i wish i was able
to write anything,
anytime, no matter
my feelings. it seems,

however, that words
don't come naturally
to me. neither does
being a poet, i guess.

where are the words that
used to fill my head?
        tumbling
           churning
              disturbing
thoughts that wouldn't leave me
alone until i opened a laptop and
smashed the keys to calm my
word-filled mind?

now i can't find anything
i look and search and try to find
something
just a snippet
of something
to write
but the feelings i had
the feelings that put words
in my head
just
aren't there
anymore.

there is something about
card games
that bring out the monster in people
scratching, growling,
insults thinly veiled by the scathing
shriek
"it's just a game!"
it is.
but for the love of god
stop being so cruel
just because you won.

we had been drinking
your mother's pinot grigio;
it was my first time.
i was inexperienced,
or something.
but when you kissed me
was it consensual
if we were both drunk?
when i was drunk and tired and
unable to think and
too weak to push you away?
thinking back, i didn't want it.
i cried in your bathroom,
actually.
but since you're a friend
that
  couldn't
   have
    been
     assault
      right?
i feel *****, and guilty,
and nauseous,
but not from the hangover.

why don't you listen ?
it seems like every time
i speak, You Talk Over Me.
i don't want to yell to be heard.

i have to scream to
get your attention, but
then you punish me for it.
so i've learned to just take your beating.

to the boy who knows
my name, but whom
i don't have any recollection
of knowing,

i can't be rude to you
because i am afraid
you'll become violent, but please
please stop following me.