I started screaming more
god not at anyone
but just out loud
to the wind
to the sky
just because

Because I could
and I should
and I can.

so I will.

if I shrug on the big coat
the one with wonky sides
scuffle down the roadway
every other night
if i play it really slowly
or forget to turn it down
mix up the order
with socks half sliding down

will I make an impression?
or just try the little(er) coat tomorrow.

‘repressed rage’
she said
as I clung to the whitest porcelain
‘it’ll do that to ya’
leaning against the doorframe
and I swear I could tell you how many flecks of dirt were in the grout
For how many times
I’d worn in a spot from kneeling
‘it’ll figure itself out’
but I couldn’t hear
cause it just kept coming

you left me tools
I don’t know the names to
and anchors
without their mates
manuals without starts
and windshields
without rain

you left me.

and I suppose I have to figure it out myself

god it’s like walking through the ashes of my home
finding all the pieces I no longer can pretend work for me
or even fit
collecting ashes even though they slip through my fingers
over and over

so how do you cope?
you know…
figuring out what ashes I want to smear across my skin
who she is
and who she’ll be

i just know what she won’t be
as i sift through ashes of me

forget me nots
lay littered across my room
just as punctuation
to all I’ve done
and yet to do
cause forget me nots
won’t let me forget you

those nights
where you just know
like an addict
you’re itching
stretching out fingertips
heart aching
hoping maybe for a stimulant
or just a numb
whatever’s closest
but my hands stay against my sides
tucked
because
you know the itch is far more satisfying
than anything in arms reach

A constant
constantly in motion
I thought meant constant speed
constant weight
constant thought
but that you treat
as if it’s at rest

without any external factors
and we know that’s not possible
But more than that
I don’t want rest
not that kind

so I spend my days
learning that a constant
May be constantly in motion
but varying speed
Changing weight
adding friction and moments

that bring complexity
a little joy
and hell a lot a pain

but god do I refuse for me to be stuck
in a perfect swing
of constant
predictability & rest

It is in the way
they held me
mended the tears with different patches
that they all collected
mismatched
and adored

I love the quilt that is me
and those that have loved me
in moments like these

if I could stay
existing
in that 15 minutes of a scalding hot shower
ice cold companion
with nothing but candlelight
and
wow that silence

Oh twist my arm!
you know I can call?
Well just a button or two
you raise the bets
stakes are high
**** pinch and release
She’ll twist and writhe!
you know I’ll call
your bluff…
Tapping
you out?
your call
I’m out OKAY
well i knew that
anyway

yeah.
one of those days
the write off day
the I’m going to laugh cause it’s not even past 12 day
the kinda day were you debate a lottery ticket
but somehow you even lose that
on the way back to the car
and your keys somehow
anyhow

yeah.
one of those days
best to write off
with ramen
and a corona or two

or sunbrew

whatever works
to write off
a little day
for you

Listening to him say “not her”
tickled something in my brain
to be loved is to be seen
but not in the normal sense
nah
in the perfect quirky out of breath hair in your face but still put together? Kinda quirky
as I savour another perfect bite
of Brie/rosemary/prosciutto
I’m left to wonder

why the hell not her

life is too short
to not offer
the passerby
my innermost thoughts
in a flirtation
a smile
if I can’t do anything to put a smile on one person’s face
I’m not doing anything
of any importance
at all

amidst the thunder
and the wind
the churning waves
aching to break
hear me
roar
with the waters
last refrain

do you dream?
i whispered across the sheets
fidgeting to pretend like i didn't care about what you said

maybe i was a child
we couldn't work because our shirt colours didn't match

cause that makes sense right?


but he told me you can't change parts of people they are not aware of
and I wonder
how much of me did he mean?

