I don't know why I'm looking at your picture again
when all it ever does is make me cry.
I don't know why I can't settle for being your friend.
But I have a tendency to die right after I beat my high
score, as if I can't handle being good enough, because
nothing else ever is.
I guess that's why, when everyone turned playdates into
dates, I turned birthdays into confessions.
I'll play truth or dare with strangers, but I'll always pick dare,
because how can I say my truths out loud when I can't even
whisper them to myself alone in the dark?
And why is it so easy for me to flirt with your friend when I've
loved you for years an I can't even look you in the eye?
Why can't I put a pen to paper without writing your name?
If love always hurts then why do I spend half my time feeling empty?
How can I be jealous of the friends you text back when you're
fighting with them?
And here I am, trying so hard to be a good friend to you that I forgot
about the people who were good friends to me.
Why is it so hard to write about my feelings when I know exactly what they are?

I feel like a sick lady waiting for well wishes from my sisses and mates. I’ve been a giver and a settler and in three weeks, I found myself hanging in between. And now here I am, in my sickbed crying for attention— living in this pocket-sized, time-filler, slick box for most of my days just prying on everybody else’s lives to check how incomparable it is to live a life less like mine.

Everyday at five, the sun sets, overshadowing the blue sky with soft transitions of reds and oranges. And just right before I knew it days, weeks have already gone by. I found myself with nothing but dull empathy and collective misery. I re-spiraled down to the mantle of my being until it hit me— attention is cheap, but intention is gold. And I have wasted so much time, so much time, chasing the idea of perfect romance from the most impossible people. It made me worry, too, on how bad I have been in making decisions just to curtly satisfy my longing for any human who can provide even the slightest damp on my cold skin.

I’m not trying to compose a self-help quotable narrative nor ****-**** essay about self-love. I have stripped off the idea of 1-2-3s, of healthy coping mechanisms, of capturing perfect moments from the most mediocre, mundane fragments of life during my trying times. These past few encounters have been merely playdates and guessing games where I’ve lost sight of innocence and sincerity, making it hard for me to differentiate temporariness with permanence. And knowing kindness with or without an agenda is like a cloud in my head. Therefore, throughout these years, the flowers I planted have slowly wilted under the shade of infinite uncertainties. I have lost the love I was willing to give, and I can’t help but think that romance is not for me. I’m tired of giving and losing; I have given up moving mountains and breaking walls just to find myself being stabbed for being too much. From this day on, I am going to be me, with me. A bloke. A woman—alone in a swarm of parasites and flock of birds. A strong, pragmatic, detached woman in this horrifying epic journey of self-salvation.

—Advent
3:27am

This is who I am.

Thunder in the distance, coming or leaving? Staying or going? Coming or

Leaves falling from healthy trees like lush green flower petals, summer or autumn? Spring or winter? Summer or

Falling raindrops, water from seas you've never seen. Seas you've only touched. Creek or Sea? Lake or river? Creek or

Seeing children, small and smiling. Simple laughter, tantrum-less playdates and fairy tale stories. Park or playground? Street or yard? Park or

Playthings, dusty, slightly used. A yardsale full of stories. That was my favorite, once. Doll or teddy? Ball or necklace? Blanket or

Sheets blowing on gentle breezes. Wet, warm, drying. Not quite abandoned, but left to its devices. Lonely or purposed? Chore or necessity? Lonely or

Purposeful smiles for those you dislike. Cutting insults for those you enjoy. Love for sunshine. Love for Trash. Hatred for misses. Hatred for Jests. Cruel or fair? Friend or foe? Cruel or

Faires that leave no trace when they're gone. Festivals that stay only long enough for a single good memory. Happy memories with no roots. Steadfast or fantasy? Risky or Safe? Steadfast or

Fantasies about handholding, about side eyes and smiles, about inside jokes. Dreams about darkness, about imitators, about mistakes. Dream or Reality? Dream or Daydream? Dream or

Realities like calm water, allowing only ripples. Are you real? Is anyone? Are we dust and shadows? Real or fake? Real or fake? Real or

Thunder in the distance. Coming or leaving? Staying or running?

This is who I am.

