This tea
Tastes like memories
All I want to feel
Is someone's eyelashes
Beating against my skin
The sense of skin on felt
On soft, slippery silk
On icy velvet
What if their mouth tastes like cinnamon
Will their tears
Be pearls of salt on my cheeks
And will they bite me

we are somewhere that gathers moss
while churning butter into permafrost
with dainty little hands, grown savage
from wailing in prayer. we contain a noise
that surrounds us. all the golden pollen
of our dark gardens, swelling in the flame
of our Mystery…. unopposed.
we join intangible things to quicken the hardpan
of our ziggurats. we hum our contusions
into clouds of memory, abandoned by pain
and left adrift in the eye of a grateful monsoon.
culling pearls from loose oysters
where the moon should be.

i want to go home


am i invisible? yes








i’ll leave you two alone.


you’re happy.



that’s all that matters

I hope you enjoy
Life without me
Because I am done writing
All these love notes
I am done with all these ****** poems
I am done with your no answers
And your "misunderstandings"
And your cute quirks
Like never apologizing
And overdramatizing
And victim blaming
Self deprecating
Body shaming
Overt manipulation
I am done with looking at you
Across the room
Hoping you'll look back
I know you won't and
I don't want you to
I hope you like
Your own medicine
Because I've cut you out of my life
Now you don't mean anything