Stop poking around.
You're just searching for another hair.
You're just searching for another reason to be sad.
You're not searching for a reason to leave.

I hear him utter curses in the other room.
Another ****** shake.
He's sipped something rotten and now it's gone to waste.
I lick the salt off of my skin.

Go ahead, deflect again.
Try to forget what you read.
It's 4/20 after all, put smoke in your head.
Cloud those memories a bit.

Icy **** rips.

***** and cigarettes.

Bernie lost New York last night.

Someone please ****** me.

Where does it lie?
It's either throwing sand
or digging holes.
It's either loyalty
or tainted souls.
Proclaimed neutrality.
I call bs.
It's fear wrapped up
in indifference.
Can't let them know
that you're watching them.
Scoffing, bitter
when you're really wanting,
when you're really loving.
Condescend,
you're better than ill.
You see a shrink.
You've never been still.
I try to accept those in places
I used to be.
You try to forget
you were ever less-
running from one end
to the other.
They're bad,
and you're good.
With no in-betweens.

The countless nights of being taken ever so uncomfortably,
fogging up the windows drawing cheesy arrows
stuck through hearts with our initials
in the condensation of our ****** tension.
Unfulfilling menaje tois cuts right through any arrowed hearts.
Sat dripping blood and juice,
"Don't get it on the fabrics...I'll come back with a towel."
You said.
I sat there
in too deep.
Staring at the bag of thrift shop,
sports flags,
my blood dripping from my fingers
to my thighs,
in your backseat.

I couldn't tell you at the time.
You were trying hard to drive.
The rain made our vision mauve,
but somehow you got me home, safe.
You are always, the sweetest thing.
Even when its bright and early,
and you're at your crankiest, you try
to remind me how much I'm
the one you hate the least.
But eventually, you might.

I couldn't tell you at the time,
we were listening to Frank.
The rain invaded every line,
but I sang to it the same.
And when it became severe,
you held my fingers and you steered.
We looked closer than eyelids,
Center console, kept us divided,
You told me it'd be alright.
while we listened to "Nights."

Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******* clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?

i've been texting people for a connection.
our bodies search for vibrations,
short and electric but its an elaborate show.
who are these folks behind the curtains?
and through these notes, i am certain.
i cant write anything of substance.
i keep seeing your name and i try to change it
into something insignificant.
but that which we call a rose,
right?
i keep trying to escape it
but my handwriting is no legible font.
no respectable medium to my professor.
i cant keep in between the margins
how would they know the amount?
did i plagiarize the way i wrote
"I miss you." ?
so, we type.
remove the writer. its about the content.
did i cite your absence right?
is this journalism, biography or *******?
it must not true, ****.
but my fingertips reach
short distances on the keys
of my devices
and we type.
hashtag notice us, hashtag test us back,
are we connected yet?

I wonder if you knew
the faces you were making
when you saw your dead sister.

There was a smile in your eyes
a reflection
that was allowed to last about
three minutes and thirty-two seconds
before you said you needed
to swiffer the floors later
and then it was tucked away
under rolled up sleeves
that did dishes
and wiped counters
only to return
when contemplating how clean
everything would be
if what did the sweeping
were my hands and knees.

Forgotten crosses in the clearance section-
religion has become cheap.

I can bet it was just as unbearable for her.

Not that I miss you,
but I liked sleeping alone
until I met you.

Make my eyes shed again,
so that I can write.

If it didn't harm anyone,
I'd ask him for a new one.
I'd pack light and disappear.
If it meant I never had to hear
the voices in my head
that tell me to leave
every
single
day
I'd be ready in fifteen minutes.

A cop car saw me
then sped.
I am invincible.

