hitting save on another task as my spotify playlist sways in the background. my yawn reaches my stomach. my dark circles bring a great contrast to my greyish-bluish eyes. i'm learning french again. maybe because it's supposed to be the language of love and maybe because i want to watch Plein Soleil without subtitles.

it's june still. my ex who said she was still my friend went to a pride parade without me. it's fine, maybe i'll get to wear my colors on my sleeves next june. maybe i'll meet some queers in college. if i ever finish my housing application.

california state university northridge. blissfully away from home, but achingly not far enough. beautiful to it's core and yet i can't shake this churning anxiety in my fingers, in my brain, in my heart. i wish everything wasn't online so maybe this yellow brick road winding me to my future would feel more real.

this town is so ugly. it's not big, not small. it isn't even pretty if you genuinely enjoy the look of washed out suburbs. all the colors are dulled by the sun, and not in the soft pastel way. it's like the skies rained gallons of bleach, if it ever once rained here. this place is full of skeletons hanging on to purgatory.

but i'd suffer damnation if i said i wasn't scared out of my mind about leaving it.

and by more i don't mean
"i love you more
than you love me"

i mean
"i love you more
and more each day.

i love you more
each time you text me goodmorning
and even more when you whisper goodnight.
i love you more
after every softly stolen kiss and more
after holding your hand across the parking lot.

i love you more
even when you're leaving me
and more when you beg me to come with you

you text me when you get home
to tell me that you got there safely
and i smile wide
but i wonder

how can you be home
when you just left me

LA and part japanese 4 foot 11 boy-girl
hushed pet names and laughs and [that].
quiet about your mother and step mother
and you spend - days - in your room shut
alone with no food water company etc just
your fist and your laptop hot on your bare
thighs the fan whirring louder than your
hands and the skin and whatever else you
do and im sorry i get red and i push and i
pound and im sorry it seems like you want
it. just tell me how to love you because i
dont know how and its hurting everything

step one.)
say goodbye to your mornings, don’t grieve them
set your alarm for an ungodly hour, no breakfast
drink your coffee, try not to taste it. the caffeine is all you need
sit at your desk and complete your tasks
attach your self worth to numbers :)
don’t think about it

step two.)
work during your lunch, eat your silly little tasks away
your worry will go away if you keep working
look. look at everyone working harder than you
compare yourself to them immediately
unrealistic expectations? standards too high?
look. look at them again. they did it. why can’t you?
compare your worst to their best :)
overthink it

step three.)
stay late. try to be the last one there. your superiors will be so impressed!
count up the number of tasks you have completed!
now count up the number of tasks you still have to do :(
eat take out for the third time this week
don’t worry about your arteries, those silly tasks are more important
ignore calls from your family, you have an important call waiting!
you’ll call them back. your phone dies -_-
stop thinking

step four.)
drive home exhausted. might be dangerous, but who else is on the road this late?
only your competition.
fret about the silly little tasks you have when you get home
you’ll take some of the tasks from your desk to try to beat the rush tomorrow
your bed is covered in tasks. your laundry is overflowing;
clothes stained with takeout and coffee you didn’t taste
complete your tasks. don’t worry about the sleep you aren’t getting.
there will be coffee in the morning :)
recount your tasks. are your numbers up yet?

don’t think for yourself :)

repeat steps 1-4 until dead.


why aren’t you happy?

my skin is finally finished peeling
i swept up the old layer into the dustbin
and now i get to be grown (past tense)

i'll keep growing and i'll have to shed another layer of me
but the molting is over
i can feel the winter sun on my lips

it feels like salt

well yeah man, it's like-
you take a drag, inhale.
your eyes sink and i watch your lips
part slightly and let out a trail of smoke
but your words get lost in my mouth
because i sit up and kiss you
it's sort of slow and feverish
and i climb in your lap and chase it
automatically like a moth to a flame
twisting i almost smile, i lick your teeth
-like this ? i not quite growl
you forgot everything but this moment
but you nod anyway
and i see some indescribable want or need
some days i can't tell the difference
i guess i like you like me
i watch you sit and smoke
every breath you seem a little farther
when you're done you grab me
pull me away into your room
i lie on the bed and taste incense
you look back as music plays
then join me silently and pull me on top
i rest over you like a misshapen blanket
and you get too hot
you look so far gone deep out in space
floating somewhere under me
your eyes glazed and our thighs
it must feel so great to be treated like this
someone to keep you safe
and do anything you say
and selfishly i tried making you mine
but your and my bruises healed
sometimes i wish they had stayed

trying desperately to carve a place
out for you;                         snug
into the right side of my heart
as if you hadn't taken residence
up there so many years ago.

our memories slip
through my
fingers -
and i want my stupid, old
brain to keep them closer.

i'm torturing myself
wondering if i could
still make you smile
that soft sharp grin
kind of look
that seeps into
your tone,
indulgent and
warm and safe
all-over.

and how awful am i,
to have lived all this time
as if i could always find you
once more.

i want to call you back
so i can hear your voice again
and i swear i'll never listen
to another sound.

       please don't go.
for all i've wanted is to hold your hand.
you look so lovely in any color, i could
lose myself in your eyes if only you
turn around this
one time.

please god.
make me a necromancer.
i'll live and sleep in the dirt
wearing blood and soot as gloves,
ear-to-the-ground
forever listening
for that pin to drop:
spades
on hand for
the moment
your fingers stretch
out to seek mine;

i'll catch them this time.
         in catacombs
                       or in polished
                              american cemeteries:

                         i'll wait for
                         you.