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May 2020 · 260
what i wish i had now
cait-cait May 2020
why are the walls always blue...
in the places where it hurts to be?
in the places where i watch
a little girl you grow up through pictures of
a little happy family in
a house that’s big and round...

who am i in this story?
trailer park trash assuming the role of
dignified enough to be
in that house...
with a kitchen island,
and a garden, and a beautiful, bright blue
fish tank...?


******* for having what i wish i had
when i was small,
when my parents first cracked my head open,
and accidentally filled it with illness and
from our gross, apartment floors...

for i did not grow up with a happy garden
or through pictures that mommy
keeps on her wall...

if you are unhappy, i must live in ******* hell.
Wow it’s been forever since ive been on here! I miss and love you all. This is about someone who I love dearly but am angry at bc she lives the life i wish i had when I was a kid. From march 9, 12:36 am. hope you’re all being safe!
May 2019 · 894
love lives in creation
cait-cait May 2019
creation builds houses...
brick after brick,
she works hard in the face of adversity.

creation builds a house,
and i build a home,
for tiny children... but i cannot keep them

you don’t believe me, when
i say that
things are not well... but when
have you ever had an answer,

all blank-faced, and

i guess...
i was meant to be alone,
creation means building a house.
being someone means keeping it
I’m fostering a set of three kittens with no mommy, and one of them died. She was sick so it wasn’t a surprise but it made me feel awful. Rest In Peace.
May 2019 · 403
small girl
cait-cait May 2019
i can’t laugh the way i used to laugh.

not for you ...
and not here...

and i can’t create circles just to
run around in
squares, as if i didn’t give you
a piece of me and then
more than all that...

do you remember how we would
watch movies together,
about girls with white hair who would
go swimming
in oceans made of trees?

and do you remember how you
never used to tell me i was wrong,
back when you still understood that it
wasn’t your
to fight me...

i remember that.
I want to write again
May 2019 · 451
i chew on my fingernails
cait-cait May 2019
prosperity comes in…
prosperity comes…

she comes in...

shades of black and blue,

like bruises
when you hit me and tug on my hair,
and like
apples that ripen and then soften...
A half sequel to my prom “I am on my knees.” It wasn’t intended to be a sequel or even be a poem at all but reading it made me think of it. I don’t chew on my fingernails anymore. I’ve been really interested in writing that features a lot of hesitation / stuttering
Apr 2019 · 1.9k
i learn how to cower
cait-cait Apr 2019
i am four
and i learn how to cower:
to put away
my disobedience,
my words,
my innocence,
and look at you like an animal.

i am ten and i know how to cower...
and how to go to school,
and how to live alone,
but by now, i’ve learned to wish
for things greater than mom just
coming home and for you to simply

so i turn fourteen, but still you are
evil, and i,
a doll, that grows but does not extend its
past the deep end
or grows any new sets of teeth.

i age into fifteen and get broken by someone else...

and then i turn sixteen, as time goes on,
i guess,
and still feel broken, but this time its
different than from when you first
broke me,
and i become harder but happier…
sadder, but sharper when in a
stasis, and
try to heal through watching people have a love
for others...

but i fail, and still become happy,

finally, it is now, and i can say i grow up,
as i will always
continue to grow, and when you come back,
i extend my hand in thinking
it’s finally safe when
you grasp it again...

and break all of my fingers.

it is now,
and i learn how to cower.
The first poem I’ve written in months. My output has been extremely dead as of late, so this isn’t my best. I was finally starting to come to terms and heal from the trauma my dad caused me, but something happened with him recently that made it all come back. Sad affairs.
cait-cait Feb 2019
you could be such a handsome, loving boy,
and live in a
nice house
if you didn’t insist on treating me like this...

you know?

we could be neighbors, the
two of us, the
kind who smile and wave at each other at eight in
the morning before we drive to work.

you at the office, and me...
at the office.

can you even imagine:
laughing at whatever winter wonderland party
they hold
with no worries,
no secrets,
no walls...