All the withered flower crowns have fallen down on trodden ground,
among the garbage disarray of empty beers and cigarettes.
These are memories of drunken folks with tired eyes and weary legs.
Lets lift our heavy waving arms and jump high above the swarm of heads.
The band we like is playing now, but they're so far, we lay instead.
Forget the sheets and towels,
the grass and dirt can grace our skin.
The sound of the bass reverberates in our chests,
This is the best.
Our voices are hoarse from screaming loud and cheering on the gods on stage.
we forget our age, we forget our pride,
we exist as music groom and bride.
Escape all thoughts of work and school.
The grass is cool,
The beating sun has come burnt us all and gone away.
This pending night  has come to chill our bones and remind us we have place to stay.
Let's sleep up now.
Tomorrow, who will we see play?
The final day, let us power through.
Make little histories into me and you.
Dreams and sky only leave our eyes,
when our feet go back to our real lives.
As it ends, she tells us it's sad.
Until this second, I didn't understand.
A festival is a fantasy world,
a dream we'd sleep for as long as our bodies could,
and now it's time to wake up and return.

Behind the traffic of thought
the type that creates
tracks along desire lines
tires screech in frustration
that got me
nowhere close to discovery
i began realize there is a presence
within the whisper
of the windshield wipers
buzzing in inefficiency-
reminding me
that it doesn't matter if i'm
stuck behind a line of slow cars
honking in patterns of unrest
the rain will always wipe away
to reveal a bit of clarity
in my direction
and though it is only feet- inches?
there is movement.
and every time we're on the road
together
there is company.
and as long there isn't any red
or blue lights flashing nearby,
we can try to smile and enjoy the ride.

light shapes dance across the tapestries,
illuminating Mother Kali's face
in the veil of darkness for a short second.
the red sky tints the room,
and reminds me I can not give blood
because of my tattoos
and of the minutes I lost today,
because of netflix.
Beezus stirs a bit by me
and tells me he loves me
in a sleepy murmur.
the glow of my phone keeps him Kali-lit.
he probably will not remember in the morning
if I answer back-
but still I curl behind him,
my tongue- withdrawn behind my teeth,
my lips planting destructionless dreams in his neck,
my ten arms- free of weapons,
and full of him.
and I whisper
"I love you, too."

Make us pet names
and perfect cuddles
with precious time.

When the sweet not-so-serious,
is all that you have left
as the glue
holding you together.
It's doesn't take much pushing off
to fall completely apart.
It doesn't take much new,
to begin to be forgotten.
If not drool from a better treat,
wet tears from long retreat.

No*, you do not love me.
I only love *you.

When was our first kiss?
I wondered what you tasted like.
To this day I am dismissed-
though scandalous was our first night,
for me, it was still real bliss.
Not because you weren't him-
but you were you,
and not because it was a sin,
but you were you,
as much as now, and as much as then.

Please shut her up, shut her up, shut her up,
there's a girl screaming in the foyer
and I can't sleep.
She wants to go outside and play in the leaves,
she wants the foods she likes and to walk in the streets.
It's seven in the morning and we haven't gotten rest,
I can't scold her,
I can't hold her.
She needs your touch.
She needs your gaze,
She stops screaming
when we're on the same page.
So shut her up, baby boy,
It's only you that can.
I've lost control long ago,
when you ******* my hands.
Drained the oceans in my eyes,
stole the clouds in my head,
and placed flowers at my heart.
Please shut her up.

I want the open mic.
I need to be heard.

The spotlight on my skin
that never serves me justice.

the moment I wake up, my room is shaking.
It's 7 o' clock and the kid that got arrested again last week,
is blasting EDM downstairs, and my walls
are reverberating.
My walls are always reverberating.
I've lived in this ancient building since I can remember.
My consciousness began in a blue apartment.
We've only moved once, and its was to the other side.
I roll out of bed and head straight for the fridge.
There's some rice and beans from this haitian lady-
my mother's only friend.
They don't really understand each other,
but they're always exchanging food.
I take a plastic spoonful.
It's really salty.
I eat it cold while looking out the window in my living room,
my sweatpants are hiked up to my knees,
and my robe is hung loose around me.
I pull the blinds up high.
I lived on main street all of my life, but it's not too busy of a town,
so there aren't many cars.
I look across the road, to the art gallery that was just built
under existing residents.
That's cool
Too bad the owners are racist *****,
that would assume I was a muslim if I were to walk in.
Probably tell me to leave because they're closed,
when they aren't.
They told my friend, Mo, that.
He doesn't even practice.
I wonder if anyone else is looking out
of their windows at this hour.
Perhaps at me, and my disheveled morning appearance.
There must be a rave going on downstairs.
When it wasn't the laundromat it was this kid's
insufferable music choice.
Or the crack-fiends cries for money on the stoop.
I usually lock myself in my room,
listening to the hiss of the heater.
My blue-light blocking glasses on,
I stare at my lap-top screen,
typing in a mildly passive-aggressive tone.
Complaints to the landlord aren't heard.
I've little sympathy for most passive- aggression.
But I guess the powerlessness
is where it stems from.
I've got to escape.

