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127 · Mar 2022
fourth floor window
Tiger Striped Mar 2022
Floor to ceiling, glass
I stand on the sill
and lean forward
facing the ground
suspended over construction,
beautiful nostalgia
and a hundred people who don't
know they're being watched.
I belong up here, I think
always wondering if
it will crack beneath my forehead
and I'll go tumbling –
in slow motion, I hope –
towards the earth. But
I can't decide
if I'm meant to be down there
the watched, instead of
the watcher.
Who is happier?
The doer
or the observer? I
think the answer is buried beneath a little
self-awareness
and I don't have time
to search for it. I'm busy for
now
looking out the fourth floor window.
126 · Jan 2021
in another life
Tiger Striped Jan 2021
Everett, you're tired
of sleepless nights
aching lungs
girls who evaporate overnight.
You're tired of burnt Saturday evenings,
cars parked around dark corners,
staying out too late and
driving home on empty.
I would offer you a ride home,
but Everett, you make my mouth dry.
You smell like cigarettes and
look like all my mistakes.
I want to carry you, Everett,
and watch your scarred skin flush
at my touch, but I know
all too soon I’d be
carrying those same scars on my skin.
So I’ll cry with you
from the other side of the highway,
I’ll feel your albatross around my neck
and wish you the best,
but I won’t be there this time
when you decide to burn
everything that’s good to you.
125 · Jan 2019
it was a pleasure to burn.
Tiger Striped Jan 2019
For years I dreamed in black and white
then you appeared
flaming red
burning quickly and furiously

I couldn't take my eyes off of you
you were the only color I knew.

But fire was foreign to me
its warmth so intense
I should have known better
than to stick my hand in.

You should have told me.

The feeling of your fire on my hands
the sight of my burned skin
brought tears to my eyes
and I begged for my shades of black and white

but colors are sights we cannot unsee
feelings we cannot forget
words we cannot keep quiet.

I learned not to look too long at you
for the spots in my vision that followed
I learned not to mistake hellfire
for heaven's white lights
I have discovered other colors since
none of which have yet blinded me
quite like you.