but i have given up,
as you have grown cruel,  
still thinking of me in that mean, wretched way,
despite the fact that you probably say you don't really care...

but you're just that animal,
the one
you turned into for him-- what
do they call them again?

written on january 12th, 2019 at 10:38 pm. i havent written anything in a while but i was going through my notes to find a title for something and found this. i love it tbh... dont know why i didnt before even w its flaws...
cait-cait Jan 2019
you stand among us,
as though we were not shattered when
you took apart all that we made
to give you...

and i become that seething
mess on the floor...
when you tell me that you are leaving again,
as if i didnt just
create love to place in
your hands,

a kiss and a blooming rose, you
are all that i am,
and yet
still i feel lonely,

as you stand before me,
naked and in pieces,

but singing on a stage that i made just
for you.
can you believe this is about steven universe? i wrote lines 5-8 yesterday but they fit so well into this...... and lines 9-11 are perfect... I dislike the end but there’s nothing better.
cait-cait Dec 2018
i pull down my pants,
and then i pull down my skin,

and it seems as though there has been blood stains
since forever,

so when i look down and greet each thigh,
i have begun to greet the floor
as well...

in thinking that they would laugh, when
i trim myself in the mirror,
make cutting motions and
to slice open my skin and everyone else
who says i am
not worth it

but my curves are warm when they hug me,
and i think
i see a girl hiding
between their folds, in the dark...
but in her own body.

so when people look at me, i've learned now
to cower,
to put away my teeth, my hair,
my words of indignation,
turn into that tiny girl, where
i'm always safe, always small...
always alone.

where i am crucified, but loved,
hungry, but not wanting,  

but only for now.
my mom has always told me the story of two babies named love and wrestling... i am so so so proud of this poem
Dec 2018 · 375
sin and the sinner
cait-cait Dec 2018
so you say that we are from the people
who buried their dead
with flowers.

and you say that when
the world ends, we will simply learn to fall

i wonder,
if there will still be love when we convince
that everything is still alright.

but how can we love the children that
we lie to…
and how can we trust those who
we forsake…

when you look me in the eyes next time,
or when you look at that spot, right beside

i will remember our dead,
and i will remember
how you never truly meant to leave flowers.
stop gun violence. rest in peace.
Dec 2018 · 1.5k
born with designated shame
cait-cait Dec 2018
learn to cradle yourself
in your own arms,

be strong, because
your mother loves you, and your
sisters love you,
                             more than i
can ever say.

your body is not temple, because
you exist to survive.
so cherish yourself, and one day,
someone else will…

and it won’t be painful, the
way that things are painful

so bear your teeth,
                                 but wear a crown,
you shouldn’t
bite yourself just to cry...
im so stressed **** me
cait-cait Nov 2018
i beg for other people’s *** stories,
because i am broken and unloved...

and when boys snarl,
                             i feel alone, although
i know that they are just laughing...

i’ve found that womanhood is
half shame before everything else,

so i can only notice how
other girls wave their successes above my head,
as though being ****** is a prize and being loved is an end game,

that screams GAME OVER in bright red.

i will take my silence over your lifestyle any day,
despite the fact that i still cry when you leave.
women can’t exist without being analyzed, tested, and corrected. i wish girls wrote poems about being happy instead. Don’t @ me.
cait-cait Oct 2018

i told my mother the other day that i
have decided to be kind,
to love those
who love me (for no good reason)....

and because of, i want to take you in my arms
and hold you so tight
that the world cannot get in.


you are dressed in white, like
an angel, and
when you sleep, you murmur and
i watch, you smile
instead of howling, and i wish

that you were that peaceful when


you are growing up, and i
watch the way you forsake your mother
and i watch the way
you puff up your chest with lies and then
cower when you see me ....

you are not innocent anymore, and i cannot
hold you to as such when
you hide behind a hood of your parents


your brother does not love me anymore,
and frankly, i do not care.

