You can pretend
That the black gloss
On my lashes
Will glue my eyes shut-
Make me blind to truth;
To ‘true knowledge.’
Go ahead.
Tell yourself
That my red-painted lips
Only spout nonsense.
It will only make it sweeter
When my wing-lined eyes
Give you whiplash
as I walk past you
To get my degree;
My award;
My paycheck.
Maybe if you’re ‘nice’
I’ll buy you an ice pack.

It's all just numbers, isn't it?
Day by day,
Year by year,
Always counting.

Day by day look at the number on the scales.
Let the caloric calculator count until your head is filled with numbers.

Minute by minute count the seconds it takes for him to text you back.
Let the doubt and fear multiply until your head is full of him.

Term by term let a percentage on a piece of paper define your worth.

Don't we have better things to do than count?

i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.

The closest I ever feel
to anything
is to the words I write.
When I am a million leagues
into the depths,
and there is nothing,
nothing to do
but carve these letters
into the floor.
No,
nothing.
Nothing more.
Words ring hollow,
and melodies fall flat,
prayers (un)heard,
another test.
This too will pass,
but while it stays,
while it tarries,
black is bequeathed behind
my eyes
my mind is marred
in manic peril
and I carve these words
into the floor
one more time
one more time
once more.

I hope you fall in love with being alive
That you feel it coarsing through your veins
Pumping in your heart
A light feeling in your chest
And all you want to do is scream for joy