My skin has healed from your fire
my nerves are far less sensitive.
The rain washed away
my last sentiments for you
and in its wake
a rainbow waits.
125 · Nov 2019
self-reflection
Tiger Striped Nov 2019
in the light,
the mirror was never as kind to me
as my mind's eye when
the shadows swept in
when my pupils expanded and the
blackness spidered in my veins
and i painted vines atop them
so the light might
smile on me again
instead it pierced my sordid skin
showing its squalid, shameful state
it broke my bones and tore my tongue
i scorned its heat
and stumbled into the cool, black night
to feel my nerves numb once again
to cover my new unholy scars
slapping self-indulgence to my skin
as it stung, i ignored my muscles and
continued to do what i do best —
run
124 · Jan 2019
regression
Tiger Striped Jan 2019
Months I spent
building our dream
on the words you spoke
your promises,
my solid foundation.
You watched me labor,
encouraged me.
It was a beautiful dream,
but I did not know
it had always been larger than reality.
You were never interested
in something so fantastic.
The sigh I breathed
was enough to send it
crumbling to the ground
and reveal underneath
the rocks that I had built upon
were sand from the beginning.
118 · Jan 2021
green thumb
Tiger Striped Jan 2021
I think you should know,
I poisoned the daisies.
I told you it was the dry soil,
that they always wilt this time of year.
You cried, but you'd never
let me see.
I knew anyway.
I knew you'd cry
I knew before
I found the pages you crumpled up
and threw away,
unforgotten in the wastebasket
and burning still with your body's heat.
In the moment,
I touched a fragment of you
from a thousand thoughts away
and realized I wanted you between my teeth -
like vengeance seeks death -
like fire craves destruction -
and it splintered me.
I couldn't help but
get stuck in your thumb.
I knew it would swell and
ache like me,
I knew you’d have something to blame for
the tear-stained pillow
and wilted flowers on your window sill.
I’m not asking you to
forgive me,
I know you never will,
which is easier
anyway.
117 · Sep 2019
first kiss
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
i wanted you
to reach beneath my ribs
and touch my heart
but your fist fractured my feeble bones
your jagged fingernails scraped
the insides of my lungs
my nerves screamed but i
could not find the breath to protest
as your hands ripped vein after vein
my cracked lips shaped forgotten words
but you weren't looking at me
you were admiring your scarlet skin
when you caught my lip between
your teeth i
could ******* own blood
you promised me this was
how it was supposed to feel
but when you pulled back you
left my heart hanging
in my ribboned chest
it was months until i
learned to believe that
i would ever find
breath there again
117 · Sep 2022
too much is never enough
Tiger Striped Sep 2022
hold me again.
Your skin is humming
I’m sick in
cold sweats
ethereal healer,
I love you.
Say it again
you miss me
you could lie
but you won’t.
Let me trust you
not again,
it’s my first time:
pull pain from my
lungs until
I’m spluttering,
my faith splayed across your
perfect chest
my own
deflated like
old promises
forgotten by their giver,
remembered by me.
But you
exhale into my mouth,
carbon dioxide like
effortless anesthetic
I dissolve until all of
my atoms hit your floor
splattering ***** and crude
and somehow
you see each one,
you know them
and name them
and love them
and hold them
together
again.
115 · Sep 2019
memorabilia
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
i gathered all the things that mattered most
and made a list.
i traced it in the sand
and carved it in a tree
and stamped it on my skin.
and then you
came, with your fire and flood
your tidal waves
your wildfires
your torrential deluges
you washed away those fickle memories
and i danced in your storm.
i danced on a barren beach,
by burnt trees, as the
ink trailed down my arms.
but your fire did not burn for me,
your rain did not pour for me,
you just were
and i
had the pleasure of dissolving
on your shore.
Tiger Striped Sep 2022
butterflies in a net
wings beating for resolution
but good art would never be so kind.
And that is
the great secret of it all -
we thread our magnificent tapestry using
strung-out pain
woven between our veins.
That is
why the artist's story is
a tragedy
why the crowds swarm the
gladiator stadium
and the boxing ring.
115 · Jul 2021
On Love Stories
Tiger Striped Jul 2021
