in how i’m (homeward) bound
wrapped in cloth,
hardcover edition
laced with fingerprints,

is it in the spine? cracked but unwavering
perhaps the torn pages, underlines
is it in the softness of the papyrus?
or edges; cuts earned in haste.

in how my back is a yellowed loan card
tattooed by those who have held me temporarily
signed, dated.

but my first page, reserved -
in how i  am addressed ‘to you’
a labor of love
branded,
belonginghood
birth right

Is it in how  i am all bark
no bite
451 degrees
Fahrenheit
numbered pages
infinite
all leaves (of absences)
the vessel of a hero’s journey.

in how i was birthed from something alive
something with roots
foreign, far from here
in how i came from earth, and
to her i shall return.

in how i will be shelved away, margin(alised)
in how i will degrade,
or rather, be degraded (by those who put me down after one chapter)
is it in how most dont venture past my cover?
(i’m learning to be ok with that)

in how i come alive at your touch, restoration
how my words dance off
the pages when i’m looked at
euphor

in how i cease to exist when i’m
passed over
in how i burn
golden
accidental
alexandria.

For a fleeting 6 hours, the outside world melted away. And in that silence i strangely found that i scare myself, this intensity with which i love others. i throw everything i have and more into it. turn myself inside out. in some ways, it is my biggest strength and my worst vulnerability. even when one’s natural instinct is to withdraw and shut down, i'd rather pull them closer, and have them want my company. sit in your pain, alone if you must, but let me be close by. I’m not sure i fully comprehend the concept of space. I don’t much like silence. does that reek of desperation? Probably, but that has no bearing on me either. i fall in love deeply and loudly and unapologetically. does admitting love multiple times dilute the intensity? i am prouder of the people i love than they are, but in their sadness, i too am inconsolable. i will definitely send out an army to find you. what use is being loved if one is alone in their lows. anyways, i never make apologies for how i love and i hope the day never comes where i have to.

I kissed a girl with a broken smile;
nothing could come near.
She carved it with a pocket knife;
slit from ear to ear.
And she wears it like her favourite scarf;
it keeps her from the cold.
So I told her its only woven by
her enemies of old.

the wall
you asked me once 
why i let you in
when i had described it impenetrable ,
here , have your answer now
everyone , did the most
human thing a human can do ,
penetrated the wall
some walls are impenetrable
for some walls you have to ask
and you asked .
show me your scars
they distort your skin
and i will show you mine
i will run my fingers over them
kissing them as i go
i promise there won't be more
they matter to me but they don't
don't you see , i love you ?
words used to burst in my mouth
in praise of your ethereal self
but now all i do is look
falling deeper into the abyss
i want to fall in this abyss
i don't want to stop falling
just love me a little
let me rest in your lap
i don't ask for much
i will wipe your tears
just don't hurt me more
i have given you what was left
i promise i will stay .

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.
Right?

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
Whatever.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.
Maybe.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.

Pills,
family,
friends,
dolls.

No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
Anne,
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.
Truly.




Bad art is still art.
Right?
I think so.
For now.