you should definitely drown me in your kisses
because i shouldn't be allowed to swim
i shouldn't even be given kisses

instead of holding my hand you
should hold the back of your hand up to my face before reeling it back for a smack on the cheek

i shouldn't be granted anything nice
i shouldn't be given anything lovely
anything pretty
anything worth something

*just ******* shut me up

I have been so tired lately, and even more so lonely
I try to muffle the screams of my loneliness with a soft bed, warm blankets and a pillow to hold onto
Nothing feels alright without you, and hardly anything feels alright with you
We can be described as two people talking at the same time in a conversation, but instead of laughing about it we become sad and bitter with ourselves and with the other
I wish things weren't this way.
I am tired with an angry sadness and you are tired with a guilty blame-fullness that resides deep in both of us
I love you so much
But I am so tired

I want to wrap myself around you and dissolve into you, warming your skin and holding your heart
I don't want things to be like this
I want both of us to be happy with each other

i used to hold the blade against my skin and say to myself, "you'll feel worse pain than this"
to convince myself to do it
and when i said that, i meant that the worst pain
would be that of you leaving me again
except you didn't leave
so the only pain left
is the one that i inflict upon myself

i don't think you can look at me like that
i don't think you can come close to me
and look at my mouth before you lean down to kiss it
like that
and say that i'm your friend
do not claim me to be your only "friend" in this town
i am not your friend

if i was your friend i wouldn't get down on my knees for you
just to hear you moan about how good i am

if i was your friend the only time you'd be taking my shirt off would be never
do not claim me to be your friend
if we're going to touch each other
and love on each other
in the ways that we do
i am not just your "friend"

the exact middle, she claims
i'm neutral, she says
i don't pick sides, she proclaims

no, no
the exact middle is never
the exact middle
of nothing

we are always in the middle
of something

when i hear her say,
"you know i've never picked sides,"
what i really hear is:
"i don't care enough to care"
"my comfortability, my ignorance, is worth more than someone else's struggles"
"my silence is more important than another's life"

what i hear is you giving up, giving in,
because it's not your problem, right?

no, no
the exact middle
is never
a "neutral" place to be

When you look at him your irises turn into beautiful little lilacs, complimenting your rosy cheeks that adopt the sun's rays, holding the warm and powerful light hostage beneath your soft skin.

When he looks at you his eyes become reflectors of the moon's bright light, making his eyes seem so much more deeper, and so much more iridescent than they were before; and when he looks at you his skin turns into icicles, every inch turning into little tiny mountains.

When the two of you come together, your nerves and blood and organs begin to pull the both of you even closer, allowing your hearts to speak to one another: each repeating the phrase I love you, followed by its lover's name. It is a beautiful and subtle conversation.

i can't really write about the way
your skin feels against mine
or how i feel when you look at me
because i haven't experienced them yet

i can't really write about how
your lips slowly curve into
your signature smirk
because i haven't gotten to see it in person

i can't really write about when
your blue-green eyes
flicker in the lights
because i haven't seen them do it

but i can write about how
it makes my heart pump twice as fast
and makes my cheeks turn pink
when i get to hear you say my name.
or how repeating "its okay" in your voice
keeps me up longer some nights
because it seems to sound so real in my mind,
or how it made me feel sleepy and cuddly when i heard you say i love you for the first time
as if you were there with me in that moment,
arms around me.



there are a lot of things i cannot write about;
i cannot write about what most people can -
but that's okay
because their truths are different from mine

instead of putting together bits and pieces of things i have read
and making my own version of you in my little world,
i will write about you
from what i know about you
and not what i think i may know.
i will write about how you make me feel
despite the distance

i want to experience you
(more)
i love you

my mind is most definitely a garden
and you gave up being the gardener of it a while back
i used to let my thoughts grow wild and as they pleased, like flowers,
because i didn't have to worry about anyone stopping by to pick their favorites.
you're back now, and all my thoughts have scattered and grown twice as fast,
leaving my mind covered in vines speckled with purples and pinks and oranges,
a variation of thoughts.
but you're my secret gardener, you see;
i must sift through the sea of beautiful variations,
bundling up the most appropriate thoughts
and sending them out to be delivered to my neighbors, my friends,
choosing only the prettiest ones in the nicest sentences,
never giving away any special flowers that might grow alongside my skull
never revealing anything of my special gardener

