I cut it because,
I know that I I don’t.
A cold swollen body,
Won’t always float.
Saltwater’s more harsh,
It stings in my throat.
Traversing the seas
In a decommissioned boat

They say when the lungs,
Swallow it in,
You're taken over by calm,
Three scars on your shin.

my stomach,
it twists and it turns.
Should I go or should I stay?
These thoughts surround my head,
Scared of what lies ahead.
What could go wrong?
I'm not sure that I belong.
Oh silly me, just be free!
For this is your only chance to feel alive again.

I'm sitting in
My slice of the world
Writing ****** love poems
Waiting for you
To text me back
But my anxiety
Tells me you never will
I write ****** love poems
Filled with the things
I want to say to you
But I'm too afraid
To say them
Because what if
You don't feel
The same way?
What if
You find
Someone else?
What if
I'm just
A placeholder?
Until you find
What you're actually
Looking for
Meanwhile I'm
Just sitting here
In my slice of the world
Writing ****** love poems
Hoping
You'll ****** text me back

"Unloved"

a flickering red light
at night
shaking hands with insomnia


"They don't care"


haunting my mind.


My lungs wrapped with their agreement,
a trapping embrace - cold and fragmented.


I felt like myself again,
but my box,
didn't come with more pieces.


To replace the ones I lost.


My heart
beats sideways; wrongly,
through my ribcage.
Tearing it, and my body apart.
As easily as paper.


Life's a dead end.
I know I'll lose all parts of me.
One by one; forgotten.


Like ashes in the wind.

Peeing's easy
When I traavel,
From five days to a week.
I can piddle,
While you fiddle,
Dancing down the street.

But things do change
When I roam
From five days to a week.
Suffice to say,
On those days,
My bowels work best
At home.

What is life?
What’s life, really?

When you think you’ll win,
but you lose.
When you think you’ll achieve,
but you fail.
When you think you’ll survive…
but you're dead.
And I think....I'm dead

It starts like static-
a flicker in the dark,
a shift in the air
before the collapse.

I'm washing dishes.
I'm crossing a street.
I'm laughing-
and then I'm not.

Something small tilts the world.
My chest tightens,
my skin doesn't feel like mine,
and the moment swallows me whole.

I hate how they still live in me-
their voices in the corners,
their hands on the memories
I never wanted to keep.

The anger simmers
under every surface.
For what they did,
for what they didn't,
for how they shaped me
without permission.

I trace the outlines of what could’ve been-
a word spoken,
a door opened,
a version of me
they never got to break.

But the past is a house
that locks from the inside.
I scream through the keyhole
and call it healing.

Some days I am a person.
Some days I am a symptom.
I carry both
without dropping either.

I live with tremors.
I move through fog.
I smile like nothing cracked,
and shake
when no one is looking.

And still-
somehow-
I stay.
I breathe.
I come back
to myself.

Again.

woke up  
on tuesday morning,  

one foot  
in front of the other.  

no rush,  
no hurry—  

just me,  
blue and under  
the weather.  

i used to find  
sunshine  
in so many places,  

but i lost  
the best  
i’ve ever had—  

and now,  
the sun feels  
a little colder
now.

i wonder  
whether  
it gets better.  

i used to be  
a goal-getter.  
now i’m in overdrive,  

short-term PTSD—  
nerves wrecked,  
spirit stretched.  

so many days  
crying,  
wondering if  
this ever ends—  

’cause i’m tired  
of living  
a bittersweet story,  

and tired  
of being  
down bad.  

you were  
the best—  

the best  
i’ve ever had.