One time, he asked me if I thought I was the protagonist of my life’s story. I hardly had to hesitate before responding that yes, doesn’t everyone? He shook his head and told me no; in his arc he saw himself as some kind of auxiliary to the main character. After he said that the conversation moved on but I was chewing on that for a while. I turned it over and over in my mouth, wondering why he saw himself that way. I wouldn’t if I were him, obviously. But as I digested that thought, I realized that before I loved him, I was so concerned with finding and understanding myself that of course it felt like the world revolved around me. And then his humble soul brushed up against mine, and it was a big, beautiful breath of fresh air. Each of his qualities suddenly became so much more important than my boring selfishness. That’s what love is, isn’t it, though? It’s the spotlight shifting away from my exhausting self-preoccupation; it’s prioritizing someone else and learning that is so much more fulfilling. And unintentionally, through his quiet humility, he showed me that maybe fate designed him to ultimately be the protagonist of my story.
115 · Jul 2022
amnesia
Tiger Striped Jul 2022
and in an instance,
time sits still
Or rather,
it lays on its back
and stares at fan blades
frozen between moments
of air.
It closes its eyes
and forgets how to listen
for ticking
and beeping
of second hands
and alarms.
It forgets
its personification,
a dehydrated runner
who knows nothing beyond
the ache of concrete
against its ankles
and the quiet screaming
of its muscles.
It forgets
what it is or isn’t
supposed to do or be
and suspends the world
in a flash of serenity
too quickly forgotten.
113 · Aug 2023
I’m afraid
Tiger Striped Aug 2023
as you hold me here,
shaking in your arms,
I’m afraid
to tell you, I’m afraid
that if you relax your grip
intentionally or accidentally,
if you let me go,
I’ll be ripped away by the wind,
never again to find
a place to rest -
if I leave your orbit, I’m afraid
I’ll go spiraling, directionless and destinationless
with only my fading memories
of you,
the way you
pin me down
and smooth me out,
absorbing my tremulous shockwaves
calmly, evenly, always
reminding my erratic lungs
of the gentle rhythm called breath.
Your decided pace makes cyclical
my erratic nature;
you breathe steadiness into the
desperate urgency that
seizes my unwilling chest.
Without even knowing,
you refine me
just by being who you are,
by occupying the space you have always held
in my past
and present
and, with every ounce of hope I have,
my future.
112 · Aug 2022
rough draft
Tiger Striped Aug 2022
look at me.
I’m wretchedly uninspired
mouth dry
tongue drab
you: droll
as ever, pelting
me with erasers
while I impatiently
demand paper,
peppering me
again
confetti sprinkles
this time.
They stick to me
sugary and sweet
just like you -
I fluster and flush
red. Colors
run down my skin
in a melty, childlike mess
you laugh
and I want to scream
for everything unclean.
Sprinkle sludge
inches closer
to the words I
haven’t yet written
I press my lips tighter
together until
I can’t hold it in
and I’m laughing too
surprising you
surprising me
infuriating me
distracting me
what was I doing again?
112 · Jan 2022
deadly armor
Tiger Striped Jan 2022
I wore you with hope on my chest
and all you could ever give me
was the naked, baleful weight
of your own self-importance
and in the end, it crushed me.
112 · Mar 2022
Until It Rains
Tiger Striped Mar 2022
This porched morning stretches
oceanward,
until it rains.
This is no happy summer:
it is weighty pondering
it brings heaven to earth
in a bolt of lightning
it electrifies the sea and
casts airbrushed stripes
of light atop the horizon
but it does not rain
yet.
The shore is
damp from the night before -
a thousand half-thought words
pattered down
smack, smack, smack
little bird feet running
towards and away.
They smell rain,
coming soon again
they love the wind preceding.
The air is expectant,
whipping pages
back and forth and back
and forth
the book will finally
snap shut when it rains.
The ocean rears and curls and sways unsteadily
nature inhales and bites cold.
It feels almost wrong
to be here, now,
solitary
without sun
awaiting the rain.
111 · Jan 2019
spring cleaning
Tiger Striped Jan 2019
After you moved out
I cleaned my house
top to bottom
I rid it
of every little thing
you threw away
here.
I found pieces of myself
that now bear your name
etched deep
a permanent reminder
of you.

