to see my soul
is something you will never say
you ever done.
you were never
deserving of it.

I won’t take showers anymore.
I won’t take them because
sometimes, when I set my Spotify on shuffle,
your favorite song still plays
because sometimes, when the water trickles down the small of my back, it feels a lot like your fingers
sometimes, soap is not enough
sometimes, I want to peel my skin up, layer by layer, until I am certain there is nothing left that you have touched
sometimes, I wonder if you still sleep on the mattress you buried me in,
wonder if there are others who share that same coffin
I wonder who I will be when I wake up tomorrow,
study my reflection in the cold, shiny shower head
with hope that one day it will change,
that i will no longer see
this
tongue biting *****,
key- laced, clenched fists *****,
flinching at the sight of chin stubble and strong jaws,
locked knees *****,
mace and matchstick *****,
feverishly avoiding eye contact,
temperature adjusting *****,
skin scrubbing *****,
birdcage mouth,
mascara tears,
weak *****.

I won’t take showers
because sometimes
I come out feeling dirtier
than I went in
because the condensation is enough
to fog up my mirror
but isn’t enough
to fog up my memory
because sometimes
an adams apple resembles
a fist to me
because I count the tiles and remember
that I am just a
paradoxical number,
the only number greater than zero
that still has no value

I wont take showers because
I know that is what
you would want me to do
you would want me
to cover the tracks for you

and if I
set myself on fire instead,
in order to destroy
any evidence
confirming
that you once lived here,
that would be
too obvious

In a room full of faces
She was nameless
She was invisible
In a room full of faces
She felt worthless
She was full of emptiness
In a room full of faces
She wish someone would notice
In a room full of faces
Would anyone care if she was gone.

i’ve got the brightest halo
amongst the devils mob
and behind these smiles
are the sins i hide

people build
their homes

out of the age of
their tea kettle and
which plants they keep
on the windowsill

by whether or not
the cups and plates match
if the cupboards are
minimalist or overstuffed

from the color of the walls
and state of the floor

right down to what they
hang on the fridge
the scent they choose
for their dish soap

and the way the words
come out of their mouths

i am tired of tending
to other people’s homes
using their sponges
watering their dead plants
sweeping their floors
and smelling their dish soap

tired of listening to
my words crumbling
as fast as i can
get them out

and i want a home
with fresh flowers on
the counter at all times
something delicious
simmering on the stove
with hot tea every night
and cream line cappuccinos
every morning for breakfast

the plates don’t need to match
although i’d like them to
i know i’m not that type of person
and the mugs and washcloths don’t
need to be handmade but i’m sure
most of them will be anyway

with a goldfish
and succulents
both of which will live
long healthy lives

yellow walls and maybe a
sunny breakfast nook
with a crochet lace valence
over top the window

your hand
to hold
your chest to rest
my head on at night

and when the dishes rattle
it won’t be in frustration or
anger but in peels
of citrus and laughter

*i’m ready to build
a home of my own
and i want to build it
with you by my side

there is familiarity
in being lost
there is freedom
in isolation
i’m not scared anymore
trust me, there is comfort
in not being found

she awoke
like an aubade-
a song greeting the dawn.
her eyes blinked the morning dew away;
the sleep dissipating like fog rolling over hills and out of sight.
her body was full of stories,
of dreams-
she sang wordless lullabies in
amaranth and ivory.
it hurt her, i think,
to craft worlds from impetuous grins and
the lazy dip of cherry blossoms in spring.
her veins hurt from the
strain of harsh lights and panic attacks in public bathrooms,
her veins hurt from the monotony of school
and the dull, numb throbbing of a
barely there headache.
She would come home,
after a particularly long day
and stare at herself,
not recognizing who stared back.
sea foam on her lips and
glitter shimmering upon her cheeks,
she broke the world apart with her bare hands
and climbed inside.

my skin is grey and wilting
trying to hold on
im slipping