this feeling of
upset,
frustrated,
sad,
misunderstood,
mad --
just makes me want
to rip my hair out of my head
and punch something.

knowing i full well
do not have the strength
to do
either.

i would break my knuckles
punching something,
and hurt my hands trying to
pull all my hair out.

im too weak.
that's what this was all about anyway,
im mad because im weak,
im sad because im too quiet,
im frustrated because no one hears me!
no one truly understands
my brain
and that will never change
no matter what i do.

no one but me is in here.

i feel things loudly,
and it feels like
im being swallowed
by multiple intense
feelings
all at
once.

and it's just too much,
for one girl.
one brain.
one heart.
one voice.

it makes me want to yank my hair out
and punch something
until my knuckles are red and ******.

Someday you will cry for me
Like I cried for you.
Someday you'll miss me
Like I missed you.
Someday you'll need me
Like I needed you.
Someday you'll love me,
But I won't love you.

loving you feels like standing in the rain
calling out to someone who never turns around
like i am always a few steps behind
always almost reaching you

you never ask me to stay
but you never ask me to leave either
and so i stay
hoping my presence fills the silence you do not know how to speak through

i see you shut down
fold into yourself like a house with no lights on
and i wait outside the door
cold
but willing

sometimes it feels like i give you all my warmth
and watch you wear it like armor
never noticing the chill i am left with

i want to be angry
i want to scream that this is not fair
that love is not meant to feel so lonely
but instead i go quiet
and keep loving you in the only way you seem to allow

and maybe you will never say it
but i think you know
i think you see all that i carry
all that i lose to make space for your silence

and that is enough

i wanna scream
and shout
and let it all out

we all talk
about the now
being in the know
knowing where to go
going where we already know

where is now?
geographically, not mentally.
where must i be
to be present
presenting the PowerPoint
my life on display
is it Jakarta? berlin?
baku, beijing or dublin?

how is now served to you?
any dietary requirements to be aware of?
hot or cold? or even, lukewarm?
is it customized to your liking?
or unaltered? half cooked?
medium rare?

do you tip the server
of your now dish?
or consume it
on your genetically altered past plate
with your fragile future fork
knowing when you're done
you'll pay the bare minimum?

when you purchase your now house
and live in it with your now wife
and now kids
with a cute now dog
will you wonder who lost their now
so you could have yours?

Listen.
Stop not listening.

I’ve been tapped.
Sap bleeds.
It stings where sweetness lives.

Give me your ears.
I’ll torch ‘em to caramel.
I don’t need your lips,
your yowls, your static.
But taste.

Just ******* syrup.

Your screech gnaws
at the stem of my melody.

Eat the fruit.
Chew the pit.

This dreadful old woman yells on her phone,
All her hate echoing through her trailer.
Nothing is enough for her high "standards."
Always too little or too much talking.

She laughs a rancid, wheezy laugh,
Poking fun at the less fortunate and disabled.
Slurs are a part of her daily vocabulary,
Towards others, towards her own grandchild.

Despite being a woman she hates them,
Wishes they would stay home, out of her way.
"Women shouldn't drive, shouldn't lead, shouldn't..shouldn't..."
She sees herself exempt from those rules.

She lounges on her couch,
Scrolling on her one-of-many smart phones,
Insulting others for even daring to look at a screen,
While the small blue screen lights her wrinkles.

Lies and hate blast from the TV,
All are pale privileged men full of hate,
The only ones she listens to.
They preach their superiority over all.

She loosely holds her vape,
Between her rough and bony fingers.
Somehow convinced it's not smoking.
While vapors surround her and cloud the air.

Anyone and everyone different is her enemy,
You must be a white, Christian,
Republican, straight, cis, able bodied,
Citizen to gain any respect from this wretched woman.

The truth is only what she likes,
Only what she agrees with.
She closes her ears to logic and empathy,
She feeds on the hate of those like her.

I do not like my grandmother.