i used to walk along your fingertips
and dance across your lips,
i always stayed on the outside
of your beautiful body,
never wondering how to enter in

i would sleep upon your skin,
dozing off to the sweet rhythm of your breaths
and the soft thumping of your heart
but i was never curious about them,
at least not from the start

sometimes i would dream
about tasting your lips
and having your hands on my hips,
but i wasn't enough, then
i was too small; too insignificant for someone as big as you

i kept dreaming and dreaming and hoping,
that someday i could be big enough
for you to consider
but you never looked at me, never spoke to me
and i began to wither.

My work is to inspire myself.

My work is to inspire others to be inspired by themselves.

My work is to encourage others to try something they doubt they can do "right".

My work is to draw emotion and thoughts from my peers.

My work is t teach and inform others.

My work is to express what I believe could not be said with words,
my work is to express what I believe could not be shown with colors and shapes.

My work is a distraction from the things I don't want to think about.

My work is a progression from who I was the day before.

My work is myself.

My work is art.

i would stand and listen
to the rustling of a tree's leaves,
watching as they glistened and glimmered in the sunlight

the wind moving through the leaves and branches
like water running over and between a stream's rocks

sometimes i pretend
that the rustling is your thoughts all the way from the east,
reaching your west coast girl
you're sharing them with me

soft whispers spoken in your voice separate your thoughts that flow through the trees,
breezing off my soft skin
like undiscovered kisses from your sweet lips

your west coast girl is waiting
waiting and listening for you
tell me
tell me *it's time to come home

i need to hear you say you love me
over and over and over until my mouth forms a smile and all my worries thin out into nothing in that moment

your voice brings a comforting validation to my body, senses and mind
i feel steady again with each syllable you speak from that lovely mouth of yours

i just need to hear you. i need to hear you say things that will make my boat find still waters on a raging sea

i love you deeper
than any ocean
and higher than any sky.
to the moon and back
and around the sun infinitely many times

i love you more
than the miles that distance us,
or the hours that part us
and even more than the times that we hardly have time to speak

because i believe that
one day we will be able to laugh and
talk to one another,
and not into a computer.

that one day i will be able to
reach over for your hand
or turn to you for a hug
and you will be there.

i believe that
one day we will finally be happy
and things will be a little easier
because instead of wishing and wanting
for each other
we will finally have one another

and the best thing
is that you feel the same way

and that makes all the waiting and hoping and difficulties we may face
completely worthwhile.

i know you’re stressed
don’t worry about painting your nails messy
tomorrow the purple color that dried on your skin will come off.
it’ll come off a lot easier than off of your nail
don’t worry about being messy

you apologize so much
why do you apologize so much
it’s okay,
you dont need to cry now,
but you can if you really want to

your nails are drying
the color won’t get onto your keyboard,
stop fretting
it will be okay

you’re worried about other things
(i just typed sorry instead of worried, deleted it)
you write well
8 pages total due by monday, 9 am and 2 pm
you can do this
it’s easy to let things slide enough until they build up
i know
Reassurance
you’re a good writer
you’ll finish those 8 pages, *******, but you will

you’re worried about other things
Subconsciously;
distractions
netflix
art
work
music
textin­g
social media, painting your nails

what’s bothering you the most?
what’s making your chest hurt?
what do you wish for?