Some things I could not bring myself
to burn.
Those I locked away
up in my attic
invisible to my mind's eye
yet there nonetheless.

Now others walk through my house
wondering how lonely
I must be
but I have long needed
living space
for myself.

So as I sit here
just my thoughts and
me,
I cannot help but wonder
what did I leave
in your house?
110 · Sep 2019
unsolved
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
i wrapped an anchor 'round my ankle
and dove into the ocean
in march
when spring blossomed and the
ice fractured beneath my weight
i swam not for shore
but for the ocean floor
the pressure crushed my frozen skin
i followed your map, encrypted
in riddles and cacography
and there, submerged in the fathomless deep,
it occurred to me that
perhaps you did not want to be followed
so i opened my mouth and closed my eyes
i let the water suffuse my tired bones
and i sank, as
gravity drew me closer to
you
109 · Jan 2019
untitled
Tiger Striped Jan 2019
my life is yet untitled
and i do not want your name
scrawled across the cover
when you did not
sit here, writing
for hours
through splattered ink
and broken lead
and calloused fingers
and cramping hand –
that was me.
yet i continue
to doodle your name
in the margins of my pages
i am slowly realizing
i am the author of this book
i am not obligated to you
i am pulling out my eraser
because i have work to do
108 · Jun 2021
all things not considered
Tiger Striped Jun 2021
nobody dreams of chipped teeth or
love handles, but the reality is
we fall in love with them all the same
106 · Jan 2019
advice for her
Tiger Striped Jan 2019
Do not convince yourself
that dreaming is loving
do not make the mistake
of falling in love with a moment
and thinking that you're in love
the memories become daydreams
the daydreams become feelings
but those daydreams are a shadow
and those feelings are shallow
do not lose yourself
in the idea of love.
106 · Feb 2022
between the lines
Tiger Striped Feb 2022
If you read this
carefully, you’d know
it was about you
and you’d mention it
the next time you saw me
you’d say just the right thing.
You don’t love to read
or even like it at
all, sometimes.
It's in the reflection of your
eyes, glassing over as
you trudge through
your morning news articles
but you finish them
anyway.
If you read me
carefully, you’d know
I am all about you
even when your eyes
glass over as
you pick me apart,
trying to figure out
what makes words
so **** important.
I’ll tell you later
that you already know,
if only you’d read
between the lines
of me and you.
105 · Aug 2022
unsolicited ingression
Tiger Striped Aug 2022
Heartbreak:
seeping in between
moldy ceiling tiles and their
blissful indifference,
reaches me with rueful claws
and ***** my unsuspecting eyes
dry.
I don't have room for thirst
anymore,
I'm tired of water:
my feet are shriveled past prunes
from standing salty puddles
in which I'd hoped
I might drown.
104 · Jun 2021
outside in
Tiger Striped Jun 2021
I never told you how
your room looks just like you.
I can't help but notice its
soft edges and
angles,
and the way the mountains swell
determinedly outside the window
across from your bed.
When it's quiet enough, I can hear
your heart beating like music
from your chest of drawers.
The mismatched knick-knacks atop
your tenderhearted wooden nightstands
and I
watch you as you read, and we
try not to smile
as the lighting obliges
to make you
the central, most beautiful feature.
104 · Jan 2022
anxiety
Tiger Striped Jan 2022
We've found my pressure point it
seems, it's
every inch of my paper skin.
I'm sorry I
look like this,
my red cheeks slick with
tears that freeze
before I can follow them upstream
and dam the corners of my eyes.
I'm sorry I crumple
and can't stop apologizing.
They'll tell you love is
hard work, but
nothing of the weight of fear
hanging over the time
we spend apart
and woven into words I want
you to say but you
don't.
I'm sorry, sweetheart,
I'm a writer and a pessimist
reflexively narrating
everything unspoken between us and
I don't know if it's your fault
or my fault
or neither or both
that I flinch at uncertainty, expecting
it to strike me in the most painful way:
when the fear is as bad as the thing itself,
it can't really get any worse, can it?
The scariest part is the
maybe.
Maybe there is
no such thing as enough
no such thing as certainty
that it will be okay,
that you love me,
when I've lost
what it feels like
to love myself.
104 · Jan 2022
poles
Tiger Striped Jan 2022
Our souls were made of
the same stuff, perhaps literally
I can feel it when you cry
or hit the brakes too hard.
And you -
you've always known
what I needed before I did.
You would trip me and
break my fall in the same breath
and you knew I'd
do the same for you.
But somehow decades of
sharing clothes and video games
kitchen fights and hospital visits
twin beds and ***** dishes
brought us here
to an airport
and even after you leave,
it won't be real
I'll still be waiting for you
to walk through the front door
and tell me to do the laundry
and you'll be in a bigger bedroom,
wishing for the chair from
your parent's house.
But we'll still watch the same movies
and I'll be there when
you break your leg or
your heart and you'll
still call when
you can't remember what that
one song is called
or just to say goodnight.
Because without you
I couldn't have ever been
myself, and we
know somehow that we
haven't really
ever been apart.
104 · Mar 2022
Forest
Tiger Striped Mar 2022
This forest is dense
redwoods loom balefully
I run my hands along their bark

My breath comes too quickly
it sounds like laughter
I can feel your eyes on me

The fog surges in our open mouths
I'm facing you now
I don't think I can turn away

I don't remember stepping closer
we're standing on quicksand
my fingers clutch yours

It's not dangerous like I thought
I can breathe between grains of sand
I like it underground

I step into your body
I can't feel anything but you
I don't want to leave
and I can't.
103 · Jan 2021
perfect match
Tiger Striped Jan 2021
we seemed the perfect match:
i loved to talk about you
and so did
you.
103 · Nov 2020
What Went Wrong
Tiger Striped Nov 2020
My legs swinging at the counter
your soul sizzling in the skillet
my cheek pressed to cold granite –
is time running still?
Funny how the night turns
my palms to melted wax
they're stuck on your skin; I
dissolve.
We drift intertwined,
smoke into the detector
and
I'm sinking through the floor,
if you care.
If you don't
I'm gone,
and I was never here,
I never shuddered from your warmth
or cried into your pillow.
You could look for me but you
don't, do you?
You sit redly in the cold,
waiting for Love to love you.
I would be remiss if not to inform you
she is not I
we are not even acquaintances,
her heart and mine.
I am where you aren't searching
she is seated next to you,
waiting for you to give her
what you never gave me.
103 · Feb 2022
I'm not a writer
Tiger Striped Feb 2022
I'm
an overthinker
and overtalker and
sometimes when I speak I spit
and it lands on
a piece of paper and
the longer you stare,
the more it starts to
abstract from reality
into modern art.
It isn't amazing. It’s
a diversion,
something to look at
while museum wanderers whisper
behind the back you've turned.
That's vain,
right? Not to mention gross -
it's
embarrassing to
put your saliva on display,
but when you
frame it and see
your reflection in the glass,
shame cracks over your head
and dribbles down
with a twinge
of pride and
you think to yourself, maybe
I'll make another
if only for myself.
102 · Sep 2019
blood red rose
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
I lay down on a bed of thorns
to be next to him:
roses are quite romantic, they say,
and they were once my favorite flower.
My skin became sticky with blood
but I never cried, because we
bled together.
Later when I scrubbed my body
and the water ran red, he
was nowhere to be found.
In the aftermath I realized
my scars would never fade
my skin has stayed scarlet and sensitive
and now my tears betray
how my nerves scream at the touch.

