a seven hour vacation away from conscious life
a seven hour movie presentation
a seven hour time frame somewhere else

how funny it is
that back in 2002 we thought this was permanent
we thought our lives couldn't get any better than this

we were all so wrong
but very right
depending on various ideals

we didn't get the future we were promised
maybe that's a relief
or a panicked thought

no matter what year it is
i still have the same dream
the one i thought about for seven hours a day five days a week

a dream of my freshly washed hair
being dampened once more but by freezing rain
the impending feeling of doom

the goosebumps and standing hairs
the soft lights of the world grazing the snowy clouds
and for those few moments


i felt that i was the only person in the world

the longest road is the one you keep looking back on
the longer you stare
the more it stretches

it seems that the roads i walk have the most rigid bones
the ones that can't quite stretch to that spot
such an ache that i feel it in my own bones

the fact that you're no longer alive
grasps me in the strangest moments
and those bones come through the dirt to hold onto me

they remind me that i too
am in constant ache

it doesn't matter how much time passes
if someone is really that bad
they stay that way

no matter how many changes they say they'll make
no matter how many chances you give
no matter what they've done and it's severity

you can't save everyone
you can't tell them enough to make them listen
you have to let them go eventually

since when has a stranger's life been yours
something for you to emotionally invest in
what are you looking for
where do you think this will lead you

are you praying for a negative outcome
are you wishing for something to make you right
why are you trying so hard to prove this
what kind of merit will this bestow onto you

i just want to know
why you think this is any of your life
why do you think you're entitled to its' knowledge
and why is it so detrimental that you disagree with it


maybe i should know better than to ask these questions

i found myself stuttering over your name in conversation

it was almost two months ago

although i keep wondering if it happened for a reason
maybe to prevent the eventual sobbing that night
doesn't mean i don't kick myself for it

i constantly feel the weight of your ghost
maybe it's selfish of me to notice the consistency of you
or to assume it is always you

or is it low of me to think that you wouldn't be there

i've held onto this thought since july

and i'm just angry you're dead

"if you want angry, blackout drunk fueled fights with strangers,
that's what he'll give you.

if you want nostalgic, sugar-filled summer sunsets,
he'll give it to you.

if you want to sleep into the late afternoon and whisper during breakfast,
that's what he'll give you.

if you want police knocking on the door at 2 am after an assault report,
he'll give it to you.

but if you want him to choke you, shove you, even strike you,
he won't.

because the last thing he'd ever want on this planet is to hurt you.

but he'd definitely hurt anyone that'd try to hurt you."

"pain comes and goes,
leaves and stays.

but he is the one who makes you forget you were ever in pain.

he never goes,
he just stays.

no matter where ever he is,
the feeling of his skin on yours never leaves.

his lips,
his fingers,
his voice

it never leaves."

there is this soft innocence when the sun rises
when your mind is at its weakest
eyelids heavy
bearing the burden of the past
and its memories

the most pure is the softest light
that the sun can bestow onto you

a gentle reminder that the day is new
even when all the days seem stagnant
and sleep is but a distant task

The color of the afternoon sky, the color of the crystal clean pool in your backyard.


The color of my eyes, signaling that I’m alive.


The color of your lighter, the one that lights all of your cigarettes on fire.

the golden hour often comes when we least expect it
but we pay it no attention and proceed
unaware and naive

i wake up more often than not with a sore tongue
sore from having to keep my mouth shut for so long
for even a single word can ruin so much of what i have

i feel the safest enclosed in a white box
enclosed in a larger box in the middle of the city
where the previous cannot find me

but eventually, sore feet drag me back to the place i dread the most

"welcome home."

i.
i've met god
he's lying six feet deep
in the rare greens of chicago
where the trees make up for the emptiness
the loss
the silence

the grass seems so frightening for its purpose
but yet so full and comforting
i don't blame the slumber

i blame the normality of it all

lips red
eyes glossy
heart beating
tired of the things you cannot control
feeling like a failure

but what you don't know
is that you're the voice that tells me no
you're the person that lets me know
that no matter how hard things become
that i will always pull through

because what i can achieve
is up to me
it's in my hands

and i'm always in your thoughts
or so you say

it's funny how you preach, scream, riot about keeping the peace, but when it's your turn to keep the peace, you keep a grudge instead.