who are you wishing for?
thinking about this and making yourself ask you about these things is making you type faster
i know
it hurts
i know it hurts

i know

you are the shining star
you are the shining star that broke my heart into
pieces, and helped me put it all back together
with promises of hope and love
you may not have shone as bright as other stars
but you flickered with such persistence
i did not quite understand, but
i felt that my soul understood your morse code-like flickers, and i tried to listen

you cannot die out yet
shining star, you cannot
you cannot cease to shine your promises of hope and love onto me each night
please, please you cannot go just yet

if you must leave again so soon,
i pray you take me with you

your voice repeats in my head
like wind that whirls around
autumn leaves in the silent streets
of my little town.
their loud, cold shh's fill the atmosphere
and sound like a symphony of whispered phrases,
spoken with tongues that were drenched in love

your voice rustles my thoughts
around the bareness of my skull,
they echo into my mind all the memorable phrases i have heard you speak,
every one we exchanged that was dripping in our love and molded with our truths

your voice whistles like the whirling
wind that plays with those leaves,
and if i listen closely enough,

you're calling my name

i have tried to imagine your face
for more than a few seconds
but then my mind darkens
and you disappear.
i have tried to imagine your face
leaning toward mine,
your lips making a landing for mine
but you dissipate right onto my face.
you just scatter.
thousands of tiny little pieces of you,
bouncing off my skin and
floating away from me

i hope this is not a metaphor for you

i enjoy having you pressed against me,
mouth hot and on my neck with
your hands roaming my body like hungry lions on the prowl for its prey
yes of course i enjoy it
i love the warmth of your muscles and skin as they make their way around my body;
such a starving passion,
when the effort is heavy in your movements
but i crave something more of you
i crave for all the passion that seeps out of your fingertips when you touch me
to fly up into your veins and into your beating and ****** heart
i crave your love
but i crave the love that cannot be felt with hands

my thoughts are secret sentences
and i must hold and grind them between my teeth
i must make sure to make none slip
from my soft lips

or a Terrible Disaster
would be our new name

maybe i am never really drowning and
maybe i am not sinking
i'm not dying
i'm not cracking, i'm not breaking
i'm just

i am spinning and
i am alive
i am breathing and i am here
i am breaking
but into a new person
but these breaks i take i assume are for the worse
and then i feel broken
but i am just
alive

frost-bitten, crisp winter air
that springs up the hairs on
your soft arms
and nips at you in harsh,
yet comforting, kisses

this is the cold season,
the frost season,
the one that blankets life with
a thin sheet of ice
or a thick layer of snow,
the kind of coldness
that sits in the air until the sun melts it

it is my favorite season, though
and despite its harshness
i find it comforting

i always said you were the star
some kind of genius
and then right out of the blue,
he makes his garden.
sweetness.
opposite of terrible.
as had been before
what a tragedy that had been,
one of the few mistakes made,
one that proved victory forever
lovers always loved again,
he'd believed that.

a dream of happiness

i could say i don't care
  i don't care
              i don't care
                        i don't caaare

but we both know
      that would be a lie

people say that they cut to feel in control
to feel in control of their ******-up lives
but when i held that blade and let
it slip across my skin,
i felt no control.
i felt no comfort.
the blade controlled me,
twisting who i was
into someone that i was not;
ripping my thoughts apart

don't pick up that blade.
don't ever pick up that blade.

where to begin

there is so much ******* pain
lined up inside me
like layers of skin
i have layers of pain

so much unsorted trauma
lying in my chest, mind, heart
my soul
it aches for growth, but
i am still figuring out the trauma part

i am not who i am born into
i am not the things that have happened to me
i am not the people who have hurt me

i am Me
i am my Self
I am Grace
i am strong

i have been hurt
but the weight of the pain has become
too heavy to drag around
i must dump the body

the body of trauma that lay inside me
fare ******* well

i am not required to forgive you
and for now i cannot
for you have sinned much more,
far, far, far more than forgiveness could erase

ten fold
i hope the horrible
terrible
evil
things you’ve committed

i hope they come down raining
ten fold
on your stupid ******* head
since you don’t get the picture

and here i will sit
while you writhe in suffering
disowning your evilness
rather than facing it head on
swords up
cutting through the thick disgust

but you ******* cower
like the ******* you are
you feel no remorse
you find pleasure in the pain of others
and for that
let bygones be bygones

i trust.
for your troubles are out of my hands
the things you’ve done to me
they are out of my hands
i will try to forgive,
oh but i will never ******* forget

i fill my hands with what i deserve
i fill my hands with love
i fill my hands with abundance
i fill my hands with peace

i let you go now
you no longer have a place in my life
holding on much longer will not suffice