Slick with self preservation,
I moisturize away the blemishes.
Night masks alone in the apartment.
Mane too long they dampen
Dark lines on dark skin, strands
stick to me blacker than kajal.
I’ll shower in the morning.
Grabbing at the extra, cupping
Slapping and ******* it in.
I’m so much when i think
I’m not enough.
Wrapping it in lace,
hug where it goes in
Abnormal hourglass,
I turn around to examine
The lightning storm around my
thunder thighs too thick to gap,
Just a small wineglass
Under a coarse tangle.
“Need to workout again.”
Dimples press and flatten,
Tattoos jiggle and beckon.
The hairs on my legs are fine
stand straight in the cold
My feet are sort of dry,
I dip them in cream
And slip on soft socks I could
Never wear in sleep,
I think of a silly dream
where I’m blonde and very thin
Like the best friend
Of every man I’ve ever been with
The one they crush(ed)
on only just a little-
but that was a long time ago.
Such a funny pattern,
Such a common trend.
I wonder if I’m meant to
bring myself to that.
But to change so quickly-
I’d rather be fat,
dark and dead.

I looked at their hands,
and how effortlessly they laced.
She wore a pastel purple and he was all black.
And they were impossibly beautiful.
Everyone was enjoying pineapple cake,
while the band played orchestrated indie music.
The place was large, and I was passed the mic,
Say some things for the happy couple!
"I...
I am really jealous, and I could only dream
of something remotely close to this
in my future.
Real love
I'm talking about a real love.
I...hope they go on like that...
-motioning at them making out-
forever."
In the back of my throat there was almost
a satisfying fear forming
that they'd become a statistic.
It never left my mouth,
it just stayed in my stomach until I met him.

Sometimes I cannot say
what is blue rose or basilisk.

Sometimes my man buys plants.
He follows the instructions on the tab,
And sets it somewhere sunny
in his attic apartment.
For a week, he is diligent;
sees how hardy his new friend is.
and admires its beauty.
Then he watches it die.
Try as he might, after a short while,
he doesn't always remember
to water it on time,
to give it some love,
and so then it shrivels up.
Dead.
Upon seeing it, my man is mortified.
But for some strange reason,
he never tosses it out.
He keeps it sitting on top of where ever.
Dead.
For many more weeks.
I don't remind him,
how sad it is to see it.
Out of fear he'd get a new one,
and love it dead all over again.
The other day, my man
gave me a kiss
and called me a beautiful flower.
I am grateful
these legs aren't roots.

I'm not going to beg, dear.
You might love to wallow-
feel like you're on your last leg, here.
But while I rather swallow
my pride and be hollow-
than be filled
with the anticipation,
I don't have the patience to deal
with your to and fro,
side to side,
out with it already,
I know that you lied.
And I just don't care anymore
but I
don't want to be here
waiting for you
to be strong.
I wanted to lay there
and hold you up to the stars
forget about who
who is wrong.
I know you know
we've got something good,
but I just can't push
anymore.
It's time for you to pump your legs,
and swing yourself,
a little higher.
a little farther.
I can no longer really bother
putting in mine,
when you can't find yours.

