Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip.  
It’s the way that trying something new doesn’t feel like a monster with you.
It's letting the world have me, arms open, falling. Without censorship.


It’s breathing into the world, past the artificial growth of moist woodchips,  
And instead, to toppling trees and roaring forest fires that are sometimes considered overdue.
Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip.  


Sometimes things have to die to be made anew. Like an eclipse.
That’s how it feels with you.  
So new that I’m rhyming in my poetry. Like a horror story. . . without censorship.


Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip  
Or a framed portrait of a happy ending, but drawn only in baby blue.
I’m holding the feeling on my chest and watching you cradle it like a silk slip


Or a baby birds nest. You might drop it
And if you did, I wouldn’t blame you.  
That’s what unconditional feels like. Without censorship.


Mine turned yours, then turned sour, with every hour, spent split
And that empty void, of a screen, in between, everything you're deaf to.
The world gives me back, curled up and broken bit by bit.
Happiness is the touch of your fingertip on my bowed-out lip.

Lie within chaos, and create comfort
In visions of endless love.
Riding slowly on the crest of a morning fling, and flutter,
The body stutters
Like a street dancer.
Shine in different directions
And end the yearning
For a love of creativity
By stripping off
And darting
Into a sea of uncertainty,
with a sense of
Unimaginable lust for what keeps you
Ticking like a sturdy clock.
Find the rhymes that combine
With what lies inside the mind,
To stumble upon the future pleasure,
That you unearth with delight,
As you wonder.
Inspiration is born out of desire.
Fuel to fire the birth of creation.
The mind quakes for a taste
Of the cake, that is blessed with greatness.

Breathe in loads
of innumerable blades
of memory erasers.

Ah, the feeling
of being lost within
your own thought.

Wishing for just
a brief break— from time
and its fast pace (or
if possible, let it
stop. Let the world
stop).

There are familiar places
you can’t get used to
and sometimes
it will all just fade
with experience,
lessons, and

your most beautiful
mistake.

It’s sad that the first time I speak to someone,
Their opening line is
“Thank you for telling your story, it has helped me.”

13

It’s upsetting that I have so many stories to tell;
Like the time four boys pinned me to the cold pavement
And they took it in turns to force me to kiss them.
I remember how the onlookers did nothing,
They wanted me to learn the meaning of boys will be boys.

17

It will always remain one of the stories that I will never tell,
Similar to the story of my childhood where
Boys would run their hands down the body that came to be my carcass, to claim
What never belonged to them.

7

The story I tell is the assault of an older girl,
A girl who knew what the assault was,
A girl that will never admit that the **** happened more than once
And a girl that suffered incredible violence.

16

I hate how I have so many of these stories to tell,
But what is worse is how there’s so many others that
Need to hear them to feel less alone in their pain.
It is worse that I am not alone in my pain.

14

I wish they could see what remains of us,
The victims of the violence that they have left behind
To suffer in their misery alone.

6

I wish they could see the meaning behind the numbers,
The ages I’ve been throwing throughout this poem
But they’ll never mean anything to anyone but me.
We need to become the leaders of a revolution, no more numbers.

I wish I was omnipresent
Just like a god of many talents
I have a fear of missing out
Because you seem happier when I’m not around

Insecurities builds an excess of possessiveness
I feel like my absence equates to a worthless self
And so, my grasp loosens
And we dissipate into thin air

I wish I was omnipresent
Just like a god of many talents
I have a fear of missing out
Because you’re able to open up and I am not

It’s my fault, I know
I put all my eggs in one basket
And I made you responsable
Because you’re the one holding the nest
But I couldn’t give you much so you went elsewhere, that’s fair
But you developed bonds at such a rate
And I feel threatened

I wish I was omnipresent
Just like a god of many talents
I have a fear of missing out
Because you’re able to say ‘I love you’ to strangers and I’m not

This dichotomy is quite challenging
Because I’m in a state where I want to see you grow
And for your own sake, that could mean that you need to go
I feel like my presence emphasizes the distance
And that the concept of us was merely quixotic

I wish I was omnipresent
Just like a god of many talents
I have a fear of missing out
And I fear I’ve missed out too much for us to come back

Why do I think everyone hates me?

my mind whispers: well, dear, you need to love yourself before you can think other people love you.

i want to tell you the truth  
everything hurts, my organs
are  filled with black rocks and
i can't write poetry without gaining
weight, sometimes i wake up
in the middle of the night trying
to convince myself that i'm still alive
i’ve stopped eating anything but
apples and your pastel pink tongue
i want to tell you the truth
that my heart is a collection of
boys who  didn’t ask for my name
only whispered words like beautiful
into my neck, only painted words
like obsession  on my spine
i want to tell you the truth
when i cross the streets i close my
eyes and the thought of dying
doesn't make me cry anymore
i want to tell you the truth
last friday i got so angry at you
that i nearly burned all of my
poems, i threw a plate at my door
and cleaned up the blood saturday
i want to tell you the truth
that i am made of stone, my hands
are never warm, my skin will be grey
my soul is aching because you’ve
made it empty
i want to tell you the truth
i still love you, i still care about you
but when you ask how i'm doing
i'll say that i don't know you anymore

but all you will hear is "i'm fine"