at Aug 12

I'm sorry my bones are fragile,
breaking from the touch of your voice.
I'm sorry my tears burned your delicate skin,
and sorry if my screams broke your ribs.

I'm sorry I ran away,
away from your charcoal claws.
I'm sorry I house a broken body
and tore my cracking heart.

I'm sorry I fought off the darkness in my veins,
but too tired to fend off your demons.
I'm sorry I was the one who carved your scars
and squeezed your creaking lungs.

I'm sorry for saying "I'm sorry."
I'm sorry for believing that phrase
can heal bullet wounds,
and align planets.

at Aug 1

My name is Yellow.
As in the skin I bare,
and the heart beneath.

like the perfect grades,
and the failing student.

like the title stripped from my father,
and the title he wishes to strip from me.

unlike the parents,
and the silent daughter.

My name is Yellow.
And I am proud.

at Jul 24

pacing breaths,
squeezing hands,
clenching teeth.

my lips move,
my throat knots,
tears pour instead of words.

hold my hand across the screen
kiss my shaky breaths and whisper
“you are Brave."

at Jun 18

an orange hangs in the sky
air sweet of citrus
the falling star
paints clouds with the spectrums
of a youthful heart

the thin ebony fingers
at the edge of the sinking skies
reached for the


I really like oranges.
at Jun 18

You held me tighter in your arms,
eyes dripping memories.
You whispered,
“I don’t want to
        l e t
                  g   o

I pulled you closer,
heart skipping an odd beat.

I didn’t know what you
meant. But,
I didn’t want you to
        l e t
                  g  o
                           e   i   t   h   e   r.

“you don’t have to."

at Jun 5

My nails marked constellations,
rosé stars glistening on the yellow sky.

The deepest mark guides my frail bones,
weeping cherry wine across the heavens.

Let the crimson moons dangle on my skin,
painting my body with that scarlet lipstick.

Accent my amber stomach with shadows of my ribs,
lined up like the stormy clouds above my teeth.

I hold these flaws in my callused hands,
bury them deep in the veins that strangle my heart...

They keep my rusty lungs singing.

sorta unfinished (but oh well)
at Jun 5

I miss you,

every day a bit less
but I still do.

It's like an asymptote,
closer and closer to 0.

But never 0.

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