My life can be described as a man on the road
Never ending road trips to god knows where
Beaten up truck
Don’t give  f*ck
Wind lacing grease through my hair
As the radio blares

Hitchhikers hopping along for the ride
We get talking til I get them where they want to be
You know, then they’re done with me
Leave me with a bumper slap goodbye  

Least they had a destination
But see nothing can beat the sensation of finding one
Without maps or gas station attendants
I honestly can’t decide which one causes the worst headaches
Advil a poor girl’s novacaine
So I keep moving forward
Better to just be lost than be reminded of it
I’ll avoid me what shows me where I am
What shows me where to go
But I’ll get there
We always do

There is a difference between holding your breath
And not breathing at all
One takes a lot more effort
One is the product of carrying too much
The other of carrying nothing at all

When I walk into a crowded room
I will hold my breath until my lungs find a reason to relax
My face will flush and I will eye the exits
And I will imagine any possible scenario that would allow me to leave
Which is to say,
I’d rather be in danger than be here

I’d rather be in a secluded single bed hospital room
Than brushing shoulders with conversations that don’t concern me
Smiling uncomfortably to an offensive joke because
You don’t know me enough to know the fire in my bones
That I could ignite and burn you to the ground.

You also don’t know how I wish I could extinguish that
How I burn down everything I touch
How I wish my embers would die down
Lacking oxygen might not be the worst thing

No, being alone in a crowded room wouldn’t either
Saying unironically that I stand alone in a crowded room
As if it has never been said before- might just be
Or maybe my sparks are burning this poem up too
Ruining its changes

You gotta understand,
The thing about fire is
It is a beautiful beast
A chaotic dancer who knows both sides of
Everything beautiful and everything not


In my eyes fire eats its beauty
It eats the life from inside out as it spits remnants of relics
Too tough to melt
So when we are in the flames
Like our salem sisters we think
How can something
so grand
So intriguing
So important
Be burnt down by a people so ignorant
Only to reveal what is truly important
How could you not see that as a compliment

How can you not see that we are all the flames
And that we are all also being eaten by them
As we consume everything around us in turn
And that maybe we just need to catch our breath.

I've doubted your passion towards me in the past
my faith in the past
my faith in our permanence was dwindling fast
But as days go by,
you drift closer to me
and it's easier to see
how compassionate you truly can be
I'd don't want to have your babies
I'd don't want to get married
but I could see getting a dog with you
maybe
just
maybe

I need a car
Maybe it’s so I can run myself over with it
Maybe it’s because I need a beat up machine
That’s in as bad of shape as me
So that i know if i care about it
Maybe one of these days someone will care about me
Maybe I want a car because it’s less poetic and
I’m just tired of catching the bus

Kinda wanna get a car to run you over
Kinda wanna run myself over
Racing towards my future and new responsibilities
But flooring it to escape just that

Open road baby, in the smallest space I could possibly choose
Maybe that’s the whole point
I get to choose which way to turn
To follow maps or to get lost in ******* nowhere
I can take care of myself and replenish when we’re both running on empty
My fingers are itching to wrap around something
And This is the most legal option
I can stare at the road and not the empty passenger seat
I need a car to personify myself
Because I don’t feel human anymore

Throwing silk sheets over a worn mattress
I cannot fathom the idea of you sleeping here
you accidentally pulling a corner off and seeing the stains beneath.
This hotel has been vacant for months.
But that doesn’t mean the guests before you
Were kind to it.
They said ‘**** it’
Left the mess for house keeping,
Blood stained walls
Feathers from ripped pillows
A maid sighs and shakes her head
Ten dollar tip for wasted effort
Have to put the pieces back together again
Vacancy sign illuminated again.
Do not do this to me again.
Cleaning supplies are expensive.
And this business has made me so poor

Look, I really appreciate whatever it is you're trying to do.
But, I’m really gonna need you to just
Shut the ever loving **** up;
Because you mean well
But you don’t listen to a word that comes out of my mouth.
You offer hollow advice
And you sound a hell of a lot
Like a guy I really wanna ******* deck in the face
So now you’re kinda morphing into a guy that I
Kinda want to deck in the face.
And hey, maybe I just really need to ******* deck somebody in the face.
But then you blame me because you don’t understand,
Well you never tried to in the first place.
I’m sorry my problems are not wrapped up in pretty packages.
I’m sorry they’re not easy to clean up messes like water on linoleum
I’m sorry they’re red wine on white skirt
I’m sorry I drank all the wine
I’m sorry the fact it looks like blood makes you uncomfortable
But blood is thick and messy and it stains
So don’t expect wine to be much different
Only because it’s more socially acceptable to make a mess with it
So please,
Take your halfhearted help,
And give it to someone who halfheartedly gives a ****.

There you are- minding your own **** business
Getting the **** done that you need to get done
And it hits you
A ******* papercut

Funny how something so seemingly harmless and innocent
Can cause so little damage
That bothers you so ******* much
A drop of blood and days of discomfort

Something so miniscule disrupting the simplest of tasks
Stinging like screams for attention
How are you supposed to move on
And make lemonade out of what life hands you
When the juice stings your fingertips
When relief is only resolved
When the issue is acknowledged.

But it’s fine you know
Everything is fine
Plenty of people use paper everyday and live to tell the tale
So really it’s not a big deal
Get enough and your fingertips will callus over
Soft things don’t go well with hard edges
Maybe by not being soft, then you can get more **** done

But by getting hard you’ll feel less
And wouldn’t it be nice to feel all things
Knowing fully well it’s worth the pain of a ******* paper cut

I want to blame this feeling
This tongue tied nausea inside me
On the alcohol
On this hangover
But a small part of me
The same part that told me
To put the shots down
And that beer is a bad chaser
Whispers that maybe it’s not the hangover at all

Maybe I have a flesh eating virus
Or a tape worm
Maybe it’s kinda like that but kinda not
Like maybe my regrets are eating me alive
From the inside out
Maybe there is a parasite in me
Or perhaps I am said parasite.

Now we've come to the end
And I have so much to thank you for
so thank you for wasting my time
for making me second guess every move I make
for helping me weave a tapestry for my teenage years
one laced with paranoia and bad timing
thank you for pushing me away
which forces me to let go
forces me to grow and wrap my arms around myself
instead of you
thank you for forcing me to put the care and effort into myself
for making me less hollow
by leaving
Thank you for letting me know you didn't care
and that's okay because now I know it wasn't my fault
thank you for letting me breath

What’s in a name?

What’s in a name?
Jack ****, that’s what’s in a name.
Because the name of a person will not change who they are.
If the word ‘war’ was defined as freedom from violence and disturbance,
what we now know as “peace” could easily be referred to as ‘war’

Because what makes a chicken so, chickeny?
Who looked at this tasty bird and thought to themselves.
This is a chicken.
It wouldn’t matter if you called it an eagle it would still taste the same in nugget form.

Because if Jimmy liked Sheila because she was hot, smart, and funny,
Why wouldn’t he like her if her name was Lauren?
He would like her the same no matter the name.
(Unless he only dates girls named Sheila,
In that case it just makes Jimmy a **** with peculiar taste.)

That’s the thing people don’t get about disease.
It doesn’t appear with the diagnosis, no.
It’s been there.
Living and writhing inside of you.
Just because you give it a name
Doesn’t invalidate the before.
So when they roll their eyes
And say you’re using it as an excuse now
An excuse to stay home, in bed
An excuse to not be in their presence
Tell them no.
Tell them everything you used before was an excuse.
Because now, you can finally give it a name.