I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot

the last time I had spoken to ghosts
was when I unbuttoned the world
and took a seam ripper to all its edges
sitting in your old chair
holding the fabric of remembrance
chewing on the mouldy taste of grief
slowly freeing the overlocked words
I had buried deep into the stitches

the thing is,
when I get dressed in the morning
There's always a button missing
There's always a sadness
stuck in the hem

Blade
Skin
Slice

Warm
Flowing
Blood

Dark
Silent
Thud

Scream
Sirens
Rush

"It's
Too
Late"

Calm
Quiet
Rest

We never had a song—
no chorus to hum,
no melody stitched
into the seams of us.

And maybe we didn’t need one.
Maybe the silence was enough.
But you love music.
And I love music.

So how did we not have a song,
if the love was real?
When we were dancing
were we pretending to feel?

Did you love me?
Or was it just my laughter at your jokes—
my habit of giggling, even at your half-shady pokes?

Did you love me?
Or did I just have the time?
Did you think, “Yeah, she’s not half bad. This could be just fine.”

Did you love me?
Or were you just scared—
tired of doing life alone, craving a body that cared?

Was it real for you? Or just another game?
Was I a plot point in your story
because the chapters had gotten tame?

These thoughts still haunt me—
and the truth I’ll never know.
Mostly because I’d never ask—
and I wouldn't survive you saying “no.”

i don't know what's wrong with me
but something was happening so long ago
and it still repeats in my head
makes me want to shut my eyes and go

i don't know what's wrong with me
but i can't talk about it
no matter how hard i try
i'm just to scared to admit that i've been through some ****...

i don't know what's wrong with me
every time i see those awful people
every time there's a loud noise or a crowded room
it just reminds me that the whole world is sheeple

i don't know what's wrong with me
their words repeat in my head in an infinite loop
their mocking keeps coming up
feels like i'm in a boiling *** of trauma soup...

haha i don't ******* know what's wrong with me!!!

I miss you every day
Your personality and your face
The way you'd greet me after being away
only momentarily
How you made me feel just after I wake
The weird ways you would lay
Your cheeky smile and how we would play
You changed my life in unquantifiable ways
Gave me a reason to make effort
and build on myself to be better
I hate how we parted in haste
Filled with hostility, upset, lacking grace
I replay it, and wish it was different
But I know it's something I can't change
And that's okay
Because I know you're doing well
Looking after yourself
Bringing joy to the world
Still being who you are with no filter
I keep your photos up to remember
I'll love you forever...