Let there be a grim reaper of sentences
so that everyone will know that words
have an end to them too.
These phrases die eventually.
Yes, they live longer than their masters.
Indeed they survived further on paper.
But of course they became "eternal" on the internet.
Yet, these words eventually come to a stop.
So far, all dialogue has end quotes.
Up til now humans thought that commas extended these fragments...
when it only signaled the coming
of an end.
Eventually, these words will be lost.
They will stop being recorded, and
worshipped, and needed.
These utterances will be nothing more than dead particles that vibrated the air.
They will become just past tense.
The grim reaper of sentences does not even
wield a scythe,
but instead, a pen in which they engrave
the periods to complete the statements.
Oh, how the reaper is thought to be grim when in reality,
they are only bringing these nameless terms to peace.

this room
a room with a view
towering coasters littered with fireworks
a suburban landscape that grew
eighteen years
for a while I thought there was no view beyond these walls
these four barriers that hold
all of me
where I g r e w
eighteen years
from a stumbling child
with pink bows and sturdy white iron
so small in a space so large
I couldn’t fill it
I couldn’t find myself within it yet
this sea of pink frills
but
I curled up with a book every night from what I remember
and I wrote in my first every diary on this bed
and I listened to that prized stereo over and over and over
and as I blossomed this pink palace faded
change
i
changed
so that pink was torn down
and replaced with blue
and green
and purple
and for a while it remained bare
I remained bare
but as I g r e w I was marked
graffiitied
plastered
a rejection here
a death there
I was no longer solid; plain
like these walls, images appeared stuck
who I should be
where I should go
what I should wear
and soon all I saw were these walls
and myself within them
they spoke to me
sometimes in pain
other times in anger; frustration
this cave and sanctuary was my only retreat
writing on the same desk from my childhood about love lost and dreams unfulfilled
I sat in a closet covered in fabric and lost myself in stories
I dance alone facing a mirror, scrutinizing every angle

who was I?

within these walls I found a path
an acceptance
a moment well received and earned
I finally cried tears of joy
new steps, new space
new paint, remove old
images stripped away
from these barriers
red, white, brown
calm
these “barriers” slowly became
arms
they held me
during times of struggle and self-doubt and stress and fear
and I still looked in that mirror and scrutinized
and I still yearned for more of a view
and I still lay broken and heaving in this bed
but I also
g r e w
I left and came back changed one irreplaceable July summer
and
I spoke freely and bravely through the mouth of my pen
and I
smiled brightly at his face on that screen
I g r e w
eighteen years
these arms, once barriers, once only walls
hold everything
all of me
and to leave is bittersweet
for I want to stay
and curl up in this bed
and see my past selves
sitting there with me
to remind me of where I’ve come
I want to sit at that desk and hear
the incessant drumming underneath my floors
I want to hear my mother call me down for dinner
and my father’s hearty laugh
but although these arms hold me
I know they are letting me go
eighteen years
letting me go
to keep on
g r o w i n g
to return changed
but to still see
myself.

No matter how loud I scream
It's not loud enough
No matter how high I raise the volume
It's not high enough
I crave to tune out everything around me
But something stops me
It's not enough
*It's not enough

i never have liked uppercase i's
i know it's absolutely stupid
but they always make me feel more important than others
like i'm always saying I, I, I.

see even that was weird
way too many eyes
so i spend half my days, proofreading my lines
to make sure that i'm exactly the same size
as everyone else

when i first met you it absolutely blew me away
to find someone else who lowers their eyes
i'm serious, it's amazing to find someone who wastes as much time as yourself
hitting backspace, and
cursing auto-correct for not allowing this behavior

but after a while i noticed you stopped with the i's
maybe it was around the time **** got weird
maybe it was a fad; or i have some absurd superstition
but it's cool
You always were the bigger person, anyway.

one day
the world will have enough of me
and burn me at the stake

they’ll sing and dance
in gasoline and smoke
         “the death of the last honest man”

and after they **** on the ashes
and return home
to their meat loaves and ******

i will rise from the ashes
as a pigeon

spending the rest of eternity
******* in their morning coffee
and on the windshields of their cars