she likes the same things i do,
and i can’t help but wonder
if that’s why you chose her.
do you think of me when she
talks about my favorite band?
well i guess it’s her favorite too.
if you only ever think of me
once a year, i hope it’s on my birthday.
it’s hers too.
it was hers first,
but you were mine first.
this is the one time where
i wish i was last.

life is an attic and i’m
the tattered old books
in a box marked
‘fragile’
hope is the thing that
keeps me from wondering
when i’ll be thrown out.
despair is the thing
reminding me that
one day i will be.

my stomach is now
a graveyard
you killed all of
the butterflies

you turned my heart
into a bird
and my chest into a cage

the thing about a
bad record on repeat is
after a while you start
to like it.

wear your heart on your sleeve
where it can be seen but not
broken.

they say the grass is always greener
on the other side
but honestly i’ve never seen
green grass
in this city of mine

i wish your love
was as easy to win
as blackjack
but you can’t cheat
at this game,
you can only gamble.

i curled up next to you
and murmured sweet nothings
into your ear
so you wouldn’t hear the sound
of my fragile heart
breaking

fiery hot flames
ascending up my body undesirably
until they reach my face
and burning;
they give me away

the fog rolled in
and hovered over my city’s
streets.
the trees rustled with
chilled winds that bit skin
harshly.
the moon whispered it’s
secrets to me and i
cried.
the loneliness crept in
sinking it’s teeth into my
bones.
the time has come
for me to leave home.
goodbye.

highs to lows
this weather ain’t
got nothin’ on me.

i started enjoying movies when
i realized not everything has a point.

i would never tell you this
but i have a favorite towel,
one that you left at my house
a sunny summer day
long ago when we went to
wild waves and we got stuck
on a ride together.
i’ll never forget how you feigned
disinterest in the questions you asked me, while your eyes lit up with fires. the last time i saw you
was when you got back from
europe, you reached to smooth down my skirt that
was flowing in the wind and
i gasped as your hands starting at my waist, trailed down to my hips.
struck silent you told me you had
never seen me so quiet.
maybe that’s why you sat across
from me at the dinner table
and offered me the last of your drink with a smirk and a wink…
leaving me hoping that you’ll
forget more than a towel next time

i like to eat my thoughts
filling my stomach so it’s full with words
until it talks and says the stuff i will not
sugar coating my feelings to make them easy to digest
but the sweetness goes away leaving a bad taste and regret

these eyes have seen more
4 am’s than taxi drivers
have seen street signs…
insomnia is my drug and
i’m far too high,
delirious and slightly delusional
go hand and hand
like melatonin and zolpidem.
i’m addicted to
tossing and turning and
blaming all my problems
on lack of sleep

i search for myself
in the words that i write
but i get lost
in thoughts
too many words, phrases,
ideas, and concepts.
the plot thickens -
i cannot see over the letters
i search for meaning
and find more questions
in this maze
called poetry

i prefer counting commas
over counting stars
this life is for the rich
and not the romantic.

I think ghosts
are a beautiful creation
we use to fill up ugly,
empty spaces.

slap my ***
and call me baby
throw me against the wall
and kiss me gently
**** me hard
and tell me that you love me

in between puffs of smoke
we locked eyes.
small rings escaping your mouth,
caressed my face;
light headed and mesmerized,
i found myself wanting a taste
directly from your lips.
the crown royal was not the only thing
that had me flushed
hearing you croak a raspy out-hale of my name

my mouth is a leaky faucet
it just doesn’t know when
to stop running

the washer rocks
off kilter
while my brother
strums the bass,
i listen from
the back porch
with the sun
going down
and i feel bad
for anyone
that doesn’t get
to feel like
this.

you try so hard
to be gentle
but we both know
all your kisses
leave scars

i always shy away from human contact
wondering why my skin is sensitive to the touch
but then i remember what is easily stolen is not so easily replaced
and for my mind and body that thought is too much

cold medicine and cold feet
half lidded eyes, she’s half asleep
wendy’s waiting for her peter pan
dreaming they’re together in neverland

try hard
try harder
sigh
give up
save draft
go back
edit
wait
delete
he’ll never read it anyway.

the spirit in the staircase is
always a creaky reminder of
what you could have said.

wishing i could compile
all the thoughts that have ever crossed my mind
into something tangible
but my disorganized mind
has no time to stop
and correct
or make sense
because the next stream of consciousness comes along
like a full speed train with no conductor
and i’m tied to the tracks
all signs pointing to the fact i put myself there
but don’t forget who gave me the rope
bound my wrists
and left me for dead

the moon keeps me awake at night

she whispers earthly secrets to me

and the stars they laugh along

twinkling to the songs of the wind;

sweet lullabies suited for candy floss clouds.

the darkness is my true peace.

i’ve put my heart
on the bookshelf
for these days,
it seems to be of
little use in my chest.

one poem later and i realize
that i’ve become
my parents.

i always speak far too soon.

i stopped writing in hopes
that the inspiration would
fill me up like a tub;
warm water words
spilling over my rough edges,
escaping my aching bones.

i am a wilted rose.
once beautiful and blossoming,
life was fragrant.
worn by the days past,
my petals float away.

i’m just another
broken storyteller
hoping my words
will glue me back
together again

This change is not like the others because it is different in a bad way.
One day has gone by already.
I’m another person.
Confused by the blink of an eye,
The twitch of a smile.
No longer a change…

i opened my mouth
and shots were fired
words are my choice
of weapon and i
found my smoking gun.

my surroundings
match my mind
the clutter in my
room coincides
with the crap
in my brain
why clean when
you can ignore?
my mental breakdown
should arrive around
the time when
you can no longer
see my floor

on the corner of bell
i questioned who i was
in comparison to this big city
i’m an ant on the bus
trying not to get squished
i stood next to the space needle
and it felt infinite while i was momentary
i was lost like a penny
that rolled into the streets
worthless and forgotten
seattle’s a drain
and i’m going down
drowning

I hate being a writer…
Inspiration does not understand time,
or wait for me to grab a pen and paper.
It does not care that it’s inappropriate to
scribble feverishly in most circumstances;
like sorry I should be working but
I’ve just gotten the idea for lyrics to a song.
I know you’re in the shower but
this poem has to be written.
Oh you’ve just woken up from a nightmare?
Let’s write a ******* novel.
I do not control my words, my words control me.

i’m under the influence
of the night,
darkness is my drug.

you smoothed down
my frayed edges
then pulled me apart
from the seams

there’s a fire in your eyes,
and i’d like to be the one to put it out.

my freckles fall in constellations
like stars sprinkled across my face
they dot every inch of my skin
like marks on a map
trace them tenderly
from my arms to my tummy
making patterns i can feel
your final destination will be my heart

when the clock struck midnight
wherever you are
and you thought about the past
and the future
i hope that i was something
that crossed your mind
even if only for a second.

took two pills
took two shots
felt numb
felt sorry
wired
tired.

my throat swells like the ocean
tides of tears and salty sea spray
with the pressure of waves
my eyes well until filled to the brink
they leak streams of sadness
cascading down my face

i’m honestly glad
i never showed you a poem
you didn’t deserve that
part of me.

5:15am sees a
pair of dull eyes,
and hopes it wont lose
another broken child
who can’t be fixed.