#internetpoetry
I brush my teeth like I’m getting ready for war.
Or I forget to for three days
until my canines are wearing sweaters.
Temu moisturizer like battle paint.
Who knows what’s in there.
Who cares.
Upside-down Claddagh on my ring finger like a threat.
And it might be.
I put my hair up like a woman with secrets—
on the days I brush it.
A bumpy bun the rest of the time.
I shed like a stripper.
I strip like a thief.
I walk out the garage door like I invented sorrow.
I get in my car
like every song from Reputation to Tortured Poets
was written for me.
I wave to strangers like I’m about to die.
Cross the street like it’s a choice.
Clock into work like I have a hit on my head.
I **** Elf Bars like they’ve got confessions inside,
and blow out like they won’t give me cancer—
because they can tell
I approach them with pure intentions
and a positive spirit.
I know how to make an exit
that feels like a funeral.
I know how to hold a coffee cup
like I’m accepting an award
no one else can see.
I take bites of dropped chocolate chip cookies
but spit them out before they ruin me.
I spend too long staring at my own reflection,
just to make sure I still exist.
I catalog new moles.
Curse the milia above my eyelids.
Buzz off my mustache.
Denounce my chin hairs.
I think thin.
Sometimes I blink
just to feel time move.
I keep novels in my bag like armor,
and a journal like a last will and testament.
The expensive pens from Amazon
that don’t crawl up my left hand
like a disease.
That don’t smudge the page
like I have something to hide.
I pay for Spotify.
Skip the songs that hurt.
Play the one that ruins me.
I cry on the train
like I’m filming something important.
Because I will be.
I want everything I feel
to mean something.
I want every single ache to echo.
I want my poems
reverberating in the minds of people
who are emotionally legendary.
I want the world to apologize
for not feeling it first.
Sometimes I walk
like I’m being watched
by everyone who’s ever left me.
Sometimes I smile
like I know something God doesn’t.
Sometimes I think I was born
just to document
what it means to be alive
in the most dramatic possible way.
Because I am the first girl
to ever feel anything.
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 9:16 AM UTC
when the quiet breaks
i learned to love the silence
not because it felt like peace—
but because it never lied to me.
the noise left bruises,
every laugh a little jagged
every “i’m fine” cracked at the edges
and every promise wore someone else's face.
but silence? she didn’t pretend.
she just sat beside me while my hands trembled,
while my breath forgot how to stay.
people say healing is loud
but mine looked like folded laundry
and rooms i didn’t run from.
.
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 6:34 PM UTC