but you cannot see the stab wound, so
still, i am angry.


i don’t think she loves her best friend anymore,
i don’t think she even loves me.

but how can you tell someone to cut a
piece of themselves off when
you won’t do it for them?

when you don’t even have the right.


i read a poem today, it was about war
and it was about foxes,
i thought of you again...
my fox,

you are a violence...
and a lover.

and when i remember how you cut me,
i remember why i have to cherish what i have.
this year, i met a girl who i didnt really like (for no reason), and the other day she overheard me telling my friend that i felt like everyone hated me. she looked at me and said "i like you." and i decided that i always need to appreciate the friends i have even if it feels like i dont have them.
cait-cait Oct 2018
i didnt fall in love with this boy,
not this one
                     who tore me to pieces,

and i feel like an angel ,
suffocated in white, my wings were clipped
on the first day you
                                  wanted to kiss me,

and it feels violent,
my halo wasn’t built just to break —

and i did not forgive you,
i never will .

because you were never meant to go to heaven.
It’s so funny I’m not even religious, I just love religion. Ever since I was a child I’ve used it to cope. The title is lyrics from a really dumb song.
cait-cait Oct 2018
i cannot seem to find any air
when i am with you .
                         ­             .

i try to make myself anew,
and then
push myself out into a world where i find that
i cannot breathe,

and so when you hit me,
instead of laughing,
i just choke ,

and instead, when i feel water
in my lungs,
i heave
instead of hiccuping,
and finally understand why
i am not the favorite child.
Im actually an only child. Im so angry at my ex right now it’s unbelievable. If I could **** him I would. The line “not the favorite child” has been a theme I continuously end up up coming back to. It’s strange.
Oct 2018 · 4.9k
rot in hell, brett kavanaugh
cait-cait Oct 2018
the devil’s eyes are blue ,
from when they made him up in heaven ,

but he keeps his girls like toys,
and like dolls, they lay in piles.

you know,
ive always kept my mouth closed ,
and my sharp teeth dulled,
for i have been forced to wear a smile
to cover up each bruise .

so how come,
he looks at her like a dog ,
you all just let him bite?

do you think he ever kissed his wife’s wounds?

you know, we know that you men all kiss his,
it is time to be angry. It is time for women to bite and kick and scream and make everyone sorry for ever thinking that any of this was okay. I’m sorry Doctor Ford.
cait-cait Sep 2018
disconnected ,
my torso has been torn from my legs
and i lay in pieces, separated
miles apart ,,

wires, like silver veins,
stem from plants
and flowers,
little golden ropes .
a noose around a garden *** ,
a robot without its head

they always say that love is blind ,
but i think love
must be cruel —
for she dressed me in red and then
left me to die,

and you know..
a tea kettle who boils
also screams ...
heard about that suicidal artist who handcuffed himself to a tree and then died. That’s what love is like. Maybe I’m just reading too many depressing things lately.
cait-cait Sep 2018
i don’t trust you with myself ..
anymore ,

unfurled -
the ocean laps at my feet
as you wish to
gaze upon girls ...

perfect flowers .

you say that you understand , and
that you hate it when i do that.
but i think you’re drowning ,
and i guess ,
this means you don’t want saving ...

do you think —
you’ll still love me ,
even if i make
your face bleed all blue?

you tell me that i’m wrong,
in a way that should make me feel

i feel angry instead.
don’t try that ******* with me / truck hitter
cait-cait Sep 2018
you’re a sick, sick person
my little,

with eyes like ferocious , angry
beetles, you
chew into me and cut out

if only you knew i wasn’t invincible,
if only you knew
                              you were toxic.

the cement is wet when you bash my head
the cement is still wet when it
my mom said "who cares what they think. theyll never understand it, and you dont have to say this part out loud, but things are different now."
cait-cait Sep 2018
i wanted to give you everything ,
and ended up giving you myself
instead —

and i
called it giving myself up the only way i knew how ..

little wounds you can’t even sew shut,
id say you didn’t even try.

