I'm sorry for nightmares
buried so deep
I screamed in your face
for what you did in my sleep

for the way that I promised
and failed to awake
while my sleepwalking heart
found problems to make

for leaving you lonely
in the world that is real
while I slipped off the edge
into deep dark surreal

for how I'm still sleeping
and have failed to escape
the mirages of monsters
when love is at stake

I wish I could keep you,
confirm you're enough,
but these nightmares within
won't let me wake up

I would rather look at the sky with stars and beauty
Go to sleep and see ugliness behind my eyelids
For hours asleep the nightmares come in

I would rather look at the moon full and fat
Then go to sleep and deal with the horrific details of my past
For the nightmares as I sleep

I would rather look at the aurora borealis
Then I have to deal with the horrific gory details of the future
For the night mares are comes in

I would rather find a planet in the sky with a telescope
Then deal with prophetic dreams of doomsday
For these prophetic nightmares calm in my sleep

I would rather pull an all night or instead

The moon…
With its phrases and different shapes
Sure is it’s OK to be going through different phrases and emotions
The sun with rising and sets
Means it’s OK to have your ups and downs
Your emotions will not last at least not the  negative ones
It’s OK to be human the night and Day sky shows that this is what we are supposed to be like going up and down and having different phases and emotions
It’s OK not to be OK

As the bats fly out of the barn
During the sun sad night falls and wonders
Come alive and so beauty
There can only be seen at night
Star patterns
The moon and the planets
We are at the hinterlands of daylight my friends
So look up words to the sky and see the Big Dipper
And what’s your problems disappear as they are smaller than the universe

If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is
the decapitation of innocent
grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher
the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem


Now you were never one for boredom;
you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy ***,
you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue,
you really enjoyed
and I still do not know why
making up haikus
you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines...





and I guess that really was just you.
But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted
by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping


You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well…
I don’t know .

And your poetry,
Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah-


And the grass misses your ***


And I miss you


And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all
There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend
hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole


I reach in… grasping for a hand,
I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles
but… nothing
so, I try again

I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone
I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing
and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss,
batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less,
I miss you


I am right outside,
whenever you’re ready to,
we can talk a bit


I’m trying my best ,
and I really care for you ,
but haikus are dumb
accept it, it’s true.


The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off,
the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed.
if ever in that silence
you feel yourself alone
just know that in my house,
you’ve found yourself a home.

Academic conversations about consent are a pure form of agony,
Listening to students and Professor toss around the word like it's a hypothetical commodity,
As if there is question that autonomy and dignity belong to every living thing in that room.
We are asked to dissect the most intimate of physical safeties as if this is a lesson in biology,
Solve 'consent' like a particularly challenging calculus problem,
Pretend as if this didn't happen in the confines of my body.
It's excruciating to have to take an equation,
We'll start with y=mx+b,
And calculate which variables determine basic human decency.
I was young, female, gay, autistic, bipolar,
Clinging to his professions of love like they could stitch the gaping emotional wounds,
And somehow that didn't make me human when he did the math.
I don't know how to argue, Professor, with which philosophical tools,
Professor, that I was a person, Professor,
When he decided to **** me.