because I am a dreamer
a child
and maybe a poet
learning about the cracks
and gallows I have yet to acknowledge

but I do dream
hoping for more
sometimes more pain
more sunshine
more anguish
more wonder
and occasionally more paint  

simply because I only know how to operate
in 'moreness'

as I roll my eyes
yes I am aware

I am hoping to figure it out too

I spent the day
humming the hymnals of spring rain
of rebirth as I washed up to my elbows in dirt
reminded of how unassuming a tangle of roots can be
and the way rosemary smells like a violin sounds
That being kissed by the soil, cradling a cheek with a swipe
is more fulfilling
than I’ll ever
be able
to articulate

human beings were made to be touched
softly
with such devotion and reverence
and maybe a little awe
tracing the littlest scrapes
scars & freckles
like the shrines of every idol
to worship at the throne of messy hair
and drums of heartbeats
synced to a choir I only hear
when they say my name

there is such a difference between laying the cutlery out on the table for everyone to see
and putting it back in the box, dropping it outside, and writing a ‘free sign’ — laying it down, and letting it go

feels lighter
free

I hated the set anyways

echo the sounds my heart makes
when the rain beats outside
humming along to a song I know not
but the bass line
and that it never
ends

and thank god for that

I don’t know what you call it
when you throw the glass
with a broom already in hand
maybe I just wanted to know
if it would make a sound
when I simply can’t.

we both were screaming
to pick up more speed
running from ourselves
in the ******* getaway car
hoping to crash

he played with my hair
as we talked
and I swear I could spend hours listening to him ramble on
like he isn’t the first person I peek around the corner to see his reactions

and they looked at me like I had another head
when I shrugged
because I don’t find that he speaks slow
he speaks
with intention, waltzing between heartbeats
or checking his steps
so I can catch my breath
in between the murmurs of mine

rattling in your brain
god the guilt
it really does go for your stomach
and you sit there
in tears
on a random Thursday
because I can’t really be the worst person ever?
and as sobs rack
and half eaten boxes of Mike and Ike’s lay scattered
I start bleeding
oh right
hell hath returned

She asked me if I could see you one more time, what would I do?
and I don't know if I would have done anything.
Other than move things around the house
to hear heavy footsteps
and the occasional grumble.
maybe put on a bit of AC/DC to see that head bobble
or even shift shoes around just to hear your frustration.
cause god would I love to hear you laugh

hear what you thought about today anyways
and exasperatedly sigh into the phone
and hang up with okays and call again 5 minutes later
cause only we got that it didn't matter

she asked me what I would do
and I probably would hug you
to remind you are not alone

before winding down with a scotch
talking into the wee hours
to hear every single thought
and know why you set your tools that way

so I could keep it
and explain the same to my own kids
someday

he felt like springtime
and a cup of coffee
it was really bad coffee
but he always offered to make me some
and maybe that’s the best thing
budding friendships
in the springtime rain

few things are more finite
than the terror
whisperered across your cheek
telling you
‘you are not good enough’
and believing such a fallacy
could even be true

love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

when whiskey sours sit empty
and oblivion starts to creep in
tucked along the strewn sheets
maybe you’ll taste me there

flipping through pages
wondering if I lost the time
wandering around
looking for mine

watching through windows
working at waiting
will he really see me?
would he even find
a whisper of me
along the wet gravel lines
willfully — agonizingly
waiting for me?

what I would give for one more goodbye

a game of pool, a little banter.

we could even pretend we’d never met before, not that we could convince anybody else.

I don’t think we’d get through one game though, not really.

I’d probably spill a drink
and someone would come up and tell you hello, eighty five different ways.

and we’d both remember, and wonder what we’re doing anyways.

Avoiding whispers in the dark

I don’t think we let a good love die.

It faded sure. but it didn’t die. It’s very much awake. Clawing at my bones,

but it wouldn’t be different ***.

because how could it be different when our conversations became nothing but comfortable silence. Neither of us could make it work anymore.

and we didn’t know why.

so I guess we just wait to suffocate a good love, and hopefully let it die.