i wish i felt as cool as i did in the summer of 2016
and i wish i could feel the slow fade into the fall all over again

screaming our favorite songs out the car windows
while the neighbors hastily shut their curtains

in those moments i was free
more free than i ever felt over the weekends home from school

more free than i feel now
more in control than i am now

it's nice to share that feeling with another person
the feeling of uncertainty
not knowing whether i'm going to wake up tomorrow

it's a nightly ceremony
laid out across the floor
right in front of the tv

vhs static echoes through the rooms
a transformative light dancing on my shoulders

it's more like a funeral these days
because tomorrow is always a myth
and so far i've been proven otherwise


but there's always the one chance



that i'm not

i'm picking my nails at the dinner table
thinking of ways to tear myself apart
wondering if you'd even agree with me right now
if you'd be proud of me
or are you yelling at me from wherever you are

i'd like to think you're somewhere nice
in a pool where the water is crystal clear
sipping something strong and watching me ruin my life

sometimes i'd rather you turn the tv off and throw the remote

this show ***** anyway

sometimes i look outside from the suffocating box i sleep in
the sun is usually out and keeping a watch on everyone
i just sit there
nothing changes
i usually still feel the empty parts of my body ache

sometimes it takes awhile for things to change
or at least that's what i try to believe
lately that hasn't been the thought

but what i seem to forget is that it's okay to stop
it's okay to stop something that's affecting me negatively


im not a nobody just because i quit something

i have more power quitting it than continuing it

sometimes i wonder how we got here.
how we got to this point in our lives.
how you managed to stay around after years of randomized and (sometimes) painful situations.
how i managed to keep myself in tact when most of the time i'm hanging by a thread.

but then i realize that there is something that binds us together in such a way, it is indescribable.
but so are you.
and i.

there are paths of our lives that cross over in such ways that make our maps look like a 4-year-old's scribbling.
there are stars that glue us together in such a way that our limbs are always tangled.

one mangled, crying, painful mess.

one perfect, strong, gleaming masterpiece.

i used to never understand why some didn't celebrate their birthdays
i guess now i do

which people do say that when you understand a new perspective
that it may be growth

but is it growth when i see that my own birthday is just another day
is it growth when i waste twelve hours of my birthday, sleeping

is it growth when i'm too worried about other people
when my birthday is supposed to be about me

my body is in two different directions

almost like it wants to split apart

i catch myself thinking of the past more often now

i've stopped following my own advice

i think we were destined from the first time i heard you speak
a rough but gentle voice you carry
and i hope you know it carries me

i feel i've known you for ages
even though it's only been a short while
sometimes i wish i could meet you all over again

you're a rush of air
something i've needed for so long
sometimes it's so hard to breathe around here

in such a way that seems elementary
i want to write the loveliest things about you
i want to put them in the sky

but in the same way
i want nobody to know
i want to go with you wherever you slip away to

and i want you to slip away to me
i want to be that embrace that let's you know you're home
because you let me know the same

it is a violet hue
an indigo sky

something in the color you bring
that is harmonious
and glues all the pieces together

sometimes the glue remains wet
but time lets the wounds heal
and the glue finally dries

putting all the pieces of the puzzle together
revealing the larger family picture
something that makes sense to us

you are apart of the sense
the knowing
the teaching

it never hurts to continue learning

i've been told that i come off as cold, or intimidating.

it's a defense mechanism, like an alligator. or a porcupine.
i know how bad this world is, and i'm not about to fall in it's trap by being nice to everyone.
that's why i come off cold.
i will not surrender.

but i am the nicest person you'll ever meet.
i am smart, i know my way around the world.

but i am only 19. i am only human. these things that make me who i am are just as important as i portray myself.

i am just a girl, with big blue eyes and long hair.