words can mean so much,
and still you zipped your lips tight —
and decided ,,

that love is simply ***.

you forget me, equating me to some image of
a dead body —

leave me to burn , like when i cried all
little rivers
that you did not even see ...

guess you’ll just have to be locked up,
with the rest of them

wondering why —
like most people do,
why is she so angry?

your punishment
will be torture,

and finally you’ll know —
just what i went through ,
for you
most people would call this good acting but i just think it’s womanhood. Not my best work but I’m trying
Aug 2018 · 18.8k
allegory of the cave
cait-cait Aug 2018
imagine —
you are the last of your species,

an angel, who dances on

film that protects
this earth ,
your wings are broken ,
and these are the pieces of you that cannot go
home .

so on
tiptoes, this cracked marble
does not shatter,
everyone gets to watch you perform ,
unknowing of the cold truth that you are shackled
to ,

a ballerina in a box
that hums a sweet tune —

you still dance ,
even as the last of your species,
even though
you are all that you have left.

even though
you have decided that love is a form of
i didn’t know what to title this but my comedy lit class was assigned plato’s the allegory of the cave and i loved it.... this is somewhat a different style (or concept) for me but i hope you still enjoy. this was another poem where I wrote the ending lines before the beginning ha ha. Meaning Is up for interpretation
cait-cait Aug 2018
six feet deep
you have buried me ,
and i bang on the coffin door—

little bees outside make honey
while i just try to breathe .

one day, this grass will grow quite tall,
and i will soak my
aching feet ,

who was it,
                    who told you to hurt me?

who is it, that wants me to

these roses are so beautiful, yet
all of them have
cait-cait Aug 2018
you have so much love inside yourself
one day ,
you will only ache

you turn
your brown glass eyeballs in fountain blue,
as you have no more tears
to cry.

i think, one day,
a hole will open up inside you
but physically —
you will bleed .

who tore you open?
i want to ask—
and who will sew you closed?

you pour all of your blood into someone else,
and i touch each wound.
the title was meant to be the title of a poem I never wrote after my cat died, but it fits here too. I wrote this quickly for my friend Emily who has so much love inside their heart. I don’t want anyone to break it.
cait-cait Aug 2018
you have cheated me—
and now i am going to skin you alive .

forgotten ,
i am desperate to be swallowed whole
as you look right through me
like a window,

in greens and grays...
i could be rotting,
d y i n g .

and i know you would still not see
me whole .

so ,
am i just a walking corpse
to you ?

my face
unrecognizable flesh?

eyes like little pearls ,
the sky is pink and i can’t even cry ...
and still you are standing
t a l l .

but even invisible,
i know i can still hold a knife and
i can still know

and you can still pretend that i don’t exist ,
that i never try to **** you.
someone didn’t acknowledge me and it broke something deep in my heart and soul. i am out for blood and it’s literally not funny anymore.
cait-cait Aug 2018
god must’ve made me , strictly
to be broken open —

you look at me with such innocent eyes ,
i know you see
right through
me ,,

tell me , do you want me to
strip ?

please you?

there’s a hunger in your voice
and i know i’ve heard it
before —

are like everyone and
everyone likes

but i do not falter ,
and i will never, ever break,

every time i touch myself,
god gets on his
knees .
Ive been really interested in ****** poetry lately and have been trying to write more of it, but every time I try I get really embarrassed. The title of this poem and ending lines I wrote a long time ago, and I’d been meaning to write the rest of it because I loved the concept so much but just never wrote something that fit. Yesterday I met a way too friendly man at my restaurant and it scared me, so this is about him. I wrote a raunchier version too but I don’t think it’s as good.
cait-cait Aug 2018
love has buried me ,
and i am like an

you were fire
i was ice —

and there were mountains
in between us,

so when you buried me ,
let myself die ,

and you did not ache.
did not
for renny, my sweet angel. rest well.
cait-cait Jul 2018
i hate you,
i think, as you try to shoot me to death.

