your voice sinks into my skin
you touch my hand in passing
your name steadies my fingers
but you leave me shaking inside
please never look at my eyes
(kiss me)  .
                    .
                       .  (look me in the eye) .

i am not the victim of my circumstance i am its
creator.
you feel that i hide myself but if i do
i forget where.
at this point any word that comes
from my mouth feels half-formed.
i don't think
i can be the glue
to fix this one.
you prefer me broken.

i feel TERRIFIED all the time i want to beat my head against my bedpost will i die will i will you cry? will the bedpost feel like he did when he used to try?
will the flowers bring me back or will i die?
SCARED SCARED SCARED
everyone sees me running out of air they see me breaking nails and pulling at my hair
nobody CARES
care care care

i still care for you.
in a small, true way
this piece of me
is always you.

someone once told you that your bitterness was like dark chocolate,
a delicacy, something unusual and rich and exquisite.
i'm here to tell you that even the bitterest of chocolate is sweet
compared to you.

someday i want to be with someone who doesn’t make me afraid to embarrass myself. i don’t really know how to get to that point in a relationship or why i need it so badly. i guess i’m afraid that no one will ever think i’m worth the work. i don’t know that i am.

no matter how hard i work i just build a bigger wall. in my effort to impress and attract i conceal everything i truly want validation for. i know validation is a bad word sometimes, i know i’m not supposed to need it--much less know i need it--but sometimes i choke on the sawdust of my own apathy and truth might be bitter but at least it has a taste.

i know your truth tastes better than mine, and maybe that makes you better than me. i’ve tried changing truths and i’ve tried pretending i don’t have any but even artificial flavoring has an aftertaste impossible to avoid.

maybe someday i won’t equate embarrassment with shame, and i won’t feel the need to change my name. shedding identities to avoid coming to terms with them is an impermanent lifestyle but it’s the only one that fits. i’m sorry sometimes i can’t see past what i need to fix.

have you seen the way she holds them? she holds them in her eyes.

your lover,
does he lie? does he
tell you that you're fine,
that you're wrong, that
you're losing your mind
does it all feel
like a sickly sweet song
written by someone
who doesn't know at all
what it is
to not want to go on?

your lover,
is he fine?
is he losing his mind
between your calls
and your wrongs
does he feel like a sickly sweet
song when you cry
and he dies
a little more inside
when he doesn't have anything more to do but lie.

used to hate penning letters
to relieve my emotions
cliché,
like i'm walking around in
the same motions
as the rest
of the earth
spinning the same turns,
touching the same everlasting
burns
of love,
death,
and the oceans

but
if my letters spell
words only i
like breathing
there's no point in
writing,
as nobody's reading.

daisy daisy blue berry
when you touch my arm i feel
like i can carry
more than i would ever
allow myself. you're lovely and i'm
two steps too broken up
about a life i've never
broken into. used shoes and
worn shirts comfort me
more than my
choices do. asking for
peace and
happiness feels like
the opposite of what
i want it to.

i am
afraid.



other people with their loves
               losses
              and lives
                                            and i sit here,
                                      filled and falling in fear
                                      grasping strips of veins
                     and drinking from rain
                                                            ­            pretending i
                                                                ­    don't
                                                                ­care.

“i’m sorry,” she screams, tears running down her face black and glitter-gold, mixing and sticking in her lipstick. “i didn’t know! you didn’t warn me, didn’t tell me how this was going to go down. this is on you, i swear to god, all of this is you.”

every time i say it out loud it becomes less
real, less of a big
deal. i don't know if this is what coping feels like
or if i am trivializing myself. i think
some things aren't meant to be said, but i
desperately want to be heard.
when broken orchestras turn to whispers,
do you listen? do you see instruments
behind my words?

do the fingernail marks in my skin make me tough? enough? do
they prove anything about me, prove my worth, prove that
maybe
pain inside me
exists
               am i
                   enough
                           for you  
                                   for once?