i am a girl with long nails and i will not hesitate to rip anyone who hurts me apart.
because i am not going to stand on the edge and let myself be pushed over it anymore.

i am a girl with a loud mind, and a voice. and i won't hesitate to use it.

i am a girl with big dreams, and an amazing imagination.

i am a girl with good intentions and a golden heart.

i am a girl with fire in my veins, and a hurricane in my stomach.

i am who i am, i am not going to tear myself apart after so much building.

i was such a fool
such an idiot for thinking that you'd protect me

you were foaming at the mouth
eyes glistening
like oil on the pavement

slick
pitch black
always wide open
just to watch me fail

waiting for any instance
where i let you in
if i slip up and let my guard down

how selfish do you have to be
to find life through others
who didn't deserve to die to keep you alive

and i won't be among the casualties

i miss your tires fighting the pavement under our legs
i miss the wind slipping into the cracked windows
i miss how everything turned into slosh as highways stretched

it always seemed as if they only elongated for us
all packed into one car
sharing slushies and eye-roll worthy jokes

nothing else mattered in those hours where we shared space
nothing else seemed more important than each other's company
nothing else sounds better

i like that we're loud
despite all the noise complaints
and weird looks in the early mornings

when we drag ourselves to breakfast down the road
when we drag ourselves in from the freezing cold
or blistering heat

i like that we never leave a location singularly
that we're one large support group
that we're a hive

i like that we're powerful
when one of us hurts
it becomes everyone else's pain too

i like that we have each other no matter what
we don't let each other fall
we never let go

i don't think i'll ever let this go

i believe that we'll always come back to each other in whatever colors we become

even when i'm scorching red and you're a soft green
even when you're a bold blue and i'm a deep yellow

even when we're two different shades of grey

even when i have rings in my nose and you have some around your neck

even when it's almost dawn and i can't keep my eyes open, but you're a sugar rush, bouncing your leg on the floor

neither of us can ever keep still
neither of us can ever keep something from each other



maybe that's why i know we'll always return to each other when we stray too far from the woods

there's always that tired morning candlelight of sadness
that washes over my existence and reminds me to stay still.

because if i were to move, what's left of my rib cage
would collapse.
the empty pit of my torso would be nothing but bones and regret.

but this is nothing new.
but sometimes i crave this collapse because maybe the cave
of my body wouldn't be so empty.

it's odd that i find my way back to you in a dream

in a violet mist,
a storm of chemicals

sometimes it's repetitive
all i see are teeth,
dripping wet from black saliva and blood of
anyone that roams these leaves

but i know you can't touch me
because hurting me
hurts your assets

you'll hurt your chances at anything living
because deep down, somehow, i knew you were never alive


just an empty body in the middle of a clearing
like royalty
preserved while something else like you reigns

there are always so many questions.
there are so many answers, but they never line up.

your atmosphere is humid, sticky.
repugnant.

in the belly of the forest is where you roam, sometimes i hear you calling for me.
calling for me to come back.

you tell me you're dying, but you always were.

"help me. i need you."

an ego to feed, a mental disorder to ignore.
a natural born leader, an attention seeker.

you relished when we called you god, you bathed in the fact that we followed your orders.

and i hate admitting that i believed you for so long.
i hate admitting that i trusted you.

you're nothing but the mud you lie in.

sticky.

repugnant.

the silence becomes the loudest in the middle of the night when safety is no longer an option.

it becomes the enemy when you're trying to sleep, push everything away to get some peace.

it's the thing that turns you from blue to red in the blink of an eye.

turning you into a whole new mechanism.

an animated, drooling, beast of rage.



you can try to claw your way out, but there's always something in the way of getting rid of the revolting, wet, anger that boils in the cavity of your sternum.

two sides
black and white
day and night

there's always the hidden third
but we rarely talk about him

he's quiet
soft
there to give us the truth
but what references does he have

what proof does he have

but what proof do we even have

we are always forced to follow one or the other
but when do we ever consider the third side

who is not the truth
but the realization that a lot of things are wrong
and we only point them out to each other when
it is relevant to the failure of others