I searched for him;
maybe he would assuage this pain —
but all he could give me
was months of bleeding silence.
It was only when I finally gave up
that he camped outside my door,
fists pounding against the wood,
hours upon hours, screaming
that he loved me.
But he looked like hell,
like he hadn't even washed his hands
since that night.
How could I tell him
that he reeked of acid?
That being close to him made my stomach churn?
That he looked like the worst mistake I ever made?
I said nothing;
I locked my door
and listened to him break.
102 · Aug 2022
retired author
Tiger Striped Aug 2022
The lights went out
with my pen mid-stroke,
and me
mid-page, mid-chapter, mid-book:
I had thousands
of words left to write
moments hoped for and
testimonies yet to be shaped.
At first I convinced myself
it was an error of chance,
that I could write a beautiful book
I could make a happy ending,
if only I had more time.
But I had already written
too many indelible words
and the tear-splattered pages
dried bitter and resentful
devoid of life and love
and begged of my fingertips
to leave them alone.
102 · Mar 2021
voicemail
Tiger Striped Mar 2021
sorry i couldn't reach you i know you've been busy but i miss talking to you and i was wondering if you'd want to um well i don't know i don't have any ideas but if you thought of anything i'd love to know cause i haven't seen you in a while and maybe you're okay with that so if you don't want to it's fine it's not really a big deal i mean maybe it is but only if you think so and i know i'm rambling this message is already too long but if you get this call me back if you want but if you don't that's fine i just wanted to let you know i'm thinking of you
101 · Sep 2019
the story of us
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
he warmed her edges until she
caught flame,
so she might burn bright like
him.
he splintered her spine and
peeled words back from pages,
flung them to the wind.
now the pavement is wet with
the shreds of her,
flushing away the last vestiges
of who she was.
she was once a book
with his name written in red
in every chapter.
each of the stories shared,
cautionary tales
thrown on the ground and
trampled under careless foot —
but all at once,
in a furious storm, he
tore himself away,
and even she cannot make sense
of what is left behind.
101 · Apr 2021
Saturday morning (I)
Tiger Striped Apr 2021
languidly glows in your cheeks,
just north of
the lip you split trying
to tell me you loved me without
saying you loved me.
Saturday morning
breaks burgundy behind
your head, silhouetting
every piece of heathered forgiveness
we earned without merit.
It rises and splatters
in my chest like laughter and it
shines from your eyes to
the edge of your jaw.
Saturday morning
solidifies sunrise in memory,
with its hallowed rays streaming
haloed from your long lashes. It’s
interlaced with the scent
of you,
suddenly flooding my shuddering lungs.
Saturday morning
swirls early in whispers like dew
steaming
toward balmy April ether.
It supersedes time as it
unwinds the hands on the clock,
flexing post-Friday and
stretching pre-Sunday.
Saturday morning is everything
delicate and divine
that is ever-coursing from
my soul to yours:
I love each Saturday morning
because I first loved you.
100 · Apr 2022
Heartbreak hangs
Tiger Striped Apr 2022
like a wreath, wretched over
my front door.
Pray, do not enter
nor seek to tempt fate
(she showed me her hand long ago).
It begs me,
always pleading,
listen, listen, listen.
Words cannot heal
the wounds they painted on your skin
and as you turn your shining
eyes toward mine
and you waver
on the precipice of past tense,
and the beating on the door grows
louder and louder.
99 · Feb 2021
smokescreen story
Tiger Striped Feb 2021
Eugene sits caddy corner
to the girl in the library.
He doodles in the margins of
library books,
and sips quiet rebellion.
Every so often, they make eye contact
for a split second,
and spill a hundred thoughts
across breathless space.
Eugene listens to her music,
loud enough in her little earbuds
to silence her thoughts.
He knows she's left-handed,
smells like coconut and sea salt,
and takes her coffee black,
but doesn't quite know her name.
Today she might be Jolie,
tomorrow Jasmine,
yesterday Genevieve.
They are just lonely enough
to never speak,
to starve on crumbs of
stolen glances and
shared songs.