standing above me with a gun in my face

you feel
rage like undissolved sugar in
warm milk -
there’s blood on the floor and
then there’s me
                          dying and almost dead,
you left my eyes open ,
and i know
you forgot the ****** weapon:

so i’m going to take it with me.

one day ,

i’m going to heal ,
and i’m going to remember —

you took my gun ,
took all my bullets
                                too .

and i still won’t ever shoot back.
im actually in japan right now! Having the time of my life *****!! Staying in a suburb of Tokyo with my previous host family doing mundane stuff... it’s great! This poem is inspired by what my friend said to me after I sent her a happy pic of me... basically told me I looked out of place and was wrong for enjoying myself. It made me feel terrible and like ****. Anyways long story but something happened and she left our group chat and I didn’t notice!! But now she joined again and won’t tell me why she left and I think it’s because she knows she ****** up. Some people’s punishments are just being themselves. Sorry for the long description. Happy summer everyone!!
Jul 2018 · 464
why didn’t you do right
cait-cait Jul 2018
death is a tiny girl in pink —
with yellow hair
                          and stick legs -

coming out at twilight , she
on your door with her claws in a fist
smiles wide at you
from the

a wolf in sheeps hide ,
she is only
          (not even)

she wants to hold your hand .
I’ve been playing a lot of love Nikki recently which helped develop this but it was really inspired by another poem I read where they described death as a little girl who listens to the world from underneath the ground
cait-cait Jul 2018
i might as well just devour you ,
now that you’ve
                           shredded my stomach
and laughed .

i never would’ve guessed
would take
a knife to my heart ,
and then rev up an engine —

a chain.

im sick of looking at your face ,
sick of
thinking of you ,

                                  sick of smiling
from my grave.

i guess we can say
you stole that from me too .

you are proof ,
even demons need to eat —

and this one
is very ,
inspired by my best friend stopdoopy’s amazing post breakup love poetry, i decided to be violent for them. I wanted it to have more swear words but it just didn’t work out. the opening line was originall different. Also, happy birthday to me!
cait-cait Jul 2018

ill snap the necks of everyone
you love
like little birds
outside a


god held my hands as he plucked me
from the sky ,
and told me i was no longer
an angel .


i pop pink pills from pink
bottles , and
set things on fire.

you dont look me in the eyes
anymore ,
even though i smile.
im trying to experiment with different styles. This was inspired by the feeling of loving someone better than you and being angry about it and the video game little inferno.
cait-cait Jun 2018
i tried to die for you —
give my little body up for you :
and for
          that i

but maybe i didnt love anybody ,
and maybe
                    that’s why i stayed.

they say that pain is always temporary
but i don’t feel
temporary —

they say
that you can always

but instead, i guess

hurt the ones i loved the most
and then
realized there were people
watching .

i would’ve died for you ,
                                         you know ?
hung my body up like a curtain -
a poison crown of thorns .

maybe god wanted you  
medea and i are a lot alike. Originally was titled “when god made you he wanted to see you cry.” It wasn’t originally supposed to about medea but when I came up with the title I added a lot more medea aspects to it
Jun 2018 · 605
bugs hatch from eggs
cait-cait Jun 2018
ive worn a brand my entire life
that’s been
stamped across my forehead.

i believe that
everyone can see it,
painted red with little girl blood.

all my life people have taken chunks
from me, and all my life,
i’ve given people chunks.

i believe that maybe if i were different
i would be perfect.
im cruel, and im sorry.
I’ve never felt comfortable my entire life and i just realized it’s killing me. I did something I might get in trouble for and I’m scared.
cait-cait Jun 2018
when i was little ,
dad handed me a shovel and
he handed me
a dress.

he taught me how to dress myself
and then how to garden ,

to dig each hole
in soft
           flesh and soil.  

ive grown up since,
gotten taller,
and can hold
the shovel by myself ,

i dig graves now instead .

ive saved one for dad ,
                               and ive saved one for me.

