I am not for everyone and that is okay
but how dare you see a fraction of me and mistake it for the whole
I am not a few raindrops I am a hurricane
a meteorite blinding your eyes- illuminating through the empty night
I am volcanoes aching to erupt & a mystery you could spend the rest of your hours wanting to unravel
black coffee at 5 am, a bittneress you'll get addicted to
I belong to myself- no one's baby and my own hand to hold
the storm inside me will always drown out your whispers
and you will keep searching for the reason why I'm unscathed
your judgement is clouded and I was never one for explanations

i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like ocean-breathing. quite like soft
hearts and softer fingers. quite like hands
strong and hair pulled.
kiss me until i forget her name. push me
on my knees in the hallway—breathe me;
breathe me; breathe me.
i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like “take it off”. quite like “****, ****,
you’re—”. quite like “how much **** would
you get for this hickey?”.
give me mouth to neck to hands to back.
give me soft, give me softer, harder. give
me all teeth, all fingernails, all scratch and
no soothe.
i’m not drunk but i might as well be; you
have never been an instrument i knew how
to play well enough to perform. i’m on my
knees and then not anymore and i’m not
one for praying but i feel like this is the
moment i ask god when i turned into
something so close to an exit wound
even my mother wouldn’t recognise me
anymore.
i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like trembling so hard the china might
scatter on the floor like ashes. quite like
“i’m not just using you”. quite like whispers
so soft they seem to go up in smoke.
he kisses my neck and i go weak in the knees
but i feel like i would be strong enough to
withstand a hurricane like this. he kisses
my neck and his hand is on my hip and
i think about how sometimes a flood brings
more than it takes away and i think
that’s you. i think that’s you. sometimes
i wonder if i could be like that for you
too.
you see, i don’t think there are things
quite like this:
quite like shaking but still. quite like
cold but willing. quite like you.

Their eyes met in perfect alignment
as he place a single finger upon her breast
and he pushed,
not so hard that she would notice
but he pushed and he pushed
until he could reach through her.

Though she had not felt his hand
as it sink into her skin and out her back,
she certainly felt it when he withdrew.
Each inch of his arm stabbing
like a thousand pin ******,
his fingertips cutting like scalpels
along the innards of her chest
until there was nothing left
but a hole where her heart once lay.

She looked down at her wound
and expected to see red, but there was none.
I guess for all she had suffered at his hands
she imagined there would be more blood

I remember the day you left us like it happened yesterday.
You told me you couldn't be with us anymore. That you had to leave, that you weren't happy anymore. As you left you promised me that you would see me in a few weeks. A few weeks turned into 4 years, and you are still trying to make up for that time that was lost.
You used to be a good dad. You used to take me out on adventures every Saturday morning. I remember sitting in your old truck listening to Pink Floyd on our way to Yosemite, always remembering to stop by that little cafe to buy me blueberry pancakes.
You were the first man to break my heart, stand me up, and leave me. You used to not lash out at us in anger.
You used to have gentle hands but now they are balled up fists sewn tight with anger, and just like your words, they hurt. You aren't a father anymore, just a stranger who sleeps on our couch in the living room after stumbling in drunk at 3 AM.

devour the
shining, greedy
glass
pop pop pop
blood leaks and swirls
you smile, eyes half shut
glass between your teeth

worth her weight in gold.
lucky lucky.
better dress her up nicely.

its coldness defeats her;
she crashes like a star.

great potential in her feet
how they weep and harden
how they tear the land apart.

the singer sees her as inspiration
not as a human, but as something
lesser than.

identify her as something wondrous.
but that would be lying.
identify her as something human.
but that would be lying, too.

see something that shines in her.
bend it. break it.
shift her into something
unrecognisable.

you will be happy soon.