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.
and she picks it up naturally
almost too easy
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
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 —
you will find that stardust again.
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
maybe that was the shrooms
(it all gets
hard to tell)
and i’ve never been great
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 ..
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
She had a chance
To love herself
yea she’s trying
I woke up again today
stained with bruises
and some sharp cuts
I ate and drank water
sat comfortably for some hours
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
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
I remember the swaying
And the spells of dizziness cast over me
And sink back into the whirlwind of waves
that wash over me
as if I am the sand
I certainly feel like the sand
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
Overestimate my ability
To function without food and sleep and
probably love too
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.
stretch over lifetimes,
as if all the clocks in the world
wore themselves out —
and certain mornings
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.
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
asking for her forgiveness.
i owe myself
a lot of things
i have not been giving.
there is some secret i must have
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.
— The End —