six feet deep ,
                        it’s a bed with no blankets
and it’s
perfect ,
it’s mine —

i want to be buried in a dress
i can button
                         by myself ,

dad also handed me a shotgun.
you've made this bed, now lie in it!
cait-cait Jun 2018
im there when you want to
rip out your
hair and scream ,

knees on the floor, your face is
in my hands  .

there seems to be glass everywhere
you look
you're crying ,

you can see it.

i dont know who told you i was dangerous --

i can only be so kind .
who has ever thought about how i feel?

when i was little my mom had this vanity that was covered in mirrors and then draped with a cloth, and i have memories of trying to pull the cloth off to see the full thing, and also memories of being on her bed and being able to see myself where there were slits.
cait-cait Jun 2018
i was holding the rifle
the way i was holding your hands ,

and they were still hot —  

so hot that
we are calloused ,
love beat me
and then i beat you —

hands were burned together .
but you smiled ,
i was the one who cried

one day, someone will kiss
my scars .

someone should kiss yours, too.

the recoil will always sting ,
and i will always
BIG ******* S/O TO MY EX!! he’s been so ******* kind to me and deserves so much in life. It ***** that I can’t give it to him but he’s one of the kindest people I know. I was snooping through my friends blog and I found her poetry, and got The title from a line I read in one of them. I love that friend too!
cait-cait Jun 2018
i want to be loved so bad--

but when does the
future become the present,

when will the
crying stop becoming
choking —

how will i forgive you
for wounds

forgive me,
i cannot love you
the way you love

i long to be whole again
I found this in the notes on my phone , dated September 17th 2017 at 1:00pm. It’s so ******* funny because this was literally my past self having a future vision of what I’m currently feeling and going through rn and writing it down as a poem. Time travel is real. original title was you want to know me but i cannot be known
cait-cait Jun 2018
you want to stick it in me ,,

break me
                         so that i leak .

it's boiling hot,
you wield a blade
that does not
cut skin .  

but still i bleed ,
and pick each scab .

i will **** you before you ever see me
open ,

beg for me.
this is a really ****** poem but it’s how I feel, I hate ***.
cait-cait May 2018
i put the baby in it’s cradle ,
and watch it as
it sleeps ,

you sit and watch tv in the room
two over
and think i love you back .

outside, the
sky fogs blue and the streetlights
shine bright orange —

you never went without a home.

it shows.
this is a combination of what it was probably like to be my parents and my alternate ending. Lol
cait-cait May 2018
exposed and vulnerable
don’t have healing hands ,

i force delicacy
from fingertips meant to break ,
have tried to heal things
i should’ve shot .
you always felt a bit cold to me
                                     scarred ,

i pray to god
you never try to tell him
what i’ve tried to
do //
good luck on finals everyone!
cait-cait May 2018
you trail blood with you ..
wherever you
go —

leaking from holes i made
inside your
                   chest ,,

so tell me //

am i the one crying ,
when i know
i’ll break your heart ?

i pray that you will end me ,
with a knife plunged in my gut —

death is better than
any pain
i will ever cause
                           you .
**** is so  ******* bad!!!!!!!!!!!!
cait-cait May 2018
anger burns so deep within me ,
i dont know where
it stops .

god told me there was a mistake
when creating

(and he whispers when he lies)

look me in the eyes next time --

tell me it's not painful .
did he lie?
cait-cait May 2018

eyes on fire ,
i lit a match and
watched you burn

i don’t know how long i stayed
sitting down


when angels were still alive ,
did they look at
the clouds ,?

do they remember how they


my skin peels in the green grass —
composted , the
fence rots and the sun
shines gold ,

this is what they call
"giving back."


blue tears leak
like petals down your cheeks .

everyone cries with you.
im catching up on the cartoon steven universe and playing old video games. im so ******* selfish but what can you really do about that type of stuff?
cait-cait May 2018
i would **** for you —
you know ,, ?

stain my white dress in red :
you .