Your kindness you're killing them with your kindness.
He ended up not knowing anything anyway.
This stinks.
The 50s were staunchly, real staunchly...
12:34 12:38...around that time.
There's a bathroom over there!
Ahhhhhh yeah we could do that.
Look at the one we just took. See the boat here?
There's a strange man in it.
I thought so too but...
Is it just one bathroom?
Nice ***** and schmooze. Gotta salivate.
Oh bless you!
Then he go "marriage is a waste of time."
This is just not worth it.

It's 3:43 AM.
I can't close my eyes.
My hearts beating too loud.
My stomach is twisting.
I don't want to be anyone's trouble.
Will I ever be something?
Could I be your honey?
Even though, I have no money?
I need to work.
I'll buy lotto tickets.
Do I have to strip? Or do ****?
What does it take?
My first payment is two-hundred and thirty-six dollars
twenty-three cents.
It increases after two years.
I don't have a job yet-
I graduate this May- if I don't die.
If I don't die, I will have to pay
this November.
Our anniversary is in November.
Better find a government job.
Make that cash!
I don't want a sugar daddy with a white mustache.
She said, "Everyone has loans."
Yeah, but I'm no one.
What does it take to get paid
loads
loads
loads
of cash?
I didn't care for money.
Capitalism grants me
no choice but to
Wonder what it's like at the bottom of the ocean?
No structure- it's dark.
I'll become fish food,
in some rich man's aquarium.

A sharp pain
origins unknown
surprise in the disguise
of keeping it cool
am I to die from this?
I look to you for comfort
the reality of us in a dream like state
a fear that it will all go away
disbelief in your eyes
an incredulous smile
dying to escape
the lips I hold dear
something about your face was cold
this is all too familiar
and the fear reached a point
I just could not take
could not keep my heart
safely in place
it leapt in my chest
at the sight of that face
and the sharp pain came tenfold
pinned me down to your bed
woke up groggy
pain faded
fear instilled
wish to stay frozen
to have just been killed
I am alright
body is better
mind is in trauma
wish my heart was a feather
so I left it in your bed
tortured and tethered

Building a trigger-free environment
might mean you'll have to go.

In what chair was patience seated before we met?
At the long table where acquainted faces were eager to eat
we sat at each end, like king and queen and let the lines of empty dinnerware
and the cattail centerpiece divide our once linked gazes.
But I felt that wary stare peeking between leaves,
your gleaming mouth moving in vehement whisper, cursing yourself.
I see everything, but I pretend to know nothing as I place napkin in my lap,
looking past the guests beside me, into the kitchen door window.
You observe with intent, you assume my watch is bent to our friends.
Dinner isn’t ready, and everyone is restless.
I am quiet, and apologetic for the fellow who chose this venue,
because I know he probably feels no remorse, and only anger,
for the waitstaff spinning around the other tables.
Compassion isn’t a cell worth refueling for this company,
with large brains and demands, but space and time consuming bodies.
Our cups are dusty as our carpeted souls.
I see my fingerprints all over yours, through the constructed cold and cattail,
Clean, round spaces where I really knew
I touched you.
A lonely fool perked up, finally and thank goodness, drink is to be served.
How else would we last while our bellies rumbled with distaste and depravity?
I watched her pick her scabs and toss a pound of flesh to a neighboring plate.
It was yours.
You were too busy glaring at me with loan shark’s interest.
I am but a merchant who didn’t know what to sell and where to sell it,
but closed business when my ship found asylum on an island.
My visage no longer appetizer, you eat the poison on your plate.
It was an inerasable memory that the smell of cooked meat and spices interrupted.
But everyone was too drunk to remember we were hungry.
And I was too sad to order anything, anyway.
So I waited, glancing down, moved my napkin to wipe my lipstick off,
and on my lap, I saw,
Patience in between my knees, on my royal wood grained seat.
I look up, and once again, our eyes meet.

They warned me about you.
I read the nutrition facts
and saw the ingredients.
The FDA didn't fail to inform me,
you were no good for me.
Toxic, even.
I knew this all but you...
always smelt better than you looked
or tasted,
Like a lemon poppyseed,
with salt for sugar-
strange and savory,
but I should stop eating.

