i am a dying wish—yours to be specific.
the wish dying in your arms every time the sun makes its rotation around the Earth.

there’s no life in me; i am a carcass strewn over the highway,
crushed and mangled and torn to shreds.

what if, if after every pound i lost,
i lost more of myself?
a skinny figure who changed herself to please a piece of glass.

when you said my name, i felt like you would leave me in a cornfield unconsciously anonymous,
yet you streaked my sky.
i’m shedding tears like skin, like burdened rain
seeping from the clouds on a day the world decides to die a little.

when the night is still, my muscles tense up.
i’ve been waiting for the memory of you to remember me,
dancing shameless on the ledge,
unafraid to look childish, knowing you were the first to make the empty void cease.

wide-eyed at the ceiling, losing two strands of hair in the shower, mailing you my address, begging you to stay.
you won’t—i won’t let you.

i am a foggy backroad, you cannot see through me.
all you’d see is a figure, clutching her stomach,
pinching herself for eating two meals,
for not resisting the temptation to feed the pressing hunger.

in your mind, the quietness i exude is only when my brain is confined.
there are shapeless memories and words that float until my arms are strong enough to grab them.

what if after every pound i lost, i lost more of myself,
drifting away into an unwelcoming atmosphere, unfit for someone as bewildered as me?

what if i love you and i don’t know what to do with that
so i write on a night with no moon visible from my bedroom window
and i lie awake wondering whether you are dreaming of me or whether you love me too
or whether we are nothing
but two memories floating,
remembering the other as their favorite one?

Octopus
I will always love you the way I did before
Before your love became a constraint against time and my freedom was traded for immortality
Before I became lobotomized, my decisions were no longer made.

Before you threw me over yonder with no answer to my only question

Why?

Why did your love send me into disarray and suffocate me in corrosive liquid? My pained grunts were ignored as you smothered me with kisses.

When did hugs become tests for how much my body can handle?

Hugging me tighter despite my bones cracking under pressure, I took your sweet love and swallowed it whole, hoping that it meant you couldn’t let go. You never did; you took me as a captive and slung me into the field of love.

Love was so intense that it pierced my skin. My blood bled into the ocean of pain and agony.

I no longer feel shame because when I am with you, my only waking thought is

Is it the end?

You are my ringed octopus, and I am your captive clownfish, the cheese in your trap, the fly in your Venus flytrap and the nectar in your rose.

You wanted me, you loved me, you adored me, you used me, you suffocated me.

You killed me

To die loving you was a feat that grew honourable.
To die being loved by you was a feat that grew impossible.
To die with love. It was a feat I didn’t know.

Her voice dripped dagger wounds into soft flesh-
jagged holes; uncommendable amendments in my life's canvas.

Tearing up at the thought of those tears is a daily occurrence, and oh how those currents pull me deeper still.

Suffocating-an unknowable fluid floods my lungs. I believe my doctor when he tells me nothing is wrong; nevertheless, I drown;

Dragged, kicking and screaming, to the bottom of my psyche.
My foundation eroded much faster than I could have ever known.

Though my foul foundations and pitiful psyche are pieces of
~me~
I thought it pertinent to remind you of my persevering personality.

Thus the following is true: Life is NOT like a box of chocolates, that ****'s hard, not sweet, so stop it. Secondly, without any strife, is it really a life worth living?

there comes a slow, soft afternoon pace and a dinner bell
i sweat, jogging, to the table,
soaked with the cherry blood red fruit of my labor.
when my meal is served,
there’s grease in the pan
and my hands are black as coal,
so it lathers my throat and turns sore.
unfixable bellyaches and frequent *****.
my hairbrush combs knots of dead hair, clumps in my fists
and the mother is a cross old women,
apathetic and unforgiving
she touches with a stonewall embrace
she tells me i am worth something,
and then she tells me i am not
as i scrub the dirt from every single step she takes
and wash my entire mouth with soap after every word that i slip up and say.

yet there is a place inside the trees
where there are fawns and fairies and peacemakers
and the meadow sings almost humanly
with a beautiful flute and a distant harp
and that is where the light is the brightest.
there are no cold, empty corners
hidden by the dusty rust of time
there are only staircases leading to the sky
and bounding rabbits and seashells nowhere near the sea,

but in this house,
the cruel and unforgiving mother
owns me
and i cannot fathom escape  
in this fit of naivety.

Holding a long forgotten bottle
Spritzing it into the air
As the particles sparkle like pixie dust
Glistening gently as you stare

Breathing in the luscious scent
That reminds you of the past
A nostalgic fever rushes over
From the days you wore it last

Flooding your mind like a river
Overwhelming you with youth filled visions
From the you who wore this delicate scent
The you who couldn’t make decisions

As the scent fades away
You return the bottle you found
There it will continue collecting dust
Placed gently without a sound

I get ****** into expectations
I'm 25 but can't tell you what faith is.
I shut down when I think about saying no,
I guess I still care about what my family knows.

I'm 25 but 12 inside,
I don't know myself and tend to hide.
I have taxes, bills, a dog; my own life
But I'm still the girl who escapes online

I hate to hear their judgements; their insights
I try to connect through words
But say the wrong things,
and get lectured through sighs.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong,
I've tried and tried to find the cause,
I'm so frustrated, but go in circles
I keep looking for our bond.

What I really want is to disappear
Shut my eyes to the relief of tears.
To wake up as strums in the air,
To be a part of my own song.

through salty hazy eyelids
there is a passage of time.
high-rise buildings towering over
yet no surfaces of words appear soft
on my uneven teeth.
have there a remedy for this banal wording
or for this dread?
come to my wedding
the nonexistent death of my nonexistent cowardly heart.
there will be no groom,
just empty pews and the priest who will mourn for me.
foggy windowsills with a disillusioned soul inside.
good poetry shouldn’t have more than one metaphor
i shove them all in just for good measure
and that’s selfish.
aren’t we all just living hedonistic existences?
all bound to chains and fire breathing dragons
all firm in our decisions to remain exactly who we are
but i don’t want to be who i am
and i cannot articulate that any better.

the grass starts burning beneath callused barefoot feet
with blistered skin, bumps and bruises
shadowy figures form beside the campfire
embers and ashes
fiery and angry
the forest floor is enveloped and murdered
slowed appetite eaten by the pressure
i’m a dog at your feet
so wise but unable to communicate it
fog forms in the still dead woods
bits of my arms chewed clean off
and you’re the wolf with skin dangling from its teeth
pleased with your discovery