Running her fingers through my hair
I hug her with my arms wide
Even when I cry
My tears— they dry
So easy for her to blow my thoughts around
I’m so used to the cold
That I’ll roll my windows down in any weather
To meet her again

my sister's room is a time machine.
I walk in and she has decorated her walls with the memory of our father
her desks covered in the confetti of his life
her jewelry all gifts from him
she wears three necklaces at once because he gave them all to her
her phone case has a picture of him and her
I walked in on her once sitting on the carpet
a picture, a box of ashes, and something silly her gave her all laying in front of her
in her hands was one of the necklaces, and her thumb vigorously rubbed it like a lamp
begging for a wish
a wish she had planned:
bring him back.
my sister's room is a time machine.
she harbors his spirit in her room
because it doesn't live anywhere else.

namelessly, I am a lighter.
used to ignite, and then ignored.
namelessly, I am a writer.
picking up a pen whenever I’m bored.
namelessly, I am a heater.
warming those around me in their darkest hour.
namelessly, I don’t work well either:
and sooner or later I’ll run out of power.

hey, you.
this is new.
i should've expected this, right?
as soon as anyone says they're bi
i suddenly assume i have a chance
but under no circumstance
is that actually true.
...but it could be with you.

The girl in the mirror likes to scream at me.
She shouts:
"Your acne is gross!"
"Your muffin top needs to go!"
"Your ***** are too small!"
"God, look at your nose!"
in my old mirror, I could hear her.
but now the glass is thicker.
I like to smirk back at her appalled expression
and say:
"yell all you want: I'm not listening."

I internally write down my love, compassion and such
stuff it all into a bottle, and unknowingly push in the cork— no, shove
Later, it washes up on a beach but without the message I put in
but rather angry words, scarring words I had always meant to keep in
The words reach everyone that was never intended to hear them
In fact, I never even intended to breath them
But now that all my anger has been expressed
Saltwater tears are all that’s left.

what’s the ******* point
one day you could be perfectly content
the next everything could be ripped away
if everything is going to go to **** anyway
if you know your happiness won’t last
why does it even matter.