blood dripping down a
i would swear i never

they would end up catching me
of course ,

they always do —

the devil would sneer
disappointed ,

lace dress tight —
her lips curled in painted pink ,
when everything seems
h o t .

               she knows
i would **** for you,
would never,
"well here we are again, its always such a pleasure"

i saw that funny tumblr post that said "its hotter than the devils p*ssy in here"
cait-cait May 2018
i am holding an axe...

empty towers stand tall in snow
still i climb ,
(each step) —

a toy upon a shelf
(i am freezing)/

you rip the stuffing out of
and try to sew me
shut ,

but the
wound is not healing
(it never will)

the walls get stained with nicotine::
(i miss when they were white)

when i come back to, i am lost -
(because it is dark)

try to howl ,
gurgle instead:
and then
i start to weep-
(and my tears all freeze like little pearls) .

when i look for them again,
(those girls)

they have turned into
(i remember my axe)

and they look me in my eyes —

spit on me, again,
i say

dare you —
this time,
i am not afraid to bite.

(they do not come back for me)
the other title for this poem was “i look at you or maybe you look at me.” I let people on my instagram vote which one they liked better. This is about feeling alone in a battle against many different people you care about. I spent a long time working on it.
cait-cait May 2018
i know that i was lied to
from your place among each star ,

glorified, i
let you lie—

as you looked right down
your nose -

it is sad,
you bit me for a kiss
then grew a
inside my heart

how could i ever have let myself
love you
Fnjdjdkdixjdkrnrjdjfnxkdjjdifjdn jdjfjdnfnfjjfi this ***** but I’m trying to write so whatever!!!!!!! There are so many ******* bugs in my room
cait-cait Apr 2018
i put my hands on your throat ;

veins pumping red
like little boats
inside the storm ,

your hands tangle around me ,
they grasp, tug, hit:
and this is a fight that
i am losing.

outside, it snows ,
and my pink skins flushes red
as you have burned me
from the inside out .

everything becomes white , when
you touch me
for the first time ,

and then i cry when you hit me .

we kiss.
he kissed me and it felt like i got hit.
Mar 2018 · 4.8k
i am on my knees
cait-cait Mar 2018
she smears her lips
with mama's red crayons.

she swallows them whole)

lips like sour cherries,
puckered ,
                  swollen .

wiping her eyes on soft
blood stains instead.
only to get sick instead//
cait-cait Mar 2018
dreamt of love
my whole life.

boys, barbies, and all of me :
tiny cuts in the system,
tiny wishes

i thought love was

pink cutout cardboard and
subtraction of all
flaws .

but love is just kinetics ,
warmth and
confusion .

love is when it’s
and your cheeks sting and
you look up at the sky
you smile ,

you can dream of love
and still
I’m figuring some stuff out about myself that’s really hard to accept.
Mar 2018 · 620
i wasn’t made for love
cait-cait Mar 2018
i want to touch
your body
like a man in heat —

rub fingers up your legs .
kiss peach butter lips,
and make you

i wasn’t made to be in love ,
i think .
i was made to be
loved :

like a feather, or
a death.

i will run
my entire life.

we bloom in summer.
for Emily.
cait-cait Mar 2018
sadness has been eating me alive
since before i can
remember —

i was bathed in a blue tub
on a yellow table .
as mom smiled and i laughed ,

i remember
i was loved ,

sunlight still seemed to stream on
brown carpet
or on black and white tiled floor,
i grew up , or
it rained ///

i remember
and every
girl ive been,
crying red
and blue .

always ;
i looked at all our toys ,
high up on our mantel

in yellows, blacks,

i have grown

and yet ;
i remember
there was
im falling apart, i want to write so desperately
cait-cait Feb 2018
i dream we live in a different life ;;

you are pretty
and i am

and i stare into your
eyes and you
look me all over

almost . .
like i am food .

but you do not eat

frankly :
you never could

i wish i was who i wanted to be,
. . .
technical problems .
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