98 · Jul 2022
one flesh
Tiger Striped Jul 2022
I love you most now
as I kneel on bathroom tile
cold and vomiting, your palm just
above the small of my back
spreading fire and forgiveness
and hope and healing
through every trembling muscle.
I love you from
the sixteenth floor of my apartment,
as I careen towards the pavement below
because you've always been there
with open arms
even when you aren't here.
You wondered one time,
what would it be like
if we started over?
But I know now more than ever
we need every broken bone
and every sawed off cast,
with our Sharpied signatures
in high school handwriting
in order to love each other
as fiercely and messily
and fearfully and soulfully
as we do.
Because you hold all my mistakes
and all my forgiveness
as you envelop all of me
and I you.
98 · Feb 2022
Plateau
Tiger Striped Feb 2022
Love is not fire.
It burns, in the beginning,
to be sure
but
fire is not sustainable
like love.
Love is crescendo and
plateau,
it is passion and quiet comfort.
I have loved you since you put
red in my cheeks
and tears in my eyes,
and I love you still
now that you are my rhythm,
my heartbeat.
The beauty of it all
is
as the summer cools into fall,
I still mean every word I’ve said
and you
have never been less beautiful
than the first sunrise
we burned beneath
and now
you are my patience
in the pitch black nights
we spend apart
easing peace between my breaths
with the knowledge that
you’ll be there,
on the horizon,
like clockwork
always.
98 · Jan 2021
red ugly hot
Tiger Striped Jan 2021
The space between
my stomach and happy is
red ugly hot.
I feel my heart beating there,
thumping and stabbing
that is why I press my lips together
at the dinner table
and don't touch my food.
Tiger Striped Sep 2022
useless.
My hair still covers my ears
though I begged my hairdresser
for shorter.
It would make me look old
she said.
Maybe that's what I want
           something new
maybe anything.
           I've got to see someone else
in the mirror this time
           someone who doesn't leave
the door unlocked
           who doesn't get left
           in the rain
no umbrella.
Not the long blonde girl.
She was a liar, too -
           I think -
(is it still a lie if you believe it's true?)
but she found the solution
           reinvention
right?
She was...
dissatisfied, we'll say
she grasped in the dark
           to recreate herself.
And she fit right in
with all the people trying to stand out.
New is better:
modern is the definition of progress
           isn't it?
And now
I see myself
standing just where she stood
and wonder
if you met her,
would you know me?
           Beyond the mirror
a generation of people
uniformly unique
           like me
I close my eyes
I am only individual in isolation.
98 · Aug 2021
Autumn
Tiger Striped Aug 2021
Autumn is an expired favorite
of the sad lovers, sitting apart
with forearms stuck between
forehead and tabletop.
Tired souls shake off old skin
with the shifting of the seasons
and some call it a fresh start, but
it only ever feels like wasting away.
The desperate optimists grasp for beauty in
changing colors, but every leaf falls with a tear,
each
a dreary reminder
of all the once-lovely emblems
that decorated the golden days.
"Once upon a time" no longer evokes
the sweet nostalgia of fairy tales,
but carries the melancholy weight of
better days fading from
memory to myth.
97 · Mar 2021
today
Tiger Striped Mar 2021
Happy makes its tracks
searing, one hundred and twelve degrees
shower streams to skin
and from the corners of
my eyes to my jaw.
It gathers in droplets atop the
jaded pink tiles
that droop along my bathroom walls.
It condenses in distance
between us and words,
and splashes from my cheeks
to kiss the floor.
It bounces off my bedroom wall,
echoing,
slurred like dying art -
it hits me, head on,
brings me to my knees and
burns the carpet below.
You make me so happy, darling:
I'd never lie about that.
97 · May 2021
Melancholy
Tiger Striped May 2021
Melancholy coats cars like pollen,
smudging windows and mirrors,
making vision hazy
dripping from faucets like
incessant spacey teardrops.
It hangs just in front of your
eyes and
curtains their shining irises; it
sneaks through your lips in
whispered goodbyes.
When you leave, it
holds my cold hands
and plasters traces of you
to every square inch of my imagination.
At night, it counts
