I fidget with my rings; sometimes get surprised that one ring has found its way to another finger. I return it to its original place and wonder where my mind has been.

When I'm forced to be in one place, I look for ways to stretch the limits. If I get a two hour break, I'm spending it at the park and ignoring notifications all 120 minutes of it. I eat my lunch while working.

On days like this I wonder how I've managed to do this at all.

on the marble platform
there's a crowd
whose eyes refuse to meet yours
clouds coming in fast
people pretend they're surprised
to seem like they had no part
words escape you
or is it the other way around

did i dream of you?
i don't remember
but i might as well have

three bags on top of the pile of laundry in the cardboard box in my mind
for whatever reason, they each have at least one of my things.
I don't feel like putting them away.
I choose to drink lukewarm water
but refuse to wash the dishes right away.
oh well
I'll always remember this time as the time
I wrote the most

Im walking down the street
But im not just walking down the street
Im thinking nonstop of everything i see
And not just everything i see

The moon, and how its cheerier than it was the last time
I see the distance from where i stand and the place i want to be
And i think, breathe,
Nothing is so exciting you must be there at once

And so i walk
And my mind does not know how to walk in silence
So i walk thinking
I acknowledge this feeling of restlessness

My mind is so filled up it could burst
And honestly i wish it would
I dont mind thoughts dripping down my temple in its aftermath
I dont mind

when I remember you, it feels strange.
a feeling of still being in it. as if I never left.
or maybe I was never there
and this everpresent feeling is a feeling of nostalgia
for something that never was.

she stood
like a tree
with bright yellow flowers
amid the grey buildings and smog

stopping me in my travels,
I had to thank her
for simply being there

it feels wrong to attempt
writing a poem using a pen
but there’s a sense of peace
in knowing that some things
cannot be changed

I trace these shapes
risking ruining it
but does it matter
I’ve turned it into rats
and ghosts

rewinds and close-ups
choreographed dance steps
sparkles and music
is anything ever childish?
or is everything else just boring?

I feel envy when i see you
be so unapologetically yourself
so shiny, so different
from me

I feel envy when I see her
laugh at jokes that I don’t find remotely funny
being so awkward
but so okay at the same time

it makes me look forward to the time
I can fall in love with myself
in the same way

in your presence
I already felt the opposite
which, in hindsight
explains the tears that I couldn't

I can only blame my mother
For being interested in what I have to say
Leading me to grow up thinking
That everyone is the same

I got sick of things quickly
I always did
The mechanical scooter my parents gave me for my birthday
My obsession over sneakers
My hobby of playing the piano
I was even afraid I could never love cause I would just throw the person away as soon as I got what I wanted
Then you came along
And you proved me wrong
I couldnt get enough of you
Months, still felt the same
And I was relieved
Cause finally,
finally there was something I didnt get sick of
And yes, i didnt get sick of you
But
You
You got sick of me

I dreamt
that everywhere I looked
was this black scary thing
and I couldn't move
or look away
without it appearing

wondering where it came from
I decided to look directly at it
although it terrified me
I knew it was necessary

even if you slapped him in the face
with the most radiant bouquet of sunflowers
there was no way he could fathom
what had hit him

nevertheless, never mind
it's not your fault
it never was
but neither is it his

he was raised to believe
that he did not deserve
kindness or care
or beauty in whatever form

forced to grow up,
not knowing what any of it was
or what any of it meant

I'll write anything just to say I've done better things with my time. But really, I'm just passing time 'til it is for sleep. then when it comes, I stall. It's a weird one, this phase I'm in. I'm listening to songs I've never heard before, ones that make me think of old detective movies. or movies with space ships. Old, too. Maybe staring at the ceiling of my bunk would be of more consequentiality.

hoping
that with putting more out than in
I'll be able to pull out all the lumps in my throat
that I've swallowed to put away
and reveal this hot and sticky grey mass
that has been making my insides hurt
and feel
lighter

I only loved you
because I loved me
and knew that I deserved someone as great as you
despite the gap
despite not actually knowing, you
but with the parts that I do
I hope to meet someone like you

‘til then, I’ll continue to attempt
to retch my heart up on a plate
while a river bed forms on my face
from my inner corner, up a hill, then down
the well of my ear
green foliage and flowers would in time surround the banks
and I’d have earned the grace
to bask in the beauty of it all

I'm not paying attention
I'm only starting to learn how
I bring two books around to read
but don't understand a word
I let my eyes roam over the text

and when I feel like writing, I feel like crying
because the words do not come out
but when they do, I write from what I think is my heart
on a pad paper I
lose my train of thought
I wait on the seats for the next
perhaps it's too bright
perhaps I've been in my head all day
that it wants me out