every place i turn i see
my own sadness staring
back at me, i know
you say you're there
behind the glass
but seeing past my reflection
feels like an impossible task.
the floor is so inviting,
i know they say
isolation is harming
but i crave it; if i could escape
the company of my own sadness
i think the mirrors
might finally break.
i know you think it's you
i'm running from but i'm just
trying to find a room where
i don't have to look up.
yes, i haven't looked you
in the eyes in a while.
sadness is a curtain
i don't know
how to
draw.

the government shoots half of us with poison darts
and the other half with vaccines
and as the venom slides through our veins
the vaccinated half screams
why are you crying? we felt the same pain! .

when you forget what healthy feels like
and blue veins rise up from your skin
do your lungs fight? does the heat bite?
do blue fingernails mirror your bruises
blue like a little lighter's light?

i feel so trapped by everyone else's thoughts about me i can't stop caring and changing myself to fit the their best preferred version of me and i can feel myself dying and twisting trying to be the person they all separately think i should be. mutually exclusive realities living in the heads of people better than me who try to force their opinions and truths upon me ruthless and regardless of how far i have to bend to be satisfying. i feel shriveled and scared and unsure of how to proceed if at all. is it feasible to leave? is it possible to abandon the only things i see guiding me? i have always hated control and now i can see it lives inside of me. even now, thinking about how you will respond, how everyone will see me. you, talking to you thinking 'there is a easy solution to this' THERE IS NEVER AN EASY WAY OUT for me. i easily identify my own character flaws please refrain from pointing them out for me.

a single daffodil
burns
in the shadows
of the earth
as it turns
and we
still
can't
speak.

(do the comets sing?
                                             do ten thousand asteroids whisper when        
                                             our kisses sting?)

heavy fog seeps in my eyes
i cant cry
thudding and whimpering all at
the same time
feeling less and numb and
sitting stone faced,
dumb,
wondering how much of me
is left, and less, and gone
depressed,
and done
nowhere to run
or hide
as the fog thickens
in my mind.

friendships are hard to form and easy to break.
who came up with that

they look so happy! look how happy they are!

i draw flowers and spirals
up and down my arm and they
casually
ask if i want
tattoos.
as if permanence
isn't
terrifying.

we tell
each other
"you belong to yourself"
like that is
something
to be proud of.

i am glad
to say i do not
belong
to me. i am flimsy,
ever-changing,
and insignificant.

i am proud
to say i do not
belong to you.
you are illusory,
holding a pretense
of stability
you could never defend.

i belong
to nothing
but Someone, and
i see you in flowers
and sunsets
and love.

you tell me
"i belong to you
and you to me"
like we are
something
to be proud of.

im stupid and he is too!
we scale these banisters together.
together, we demoralize the
security guards
and convince them
they're cool. we are cool
like nonsensical rebellion
fueled
by curiosity.
the forbidden hallways
we make our own
beckon to
us. calling,
"we have waited years for you.
we have called,
and curiosity
has answered."

yeah man, anxiety's not real i mean,
it's O.K. to be shy and all, but let's not be DRAMATIC,
your lungs look perfectly fine from here, why r u gasping? lol
for god's sake, get out of bed and take an aspirin
what's that? your hands shake? you must be cold (on a summer day?)
hey, why's your sleep schedule so ******?
if you ask me, that's why you have anxiety
if bad thoughts keep you up at night, just don't think!
problem solved. ;)
i think i have a career as a SHRINK

. what are you so afraid of
                  my inability to feel
                  my heart
               as it pumps blood and beats
                              in my ears, my elbows,
                              the cords in my neck
         the violet pulsing
         the violence

the very freckles on my back, rippling and
writhing, telling me
                                                   be very afraid .

my hands are trembling with infuriating intensity and she just stands there, eyes shining and hands fumbling like they always do. looking at me like she always does—like i am someone, or worth something, but she’s always been wrong.

i never understood people who liked those who weren't good for them.

then i met you.

the ants in my veins dont bite me anymore
was it something i did? are they dead?