Ocean muffin
maybe made for a bird flying low,
or some big fish
swimming in shallow waters.
I was the bird flying low,
with no luck in the wild,
searching for scraps,
and saw one in tact.
It held promise.
Swallowed you whole
and lost all of my feathers
expelling you out.
You were for the big fish.
The ones who only bite off
what they can chew.
I cannot consume
you who poisons me.

Succulents and decor,
Meticulous cleaning, more friends.
Swiping crazy on tinder,
Online shopping, expensive skincare
Ruminating on what was once there sitting,
In suspended reality.
Where were the parents? That child is
dead now.
Locked in a haze, trying to forget
What a let down we’ve become.
That’s just how it can be.
****, that really blows.
What you thought was flush,
could just be bust.
Watching Disney + shows,
Toes the color of a mood.
Brooding about the future,
And saving the cash.
Cooking up and meal prep,
A meditation streak
you’re scared to break.
Excessive napping and
rubbing ten out on Sunday.
Dealing with small men,
eating like a champion,
taking a bath with an enemy
then do it again.
Avoiding all your frequents,
Picking up your phone calls,
singing Doja lyrics in a commute.
Drinking away the anxiety,
Staring at the tv,
Covered in twenty Sherpa-
You’re gone and I want to stay high
But I’m settled in an empty room
with self care books
I hope this time it’s a womb and
not a coffin.

You are searching for some one
who loves like you do.

Wrapped up with the sky,
He said it speaks to us with words,
in the form of empty storms.
But the clouds don't shower thoughts
they only crowd the morning dew,
and the broken jukebox birds.
The chatter reminds me of my noisy efforts.
There was a time I said little-
"Don't trust the quiet ones."
They are the fools who believe in the blues and the sunsets,
sleep little and dream of promise.
Comfort brought me to speech
to explain the thunderstorms outside my windows
to shake off the dew his clouds
crowded in my chest
and the broken jukebox birds in my throat.
Yesterday he said I smelt like home.
The familiar scent of pillows and cover-
warm things in winter.
Campfire cinders.
Smoldered once in quietude-
burning with desire.
If my lips don't sound-
maybe I can hear the rumble of his clouds.
Maybe I can listen to his blues.
Watch his sunset in smoldering quietude.
Maybe he'll speak to me with words.
Or maybe he'll just rain on me
thoughtlessly.

Ask me once again.
Maybe the answer will be different.
Maybe I've grown tired of confirmation.
Maybe I've tried too hard for too long.
Proving a truth that won't be believed.
I fear for a future where all there is
is your constant questions.
And I am lost in constant answers.
Is that a hope worth saving?
You are a soul who is waiting
for a reason to point and shout
that you knew it all along.
Maybe you like to wallow.
Maybe it'll make a good EP.
Maybe I'm just a stepping stone
in your melancholic alcoholism.
I could be just a bottle
held to feel empty
drained of sparkling juice
and then filled up with doubt ****
to sprinkle amongst familiar crowds
or the saddest "I told you so."
Maybe I'm thicker than that.
Maybe you've spread yourself too thin.
Maybe I'm ready to let go
of your minimal digital sins.
I tell my self this one thing
over and over,
and hold the repetition hostage.
Like I do your constant questions.
"forgiveness is
don't suppress.
just forget.
let go of all regrets.
yours and his.
even if you are the only one
who is asked again.
you are the hope worth saving.
nothing more.
nothing less."
So ask me once again,
maybe the answer won't be given.

Husks of chopped evergreen
discarded by the sidewalk
tied to trash,
weeping pine needles
only hope to be compost.
Deflated decoration litter the lawns,
red and green strewn about
lights flickered and burnt out.
Expired eggnog, chicken bones,
crumpled wrapping paper,
empty boxes, metal reindeer,
tinsel and broken candy canes.
Dead christ is still in the holiday,
while we spoke about the night before
we forget we can see him
the morning after.