the ceiling tiles, then the floor
and listens in the morning
to my dreams from the night before.
Melancholy swells for miles between us, keeps
a seat empty next to me, and always
hopes for you.
96 · Apr 2022
Saint John
Tiger Striped Apr 2022
You are evil.
Did you know?
Or were you blessedly unaware
that you exceeded the limits
of Earth?
This is not heaven, honey
this is the closet
where saints run
to cry.
And you are here
which makes you
holy and broken
and a lover of mine.
96 · Feb 2021
Art
Tiger Striped Feb 2021
Art
She does not shout, she’s
the color of mirror
and the shape of song.
She whispers that she loves
herself; she’s clarity
in the absence of reason,
perched on the apex of pain.
She hurts like my stomach on
my birthday,
glaring red beneath my sleepless
eyelids. She was
firstborn from darkness and sprawls
fleshly into light.
Hers is a compass with a
hidden true north,
a tapestry woven of
all love and evil.
She’s poster tack stuck to the wall,
in little shapes like a near-cloudless day.
She is all we can pretend to know,
the only thing we create and
never fully understand.
95 · Apr 2021
Alicante
Tiger Striped Apr 2021
The old woman at the bus stop
is a lover of all things:
I can see it in her tired smile
and the way her hands
are determined not to shake
as she colors in the squares of
today’s crossword puzzle.
Focused on her mosaic, she
does not hear
my dragging footsteps or
rasping breaths.
As I collapse next to her, everything is
quiet and I
hear her blood rushing
in her veins, singing a melody her
lips forgot.
I pretend I am her for
five sacred minutes,
finding mirrors in puddles
on the pavement and
battling time and gravity
trying not to sink through sidewalk into sewer
trying to spend eternity here.
But the bus comes like always,
its wheels
screaming silence into oblivion and
ripping loose newspaper pages
from their holy tranquility between
two leathery palms
and tearing the old woman and me
apart.
95 · May 2021
Drive slow
Tiger Striped May 2021
because the night burns heavy
like tears hugging
the back of my eyes,
and the seconds run electric
like air buzzing
in the space between your fingers.
Rosy I-love-yous
turn to quick to
thorny goodbyes
stuck scratching my throat
as my lips fight fate.
Give me breath again
show me we were never happy happenstance,
string my soul out into
baskets woven holy
for the sanctity of us.
Drive slow
buy me time to pray
that we are eternal beings,
unbound from time, able to see
beyond seven colors to someday.
But maybe
in the end it doesn’t
matter how slow you drive, because
even after you leave, I’m there
in your car
always, every moment
in memory.
95 · Dec 2019
no new you
Tiger Striped Dec 2019
we'll glide into the next decade
like we own it
skating on razor blades,
twirling knives like majorettes
what is there to be afraid of?
you leave a funny taste on my lips,
like nightshade or something i wasn't
supposed to eat.
i like waiting with you
parked in your car by the bus stop,
talking about pseudo-psychology and
goodbyes,
which one is real and which is a
scam
it's 2 a.m. now,
and i'll be up again in 4 hours.
that's just enough time to
listen to your favorite album
and tell me what you dreamed about,
and catch the bus before sunrise.
i haven't slept in –
oh, i don't know.
i've been up with—thinking of—
you
the idea of you
and me have been up all night,
waiting at that **** bus stop.
the unholy voices whispering to me
sound just like you.
they—you— make my head spin
when i think too hard
about who you are—
are you my punishment,
some divine, poetic justice,
for an act i've committed?
am i to be driven insane,
tantalized, eternally unable to eat or drink,
with food and water just out of reach?
maybe so, but maybe
insanity is letting
someone like you
disappear.
95 · Apr 2022
lover
Tiger Striped Apr 2022
I saw her
yesterday
climbing the stairs,
outrunning the blonde cascade
tumbling down, down
down her shoulders
outrunning me. I should have
known I’d never be safe
or good,
or sensible, not
with her in the room
I can’t move,
I can’t breathe,
I can’t speak.
She has me liquified
she’s an artist,
so I let her do
what she does to me
because maybe this is
my highest purpose,
to be her paint
for I love the feeling
of her brushstrokes
so I let her
muddle me into elemental puddles
and I’m glad of it, too.
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