Day and by night
A girl with no doubt
Still exerts a sort of tidal pull of possibility
I suppose I’m lucky I wasn’t killed in those early days
I learned to be very careful
You know that you are in an extraordinary place
I have greatly expanded my knowledge and understanding of how these work
And probably just in time
Lived richer, fuller, more satisfying lives than you can imagine…
I want them to know that they came from
The beauty of the mountains, meadows, streams, and sky,
That beauty is clear
Blooming Beauty is Boundless
Painless, selfless, endless
It reflects contentment
You should live life based on how you feel,
Extend human knowledge as an explorer,
And always want to fight evil.
Thank you
Peace out
Respectfully

exploding with rage
you never listened to me
and you never will

for a while, it
is good. with people, but then
alone once again

my thoughts seem to flow
as a broken record plays

the same part of the song played over and over again

i can't control them

don't worry about it
(i'm going to worry about it)

i've gone through people like i've gone through tissues
the tissues i used to wipe my tears from being in places
the places i shouldn't have been but went to anyway

i have so many issues
like tissues, but without the 't'
i file them away for later
just like my mom's stacks of unfiled bills
i have stacks of unfiled emotions

each one needs a place
a place to settle and be safe

buried

but not buried in the sense that it is dead,
without purpose

buried like

i have had them for long enough
they have served their purpose for me

now i lay you to rest

**** your problems,
not yourself

rhyme
rhyme
rhyme
a poem does not have to rhyme to be a poem
poem
sometimes a poem can be just soup
soup
soup
alphabet soup
of words pouring out of my body made of ceramic
onto the floor

oh no! you'd better clean up
before someone sees what a mess you really are
no one wants a sticky floor

floor
floor
floor
well there's the door
i-
i can't help how i am
but i know that is a lie
i won't stay the same for much longer
before i turn into soup again

i do not stray
from the new things
coming my way

. . .

press my lips on your forehead
softly, gently, slowly
taking my time
as if the longer i took to leave you with a kiss
meant the more i'd know about what you're thinking

like the meeting
of my lips
with your warm forehead
would mean our connection would be deeper,
would mean i could understand you more,
would mean i could show you love in an alternative way
than just spinning passion 'round and 'round
in my mind

thoughts like kisses
building up, up, up
until the ******

when i was younger
i used to wish i could disappear
to drop off the face of the planet

now sometimes i feel like that, too
except, its less about
wanting to die,
and more about

spending time with just my Self

i don't care anymore
in the best way possible

conformity

tells you and me how to live,
how not to live

stresses, pressures, "is this right?"

you're being forced to live
inauthentically
and it is killing your soul

society tears, shreds, devours your identity
spitting it out into a weakened mass

you're forced to pick up the pieces
to create a new reality
never knowing the best way how to,
always being told what's right vs what's wrong

"do this!
do that!
if you don't do it how we do it, you won't matter!"

how to create from this ******* disaster?

taught there's only one way
to E X I S T

when in ******* fact there are infinite ways to exist

. . . so

i don't care anymore
and in the best way possible

i am not trying to be the best
i am not trying to conquer the rest

i am trying to be Me

Myself

A U T H E N T I C A L L Y

so **** your norms
**** your yes / no/ right / wrongs
**** your boxes
**** your compartmentalism

i am me
i am myself

and that is good and right enough

crash into me
just like the foamy sea water
hits the golden brown sand
of beach street.
loud,
crashing waves
reaching up, up, up the shoreline

i think it will almost touch me,
yet it does not

but the sea makes itself known
to all those who pass by
big, beautiful, blue body of water
hard to ignore

i want to know you as deeply
as that ocean,
further than just the shore's surface

deep, deep, deep
into the depths of the sea
complex and mysterious
an unknown phenomenon
i want to delve into entirely