I miss the wildflowers
when the forget-me-nots were in bloom
when I smiled more
and laughed often
writing of the ways I felt you etched on my skin
or jams and clementine

but the teardrops
wilted
shedding blue on the floor
the rain didn’t really stop
and the glass sits half empty by the couch
the jam didn’t pop right
and I sit a lot more

I miss the wildflowers
I hope they bloom once more

I remember the rage in your eyes
when I told you
about that late night
with tears in my eyes

you said it was my fault
and I thought it was mine

but I think
“you made that decision”
doesn’t feel the same
when she pulled me away
and asked me if I was okay

I remember the rage in your eyes
directed at me
but it wasn’t for me to find

missing a home you cannot visit
a place no longer yours
tenant openings start to show
as the weather changes

and some viewings could happen
or have

but the leaves still blow
out the door

and she sits empty
for all intended purposes

I want to lie

but really, I  miss that first year
the way you held me with adoration and curiousity
call me selfish but those moments
where you put everything into showing me how you felt
I miss the smiles we both held
when we didn’t know better

the laughter and kisses and god the innocence in it all

I revisit those days
like a loved book
stained and loved and torn
still a little warm from the last time I held it

pretending like those chapters
Were all those characters ever knew

sometimes I worry I’ll be forgotten
but then I realize
I am an amalgamation of all the people I’ve met
that I can’t not look at chop sticks without thinking of that sushi date
or peanut butter without thinking of his spoon
that I say bother because of my best friend
and can hear him ask me what’s next

and I no longer have to worry as much
because if I can hold as much of the many with some names that have lost their vowels
but still hold the feeling

I’ll be just fine

Being remembered in little moments
of laughter
and maybe even tears
till they are gone too

occasionally
(mostly in the dead of night)
i remember her telling me
—-
i could hear him shaking his head, because of all the things to do
taking shots in the final words
is really the best way to make sure she never opens that door
—-
so,  occasionally
I’m reminded of all the moments shots were taken
so I roll over again
maybe journal in a poem
and pretend
(occasionally)

he called me something pretty
as he slithered round my ankles
rattling along my bones
trying to constrict closer
and when I said that was too tight
well
he called me something not so pretty

it's the devils handiwork after all

some nights I wonder
in the space between the stars
and popcorn ceilings

if you are thinking of me

if we both reached out at the same time,
to roll over
and pretend
we don’t know
how right it felt

but I guess it doesn’t matter
at 2:39
as I remember the comfort
that seeped into my bones
the second I felt you lay down with me

but I guess it doesn’t matter
if you’re thinking of me
anyways

god were you made for me
I’ve heard that too many times
am I just to be passed around
till I break in someone’s hands?
a china doll
no longer in use

do you ever get sick of hearing
“I’ve never met anyone like you”
the way it rolls off their tongue
Like quarters in a roll
because
“I haven’t laughed like that with anyone in so long”
and I have to wonder
Why it feels no different to me
than an average
really no different
Tuesday

I want the echos of starlight to be captured in the lenses you chose to view the world in
I want the heartache of violet to hit you so profoundly you must ask
Why

I wish the beauty in the alphabet could crash along your deaf ears

and shake you like thunder

and as I moan, regarding perfect little deaths
his voice makes me cringe
and I’m transported back into that late november night where you just held me.

to realize on a cellular level my body was rejecting you

because I couldn’t do it for myself.

grief used to sound like it was a few sad days
like you wandered on the road, but knew where you were going

it took but a moment

Or it sounded that way.

But grief felt like nothing. or everything. It felt like a bubble encased the world, and continued on without you. There was no road, no wandering, no movement.

maybe just static.

and nothing else

but that’s not even true


because it was absolutely everything
a cacophony at the highest degree

but just with silence
and an empty seat

I used to be able to taste
your wonder

Between holding my bikini, cold beer, and hyper fixated on dives

I used to be able to taste your wonder
on the tip of my tongue

drunk on your smiles and perfected lies

I used to taste your wonder

but then
you stopped drinking
and I guess so did I

it’s that static sound
you know the one

when everything is quiet
but not quite

and the walls seem the same
but I can’t recall

whether it’s 2:36
or 11:41

right when I lost it all

I can’t seem to keep my socks on
you know
they move
wiggle down
and I have to
pick them up
why is it that’s tolerable for socks—
but for humans it’s not?

he said he wanted me in the worst way, and he really couldn't be more right
because he was willing to take an extra five seconds to make it seem like he cared
while I was craving connection
and we walked through some ways
to discover—— this way was the worst