something about you. something about october
the dried up leaves and the way everything feels quiet
in the middle of the day
like living inside of a vhs tape that hasn't been rewound
in a decade or two
makes me want to start visiting the cemetery
make friends with the forgotten
when we ended up walking the dogs there on accident
it felt like coming home
i'll bring my books and a bag of dried cherries, peanut butter
bars of dark chocolate wrapped in gold foil, sunflower seeds
the nightstand with the warped wooden drawer
that's always getting stuck
where i keep the half-melted birthday candles
and a box of matches, just in case
prop my pillow up against a headstone
read vonnegut until i fall asleep
grow closer to death until it doesn't scare me anymore
i used to think ghosts lived in mausoleums but now i know
they live inside of a twenty-four-year-old who watches
the same vampire movie every time it rains
just to feel safe inside the familiarity of the past
i'm still the twelve-year-old girl
just waiting for something to happen to her
i burn my skin in the shower just to feel less alone

the world is a scary place right now
all around looms apocalypse foretold
and I think back to simple times when the villagers mined and farmed unaware the pillagers forthcoming,

does it really benefit us to know whats coming?

is not fear of disaster only an extension of our fear of death?
does she not catch us all eventually?
no matter how hard we fight eventually we will be forced to surrender if we are not prisoner of war
machines breathing for you

your mother's heart beats like the most beautiful song
but you don't know for how much longer
and you don't know what you'd do without her
and you don't know how you'd ever be able to pay the bills or work a trade with your history of anti social behavior and inability to integrate and troubles with authority

yes, indeed we all love to fight it
every single power that be
man will strive to **** God until he surrender
yes he will
and every time he will lose

we all will lose eventually

-

it was Auden and stop the clocks
at age 12 in the top floor of the academy
I felt loss and I understood it
and I knew this is how i could communicate it
the inherent suffering we all feel,
that comes for us all, some more than others

I never really felt good (and that is best for artists after all)
and I always tried to die, likened myself to Plath and tried to martyr myself to the melancholy

dying is an art,
like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well

but what was any of it for? why live a life of surrender?
I believe so much in the beauty of life and people and all things bright and beautiful
the reason death and disaster are so horrific-
because its all just gone and it never comes back and its so simple and I'll never ever understand it
nearly two decades and only now has the passage of time grabbed my head and forced me to look,
forced me so.
I cannot look away no matter how much I want to
and I am filled with so much regret I spent all those years siding with the enemy
poisoning the water that I too drank from
I dont know why I did that
I really dont
I really thought that time would wait for me

I would do anything to stop her walking foreward,
but there is nothing one can do

that is the root of our fall;
no matter how hard we fight it
she really comes for us all

Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.

i’m in a constant battle with reality and pretend
with who i am, who i want to be,
and who i wish i could be

with picking up the pieces, painting portraits of something
strong, something whole,
something to be proud of
and shattering crystal vases on wooden floors

while smiling, without blinking
with seeing just how far i can run away from myself
without forgetting myself

i lie in my bed, and i sip my tea
and it feels like the rain outside is going to
swallow me whole

and i’m happy
and i’m sad
and i’m panicked
and i’m trapped
and i’m everything
and i’m scared

and the sky is dark
blue and the night is
so dizzy

          and so am i

and i’ve forgotten how to exist

I am 14
I go to school
I do my times tables
I write my essays
I do my homework
I get shot

I am 14
I’m stressed about school
I’m worried about my grades slipping
I’m nervous when talking to my crush
I’m anxious when speaking in front of the class
I’m scared that the sound I heard was a madman with a gun

I am 14
I am confused
I am frustrated
I am enraged
I am scared
I am hiding under my desk trying not to scream

I am 14
I hate school
But for the wrong reasons
I hate it because people have died in my halls
I hate it because every sound I hear is a gun being shot
I hate it because I’m scared I’m going to die