day
****

it’s harder to keep track of the days
when the nights feel the same
and the sunrise carries yawns
stretched across her gentle horizon

the line between is harder to find
when you’re awake for all of it
careening yourself along the moons edge
taunting Luna to tame you

because nothing else seems to.

day 8
bootjacks,

and she picks it up naturally
seamlessly
almost too easy  
   too familiar
the tobacco sprinkled with
that sour white powder
re rolled and smoked

she keeps taking hits
thinking halfway that
maybe mixing drugs is where things begin to falter
but this is where they pull the powder out their socks
and line it up for her to try
innocent, baby
with the dollar bill in her hand
between her teeth
and propped beneath her nostril

why do you want to be here so bad?

why do you find it so easy
to trace the ears of strangers with your tongue
and find comfort in their warmth?

why is it easier to mean nothing to each other?

when will it all be enough?

when will you realize you
are still made of stardust —

rest.

you will find that stardust again.

day 7

I was so happy last night
sitting cross legged on the skatepark ramp
wrapped in the stocky darkness
graffiti bouncing atop every surface

beer glasses clinking
because two get me loose
and the sticker art I peel off to save in my phone case
Jess’s laughter and wild paces
back and forth while animatedly describing
everything I needed to know about the universe

and I wake
the drugs long seeped out of my system
but still lingering on my breath
I can’t remember the astronomical lessons
we shared that night
but I know I felt
something incredibly powerful,
almost break-through like

or
maybe that was the shrooms

(it all gets
hard to tell)

day 6
was yesterday
and i’ve never been great
at committing
but this one
i can try again and again and again and again

remember when i was younger?
the way my fingers always itched to swim across the keys
to send words sailing across the page
i remember too
and i feel waves of nostalgia for that person

i wonder where she went ..

day 5
and something
whispers
i can almost catch the words
snagged beneath my earlobe

    you have to be okay with yourself
     you have to love her
      you have to want her so ******* bad
        so so ******* Bad.

you have to want her more
than the men that press her boundaries
pressing fingers against glass walls
taunting them to shatter
wood where water should grow
More than that .

and that girl w the bangs
and bruises on her face
the one snorting off car keys
giggling w the girl next to her
talking moving existing
like
She had a chance
To love herself
,
yea she’s trying

day4
I woke up again today
face swollen
and sore
stained with bruises
and some sharp cuts
I ate and drank water
sat comfortably for some hours
showered and
put myself together a little bit
good things I can give myself
bad things too
But I’m slowly tiring
exhausted by now
from bad things and their shimmer

and the way they catch my eye
.

day 3

actually early morning day 4
Because we missed the cutoff for day 3
Figured better late than never
Can’t blame myself either
Last night was a metaphor

I remember standing there
Under the night of H street
and swaying
I remember the swaying
And the spells of dizziness cast over me
Blink
And sink back into the whirlwind of waves
that wash over me
as if I am the sand
I certainly feel like the sand
Blink
Ouch
And there’s people surrounding me
Talking worriedly, asking questions I can only try to reassure that I’m perfectly fine
My face, asphalt, I’d like to introduce you guys.
and I wasn’t fine
He cleaned my wounds and bandaged me up
As I lay on her lap and she gave me water
Gentle hands and Emily running
From the protest
to see what happened
I simply
Overestimate my ability
To function without food and sleep and
well
probably love too

day 2

my world has felt like
it has crashed around me
so many times
that there is no dramatic reaction
to the pain that pools from my chest

as the storm tangles her claws in my hair
And rakes me across her bony spine
I stoop down to collect the pieces
broken, shattered , and rough
and tuck them quickly down my sleeve
I rebuild the same frame and heartbeat
The same breath and the same stretch marks

The puzzle fits together snugly enough
For the audience not to notice its cracks.

days
stretch over lifetimes,
as if all the clocks in the world
       wore themselves out —

and certain mornings
i shapeshift

i create different molds for myself
to fit into
i do not know why i must change
but i do know it helps.

the scissors clip and
my hair floats as fallen feathers
towards the base of the sink

i wake up only to
not recognize the girl in the mirror
and greet her w a smile.

she is
sad.
and there are so many worlds
she wishes she was exploring.

i wish i could help her.

but all i do is hurt her,
and i do not know where to
begin
asking for her forgiveness.

i owe myself
a lot of things
i have not been giving.
there is some secret i must have
forgotten,

or never knew.
on how to treat myself. how to think of  myself.

i read somewhere
it takes 21 days to start a new habit.

if i join myself here, at least once a day,
i am sure
i have to be sure
i am sure i will find something that feels better
than the silent and troubled thoughts

there has to be something that grows inside
that i plant and water
that i nurture

that will save me.