pressure
pressure
pressure
pressure
in the mind
on the thighs
in the lies
on the eyes
in the wrong
on the songs
in the *****
on the bruise

the sweetest angels and stars all came together and stitched together every blade of grass on our front yard,

/// wait scratch that; that isn't even remotely accurate ///

this house has seen tornadoes larger than any human eye could ever fathom; sunken heart aches in the living room and mood swings lingering on the chandelier

July 27, 1993 I was born down the street from where I'm sitting right now

This home embodies everything i am made of; it watched me grow little by little unlike the plants in our front yard that never could

i had a panic attack in this room at age 6 when i realized my dog, Goliath, would some day die and it was inevitable. What a weird thing for a six year old to be thinking about-

that same burning grows in my chest when i wonder what will be the defeat of this house one day

I can't write the way I used to;
can't think quite the same either

time scares the **** out of me-

you think you know someone
and then they become the old
pal who forgot to call the past
three months.

i just want my bones to collapse like
a folding chair; throw my white flag
as far as my limbs will allow and my
skin seeps into this burnt orange knit
wonderland of comfort that keeps me
sane and commands the sun to get lost
when he tries to yank me back into
reality ;

trains

trains are so **** stressful

i had no idea how much i'd learn to dread
their midnight cries two octaves out of my
singing range; they climb in my ears and
tell me to get lost- go back where i came from
cause I'm not cut out to run with these girls

and the biggest part of me wants to yell back
fine!
fine.
alright;
to the mountains i go

there is a point
where your legs will refuse you

your mind with lose you
and disagree with the words you write

your palms will ease;
slowly the tension slides off of you

as you wake up
in a purple nightgown delirious

you'll run and knock at the door of your bad habit
to find he has moved houses, and you don't remember
his phone number

4 a.m. your mind is clear
a new head sits upon your shoulders

I hate stomping on sparks,
Trying to be the first to erase
The butterflies
Choosing logic over the shared
Eye contact that made your heart
Thump as loud as the music playing
In your brain while your happiness
Danced around the room

But I'll stomp anyways so you don't crush me

you know she feels like she could collapse;
a house of cards waiting for a child to
sneeze and she quietly self destructs at her
own tempo, a golden castle made of
all your expired dreams waiting in your
laptop's trash cash waiting to be right
clicked and vanish. silky words slip out
of her mouth before she can even hear what
they're screaming these days and when
she look in the mirror she couldn't tell
you who's teeth she's brushing really

empty eyes and little lies
i used to know your name
little talks and skittle walks
i hate these kind of games

savannah's dead it's in my head
maybe i'm to blame

"Cheers to Lukie!"
We slammed our beer bottles together, I felt uncomfortable that in a tipsy spontaneous moment he'd yell that, I let it go.
"To Lukie!"
He yelled again and Lukie's face came rushing back into my memory; no ones supposed to die when they're this young.

I realized perhaps he wasn't in the wrong- keeping his spirit alive and present. I've been gone all these months but no one at home has forgotten him; he's not a name to keep tucked away on the bottom shelf. He was our friend. I knew the kid. It's surreal. He was kind, I don't claim to know him like the bunch who surrounded me in Salem tonight by any means, but I knew him. I've been to his house, I know his family, I understand. He was upbeat and in my experience with him, he was never anything but a fun time; he would've wanted us to celebrate I'd imagine.

"To Lukie," I said back.

My head feels like it’s holding a $100,00 vase that weighs 100 pounds with my slippery butter fingers and I haven’t been to the gym in weeks and my arms are getting tired

I cannot write if I am not in love and it is so **** annoying.

Dramatic ecstatic and all in between
You don't get your cake and you start to scream
Tomorrow you hate me today I am gold
But you are the one who claims this is old

Six word story

( i sat in my shower and cried for two hours and i'm the cleanest i've felt in a while )

I believe in beautiful things
I believe in change

your fingers tips they run up and down my mind
i can't resist the way your words melt down my spine

you've got a million little stars in your heart and they're all twinkling at me tonight, smiling watching us dance on other sides of the planet singing the same melody we wrote so many moons ago

nothing leaves a more sour taste than knowing you miss loving who someone once was and that they've evolved into a stranger