Some things I cannot resist; I blame my own self worth.
I got shot in a dream once...it didn't hurt.
The apple is never as sweet
as the whispered words that slither out of your mouth.

Still moonstruck, still insane,
You throw me straight into the flame.,
and I like the burn
enough to go back for seconds.

Because even though I don't owe you anything,
I feel an obligation, like muscle memory
it falls out my open mouth, gasping
to remember the last few fragments
of the nightmare you woke me from.

So here's to biting off more than you can chew,
and having no regrets about finding yourself
cracked beneath the covers, and disarrayed
among the reflections of mistakes already made.

Maybe I needed this
reality check. I'm on my own, I know.
The temporal frustrates me, the birds
fly south for the winter, I fly...nowhere.
Permanence is a dream as fleeting as
its own contradiction.
It makes no sense, but what did I
expect from you?

Do you remember the nights
we laid across each others ankles
to see if either would break under
the weight of the other?

These fractured bones
don't mean a thing. (promise)

Today, something new-
I didn't dream about you.
*coeur pas entendre

there are too many disgusting things
about human beings, i know,
and i am
still young.

crushed lips and bruised hips
have faltered me;
i once thought soft flesh was beautiful
until your skin grew rough
around
the edges.

so maybe now
i am just used to you.
like how i always reach
to the right of the sink,
except
there is nothing
poetic about
the orientation of your bathroom.

after all, we spend so much time in there;
me kneeling over porcelain judgement,
you sitting
and watching
me, too familiar now to hold back my hair.

too familiar now,
you know me so well,
i can no longer be
that ethereality
that floats in your dreams
and keeps you happy.

there is something disturbing
about being around someone who
can see all your human flaws:
skin too fair and unbrushed hair,
lying to say it's better this way.

it's better this way, they like to convince you
that it's true or maybe they just want to prompt
acceptance but
why should i settle for
less than perfection
of something i've dreamt of
my entire life?

this isn't poetic.
this isn't beautiful.
stop kidding yourself,
you are
only human.

because
when you asked me
why i wasn't depressed, too,
i couldn't come up with an answer.

clenched teeth like yikes
like as if you already know my type
like as if you can already see right through me,
a glass door, transparent like
how i've always dreamed.

thunder in my stomach reminds me
of the thunder in my thighs
i close my eyes,
pretend i'm having an MRI
(mind over matter)
and maybe it'll calm me.

and would you be proud of how i cope?
like yo, this **** is ******* dope
just take a little ****
let it fill you up with the hope
you'll find in the smoke

that exhaled out my lungs,
disappearing like
a poem i have to hide
from you.

but you don't think this is poetry
no, no-
this is just me talking
(to myself)

I.
doubt
is how it starts,
staring into the scars of empty promises burned
into my undilated pupils.
it tasted sweet, like candy- actually, literally, it was candy
dissolving into crystals on my hopeful tongue.

II.
forty five minutes-
potential energy forming kinetic energy overflowing
through my veins, i couldn’t feel anymore-
my toes were tingling
like flaming icicles against my skin
but at that point i was too abstracted to notice
such insignificant physical impulses.

III.
my short term memory is ****.
forget everything, forget which buttons to press.
forgetting feeling
never lasts forever
for a reason

IV.
no substance, no meaning, i guess
i’ll get there, but i’m making progress
by even thinking at all, it’s just a
feeling. an experience, no different
from any other besides its potential but
i am still undecided on how to approach
any of this. disappointment cannot
be avoided sometimes,
only quelled.

V.
mary jane gives
a two and a half foot long kiss;
i can taste the smoke on your lips
as if they were my own, as if i were the smoke
itself, existing only in wisps
that you blow out your mouth.

VI.
i can’t begin to guess how it will end-
since sleep is just like giving in.
twelve hours without boredom is
something that i am addicted to; they are
like day dreams, my eyes were open
wide and unblinking but i swear i wasn’t trying
to see.

I never knew anything was wrong
Until everyone started giving me sympathy.
I was a little girl with blinders and two
Doll hands that clasped over my ears
As they screamed and kicked
Through doors and laptops.
Now, I keep them tied
Above my head, arching chest out first.
This is what you left.
This is why when you leave, I wrap my arms
Around your waist,
But I never say I love you.
This is why, when I talk to boys,
I don't see love until I know
Where their hands will fit into the puzzle of my body.
I never thought I was damaged until I saw
How the other girls can pick and choose
And reject warm chests so casually, and
I realize that I am greedy.
This wasn't an issue while I was strong,
But I couldn't lie to myself for that long
And there aren't enough body-sized indentions
For me to give my weight to.
I never thought I would be bitter for all these years
Until each day, I never went back.

so maybe it’s the way she stares
and sighs that your eyes
are like galaxies

like you’re ******* poetry
like you deserve it
like you’ve reserved it
and have been waiting for so long.

for all this time,
i’ve been blind
saying i’m high
when really, i’m not even a little bit high

hey,
this is for your own good,
they say, i have delusions;
but trust me, if i could, i would.

i would, i would, i would.
if only i could scream,
then i’d show to me
that’s not what you really mean.

because what you really meant
wasn’t to rouse my pent-
up feelings that were suffocated away,
released in the fray
of the moment.

empty envy
is probably the most unproductive
feeling i could admit.
but as always
i take what i can get.