or is there just less to feed on?

my love is not my love
and i know somewhere in there
there's a fallacy and
the feelings i feel are in
my head, ricocheting every
which way and i'm
confused,
i'm a little leaf in
the wind
pretending
to fly.
you
are a leaf
too. are we
falling
together?
does the wind intertwine
do we fly?

but Are we scared of dying or of Being alone?

we're all scared of something. heights, caves, clowns, darkness, flight
the way your heart beats mid-fight
the light
in your eyes
fading

degrading,
becoming the person you once hated,

i have those fears,
i do
but i also know that these
material things don't last, don't
affect us as much
as the things
we touch
with our minds,
our forgotten
and rotten
desires

snakeskin folded in our arteries
everyone i don't ,wanna please
and between it all
death

in a thousand
tiny
flicks
of your wrist

                                      is this
                               my disease?
.

maybe the key was not something i had to look for,
but something that found me.

It's another loveless Sunday Afternoon
and between the gray sky and the
responsibilities that pile up
faster than October's drooping leaves,
I'm lost,
wondering if I missed my exit
or if I'm just meant to feel this way.

nikolai. oh, nikolai. have you ever looked at someone and had this strange feeling they were burning themselves to the ground? not literally, obviously, but there was just this look in his eyes, some mixture of deadness and passion so white hot I knew it was scalding him. a bad boy fantasy gone wrong--he had all the danger but none of the romantic tendencies or weaknesses. of course, he dallied in the occasional love affair, but only when he knew it would fuel his self-destruction. he was dangerous in that way--he intentionally and enthusiastically perpetuated his own disasters. more dangerous, though, was his tendency to allow his shrapnel to exceed the intended target.

sicky sick raw edges of my tongue from the empty
wrinkled bag on
the floor where i tossed it earlier like a hour
or something ago and i
haven't let the words go
recently they haven't
wanted to leave i keep scraping at them to leave me the ****
alone
but here i am instead (again) with raw edges and
a poem like an empty
wrinkled bag full of regret

alone

crack it. my Finger stiff of cold. she doesn't care but i do, typing pop pop on keys too soft to snap. I'm full of **** and **** faced of me, praying for A New Thing to come along, any new thing works for me. hm. Wild Thoughts and yikes a little too much Love From Me. affectionate failure is still Bad when I am pretty.

bad things come here when i Say More Words than for me. Hold trinkets of apathy. Drop me.

when i am angry
                     there is no fire,
         no directed flame,
         my anger is acidic, carving its way
     from my fingertips and lips,
                                                        burning everything it touches.



                                           a pool of acid means whatever was there went out screaming .

two statues in red as the bird growls. the small chatter of a bear in flight, chattering and the clouds fall into it. fairy light toads pop into the windows of her sweater. she is alone! and the popcorn sizzles. cooking another tea bottle, another burning cup! she eats it and her fingernails grow. contentment in the soul comes with leaves. soup them together! grow his hair! wrap yourself in shower water and breathe outward. the inward air grows stale and forgets its leaves. remember.

two deer walk together in the Deep Sea. neither better or alone. she holds them until her fingers bleed. red dowries.

why would i bother trying to make my words appease you? we are two equal wholes of this and i still look for you to complete me.

girl asked boy
what is your favorite sky?

boy replied
i only know one sky. how could i know another?

girl replied
does not the sky change face from morning to night?
do you mistake bloated stars for clouds?
does sunset's passion taste so similar to the hope of the morning's blue?

boy shrugged
if the colours of the sky change with or without my recognition, why should i waste my time?

.

love,
except what i see
in you.

i'd give up a lot to be neurotypical

this sort of rattling,
battling
in my chest
i did not ask for it,
they did not say
the trembling would start
in my veins, would start
driving me insane, would leave me
begging for pain, begging
for any feeling that made
me feel the same,

the way i did
last year.

come back to me when you finally realize
you can't find peace within yourself

i'd love to talk.