Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
i forget, sometimes,
that everyone has their own world
just as full as mine.

that ******* the bus,
she always has blue glitter on her eyelids,
she has someone
she cries over
when it rains.

and that boy,
who laughs a little too loud in the hallways --
he has a grandmother
she calls him every sunday.
he has a playlist
that he never shares.

i forget
that lives unfold around me,
not just mine.
no one else's life
pauses
just because im not
in the same room as them.
they're full of joy,
grief,
midnight cravings,
and rom com dreams
that don't star me.

but tonight?
the warm city lights
look like conversations
ill never hear --
and i remeber.
sonder.
date wrote: 23/6/25
☕️

A man keeps to himself
most of his:
disappointments,
sorrow,
despair,
bitterness,
and his tragedies.

Then one day, he explodes,
If his coffee cup slips from his hand.

☕️
It’s rarely the last thing that breaks us.
It’s everything that came before it.
I don’t know what.
Or, rather—
the matter of fact: why?
Am I pretending?

A pretty dosing,
imposing
i'mposter syndrome
in stolen lip gloss and rope burns.

Don’t ask me to put on these masks.
I’m done with it.

Every thought is scrutinized.
Every meal, a moral panic.
“Every time I eat another animal, you spank my *** hard.”
(Not that I want to eat an animal
every time I want a spanking—
no.
But I do want a spanking.
And not the guilt buffet.)
Mind: Reported.

"*******"
Mind: Swagger.

Am I my brain’s pet?
Or is it mine?

Russes
is a nice dog name.

Am I becoming a killing machine?
No.
I’d have to work out more.
That’s extroverted thinking.

Inside?
What are you?

An amoeba.
Shapeshifting.
Gelatinous.
Unapologetically not solid.

Enough!
You are dead!

Come on,
I’m not wallowing—
I just want to cry
after so long
in *******
with no aftercare.

I miss you so much, Bubba.

I am
a ******* *******.
I feel
maniacal.

Do you know
you can give yourself a hug?
It feels so good.

I’m asking,
“What’s that you do again?”

A shirt.
Curiosity outweighed my fears.
Isn’t there a cat
who got killed because of it?
The Brain Has a Pet and It Might Be Me
I met a woman
Who taught me
How to find someone
I used to be
Crestfallen
Yet somehow openhearted
In love with both the living world
And those sorely dear departed
Neighbors are arguing

I am uncomfortably

Smoking a cigarette

Trying not to listen to them

Trying instead to focus on this podcast

About militarized police

And how democracies end
It started with
a dimming of the light
to slow my breathing.

to stop my thoughts
to barricade
to blame.

To never look myself in the eye
but in the mirror see
an empty body
surrounding me.

To fail in every role of mine
fulfilling my own prophecy.

Then rip out my heart
for the empty heavens
the cruel blue sky,
the mocking clouds.

Finally to poison
shake and starve
Regurgitate shame
from volcanic guts
to porcelain.

Last to fall on
laminate floor
till the little dog wakes
from  the award of dreamless sleep
because one of us is
hungry.
June 2025, poem
Next page