i wear my insecurities like my eyeliner, bold,
thick, never exactly matching,
never exactly perfect.
i embrace my flaws, like i shake
my *** when i dance,
unsteady. wild, a flame that festers
and blossoms.
i kiss my demons, like i eat a
milkshake, salivating, slurping,
a lover with no inhibitions.

i do not wear my insecurities,
instead i shove them down my throat,
hoping the stomach acid will dissolve.
destroy. them.
i do not embrace my flaws,
instead i push them back hard,
watching them fall to the ground and
break like glass.
i do not kiss my demons,
instead i spit in their faces, bite on
their cheeks until the hot, pulsing
tastes like
peppermint.

I had a dream recently,
where you were *******
me,
and it was so ******* hilarious,
because you were awful.


before waves, I used to imagine you
being the one to anchor me until the chains
ripped my skin to bone.

before sun rays, I used to think you
were the only one who could make my flesh
burn and peel and never ever heal.

before alcohol, I used to get foolishly drunk
on you. and you. and you.

i was a hunk of fish being hacked away by a
unsharpened butcher knife.
the hunks and guts splattered all over the apron.

you used to say i was beautiful,
and i guess i can’t believe it anymore because
you ripped my spine out only to place the bones
wrong and walking has never felt the same.

this dream never made sense, like the rest of them,
i swim through them with too much salt in my lungs
and the ocean keeps trying to drown. Drown. Drown. Me.

see you again, in a dream, in a wave, in a lie.
the thing is, i sort of want you inside,
but i only know you’ll crash.break.rip.stomp.
and my skin is already mangled

I cannot stay up too late by myself.
If I do, all the bad thoughts come
and the sadness expands, and floats
and explodes.
I think of all the flaws, how I am always
the giver.
how the future is so close, yet I can’t
make a path
(of any sorts)
how my scars will never truly fade.
I think of how I am always the one who
loves more.
and I think of people. and how someone is
awake. and breathing. and dying. and having
breakfast, right now. half away across the world.
I think of how we are all just a bunch of stars,
and I think of how we’re all just crashing into
each other.
(over and over and over)

I cannot stay up so late, with the night being
my only companion.
so I sleep.
because sleep is always more welcoming than
reality.

i did not shower today,
for i still feel the last few slips of heat
from your throat.
i did not shower today,
for the thought of you squirming
inside, makes me shiver.
i did not shower today,
for your teeth are eating my
collarbone. it looks like a lovely birthmark.
i did not shower today,
for washing you off would be lonely
and idiotic.
i did not shower today,
because i know your scent will be
trapped in my hair
and at some point in the middle of the
night, i will wake up, and forget, that
you are not here.

summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.


his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.

purple, hazy hues.
yellow nuance, murky blossoms.
where are they?
azure tinge mixed in the honey.
canvas is blank,
with only galling white scribbles,
grey and ebony ink written.
enter, my darling
let me **** your fangs.
press. press. press.
my locks swathed in your fingers.
hard, my love, hard.
into my bones. film. upon layer.
upon membrane.
the blemishes,
your art.
tonight, we are animals,
so no time for serene.
passion.
howl with me,
consume me.

you are like the phone in the pocket
of my skinny jeans.
tight, barely fitting.
always threatening to find
a way
out.