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863 · Aug 2018
untitled ii
jo Aug 2018
i wish i had the courage to say
the acidic words i mumble under my breath,
like a coward
(like him).

i wish i could throw them in his face
watch it melt.
watch it burn.

the scarred figures of a snake
remain recognizable,
and it is all i can do
to hope i have not gleefully razed
a mirror image.
for he who cares for nothing and no one.
don't let me be him.
585 · Aug 2018
untitled iii
jo Aug 2018
it happened abruptly, really -
up at 3am again,
to feel nothing at all
instead of everything at once.

the dull ache behind my eyes and tucked in my shoulder blades and nestled in the pit of my stomach
is all that's with me.
not the shadow,
the faint imprint,
of who i want to be here.

i think that maybe
if i just tell myself that over and over
one day it'll stick.
it'll fade eventually
400 · Aug 2018
underwater
jo Aug 2018
i know exactly what drowning feels like.

dagger sharp tugs at your lungs,
making your chest convulse.
desperate, bloodshot eyes,
panicking.
suddenly immobile limbs,
stiff and useless.

i know exactly what drowning feels like,
so why can't i tell what's holding me under?
i'm a little lost
360 · Sep 2018
lie low, please
jo Sep 2018
if there are some secrets you don't even admit to yourself,

is it your heart that knows they're there?
or is it your mind?
logical or emotional omission?
348 · Oct 2018
an important question
jo Oct 2018
does blowing bubbles in boba tea just make it bubble tea squared?
you cannot tell me i'm wrong
325 · Aug 2018
short-term
jo Aug 2018
you were funny and pretty
danced to ****** pop music like the whole pool wasn't watching
rested your arm on my shoulder and dared me to challenge you on it
wore sunglasses as strikingly blue as your eyes
taught me basketball with a peeling ball and disintegrating net
got my naive, slow heart racing faster than it has in years
talked to me like we'd known each other years longer, instead of the five hour shift you picked up at my pool

so i did what i had to and told myself you spoke to everyone like that; used everyone as an arm rest like that; showed everyone sports like that.

i am not special to you.
but you were to me.
(whips) it aint a crush if you convince yourself there's no hope !!!!
288 · Sep 2018
fulgēre vs acerbus
jo Sep 2018
i am flooded,
swamped,
up to my neck.

how come every metaphor to do with having oodles of work conjours images of my fluttering hands, framed in a deathly silence over a languidly receding ray glimmering, glaring, off the waves ?
i promise im not obsessed with drowning
208 · Dec 2018
i do believe
jo Dec 2018
i have come a long way.

old days and young days became one and the same,
feeling prodded with those saccharine persuasive words dripping off your tongue,
i hid from my future and your past.

i entertain the thought now
that i take pride in the legacy of my grandparents,
in the foundation laid by my family,
and in the quietly powerful strength
of you.
sometimes a push is what you need.
165 · Aug 2018
for mo
jo Aug 2018
you were sick a long time

i didn't really get that
i was in seventh grade

we drove all the way up to maryland for what was supposed to be the last thanksgiving, but i didn't know that

and apparently you didn't want that
because then you got taken off of hospice care.

who gets taken off of hospice care?
no one, that's who.

i didn't really get that
i was still in seventh grade

we rented a beach house like we used to do
all the cousins and aunts and uncles

and you
still sick

but still you.
you had your boomerangs and your piece of driftwood with the shells messily superglued to it (it matches mine) and your mo oatmeal that somehow tasted so much better than normal oatmeal.

it was really nice.
i enjoyed it a lot.

i don't know why i thought you'd just keep getting better
maybe part of me was still in seventh grade

you lasted a long long time
i was proud of you

i grew up a lot
but i think a piece of me will always be in seventh grade

because three days before my birthday i couldn't really believe what i was hearing

not really
it didn't seem like reality

i finished my cereal
and rinsed out my dishes

walked upstairs
closed my door

sat down on my bed
and then i don't know how long i cried.

i think i'd be okay
if i was still in seventh grade.

but now i'm here and it's been four months
and i'm not.
v/vi/xviii
i love you
152 · Aug 2019
falling down
jo Aug 2019
maybe my heart has a self-defense mechanism

so that when i am the only spire left on a collapsing castle,

i still won't feel anything.
nothing but weird
140 · Aug 2018
untitled
jo Aug 2018
it's dim and cold and the air in the plane is dry, stale like old bread, but out the window we are above the clouds and the lights below look like stars pinned against the monochromatic blue blanketing us
to feeling lonely when surrounded by dozens of people

— The End —