didnt say anymore

all i have are hard won lessons
but you dont believe in those

I am a child
though life is short
I can feel her naivety, her fear
Her freckles have come back
Her eyebrows are grown
I can see only her face
in my small reflection

I am a child and
you are a man
but life is short
so who is to say

my words have completely lost me
but even i am not gone
i am in love
and without a word
to describe this solace

I'm choosing to no longer believe
what anyone tells me about healing
healing is not care or rest
healing
is not sleeping for a week
drinking endless amounts of coffee
writing about isolation
writing about your childhood ghost
and how you've decided
to play your own tricks with time
I am detached and livid
at the assumption that I have processed
anything they've tried to tell me

i know
they don’t want me around
i’m working on
keeping quiet

you did it!
the emptiness has gone away!
just kidding

my brain has begun to unravel
the chords unwind and unknot
suddenly my motivations are
each their own separate branch
separate root
of which new inspirations sprout

it is hard to handle and
i feel too plentiful
too filled with words
that have no time to express themselves

time is working against me in this moment
it quickens
so that these ideas never set foot
my own mind whiplashing me
into another moment
when I was not yet finished
with the last

I have an optimistic take
on applying string theory
to the afterlife
that there are forms in which
I can give my living body
to oblivion
as a prerequisite
to the potential disintegration
of my string of thought
that it will be reduced
to only a string
and with a voidal imitation
I am already easing my way