as the bullet pierces through
the love for you spills out too
thoughts unsaid
prays unheard
what drips from my writ once was love.

So
I will undress
Peel out my skin
Lay my heart bare
Even if I don't want to
Even if I don't love you
If its all it takes to feel loved

They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."

And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.

But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.

They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.

Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.

So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.

And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.

i won't miss your dumb hair,

i dont care about your nails,

i'd rather read books,

and dream about rails.

every seat you can't fit,

that i fake my upset,

but your soul is the point,

and your face is a mess.

i failed,
please don't hate me.

tears fall,
nose aches,
throat burns.

hands tremble,
heart clenched,
lost in this ache.

my love can't defy you,
my weakness.

before the mirror,
"I'll make them proud,"
murmurs to my heart.

i failed,
please don't hate me.

Our first date you took me to eat gumbo
At a seafood place
And I threw up.

Maybe it was a warning
Maybe it was food poisoning
Either way, I stayed
Because loving you was not rocket science
But it wasn't easy either.

Our second date you took me to the zoo
And as I glanced at the black and white stripes
That wrapped around every zebra, I thought
Hey. Sometimes you're only black or white
Always seeing
Always being one way or another
And never in between
It wasn't fair to me.

Maybe I should have left right then and there.
In the end, I stayed
Why did I stay?
Because loving you was not rocket science
But hell, it wasn't easy either.

Our third date you took me to the moon.
Metaphorically of course
Not literally
Because.. how could we?
Anyway, you took me to the moon and back
And baby, it was a blast.
Fires raging
Speeds changing
My heart racing as quickly as one possibly could.

The fourth date proved that loving you
Was more like rocket science than it was easy.

By the fifth and final date
Our flames had faded away.
All that was left was black smoke
And a bright, white light that I walked into
Because I knew that it was my time to leave you.

I think the thing I miss most about you is your laugh,
The way your eyes would shut
And your nose would scrunch up
And your head would fall back,
Loud cackles turning into silence as you gasped for air.
Your cheeks would turn tomato red,
And I know you hated it, but,
Baby, to me it was magic.
Your laughter was a tune that I never wanted to leave my head.

I know you're gone,
I know that,
But I still think about your laugh,
Hear it, even.
I want it to stop.
I want the laughter to go away.

Because, baby, I know you're not laughing anymore.

I'm staring up at the ceiling
again
Thinking of ways I could
fix myself

Permanent removal
from a temporary life.

Coincidentally, I saw your eyes
before I last blinked mine

Let's be honest, I was willing
to go
If it meant
you'd look at me the same.