I thought that we were lifelong mates.
We built sand castles in the air
We rode the Ferris Wheel up high
And looked down on the park below.
We raced the horses on the carousel
And it was always you who won.
I counted days between playdates.

We had so many things alike-
Ideas, dreams and silly games,
I never thought an end would come-
That you, with no farewell, would go
And leave me in the park alone.
You cannot have a tug-of-war
With no one on the other end.

The music lost some of it’s bounce
The horses didn’t prance so high
I never really understood
If it was something I did wrong
Or some other outside force
Had pulled on you to walk away
And leave me in the park alone.

Then suddenly you reappeared
Brand new hair style, altered name.
I knew at once that it was you
And ran to fetch the ball and jacks.
But after just a dozen games
You whispered  “time to go again
And this time with no coming back."

I stood forlorn and watched you leave.
The other kids were saddened too
But I, who walked-the-dog with you,
Was torn in places I thought safe.
I loved you like a special friend.
Your leaving was a kind of death.
I’m orphaned now in painful ways.

I thought a year or maybe two
Of growing up and moving on
Would cure the hollow space you left-
And to a small extent it did.
But every time I pass the park
And hear the carousel begin
I’m taken back to those good times
And I cannot but cry again.
                                                  ljm

It feels like we live in separate realities.
In your world the pop songs sparkle.
Shiny things bring a better quality
and the invisible hand of greed
is always the best option.

In my world there is anger and tears;
thirty-six years of disappointment
peppered with worldwide violence.
There is hunger and desperation
where it could be avoided.
There is aggression where compassion
would be better served.

In your world SUVs and mansions
seem to be the golden standard,
and everyone dreams of
acquiring enough new stuff
to beat the other consumers.

In my world there is war
There are people just beyond
my fingers reach,
children outside my door
still suffering.
While upper middle class mothers
are setting up scheduled playdates,
daughters are out getting date *****.

People making choices
that no one should have to make
like water, or electricity
like food or heating
like gas to get to work
or a non-holey t-shirt
like killing your own mother
or someone will **** you
and your little brother
like selling drugs to make ends meet
or working a job that does not
provide any real stability.

In your world
bland statements stir the masses,
simpletons lead
the desperate, separate
but same factions
and your identity
is a prepackaged
commodity.

In my world
I rage against stupidity
but this anger is
slowly killing me.
Chest tightening,
it is frightening
how the wealth is passed on
how success is passed around
how art is watered down
to the most basic
and remedial bits of
repetitive ****.

In your world;
You do not see what I see
but I still see you
and right now
you are breaking my heart.

I want no more
of these clues left inconsiderately
to be found fastidiously like serendipity
revealed...

I want no more
of my own thoughts clawing at me
     branches of a nightmarish tree
          from some sleepy-hollow invention
          due to my own insecurity's deluged
reflection...

I want no more
evenings alone in wild wondering
     while you're on muscles, mouths a'plundering
          or if you will fall for someone's
skillful ***, asunder'ing,
writhing like a whirlwind's hovering...

I want no more
of abscent mornings you leave to place
     upon my tears-painted face
          because this reality of our ****** space
continues to break
my heart's slowing pace.
displaced...

I want no more
of my breath suffocating,
     clutching my lungs while you make
          the rounds of a good host
lubricating
the stiff to placate'ing
     liberating our ghosts...

I want no more
my skull confused, diffused with lies
     echoes of the past and how readily
          you made me cry
yet always do i stay
high...

I want no more
of playdates with internet boys
     rather be it held between us
          compose our own manly joys
be firm and strong with the choice
valiant of voice...

I want no more
of complicated wishes & words
     which we hinge on softly speaking
          like penniless lords
retreating
the richness of god's open door.
seedlings.

I want no more
your scent on my tongue
     or your taste that I have sung,
over time's widening waste
diluting in my lungs...
I want no more
     my soul's slow divorce...
I'm effing done. Done with him, of course...

2.

Now I will burn hot as
the daylight
first and only
sun...

I am here
living by no one's rule
all I wanted was
a lovely word
the truth,

Now I want no more
illusions or lies
O how I will keep you
and give you back the sky
the world

the truth
is... love is alive

just watch how it shines...

every day
and in these nights,

looking toward the light...

I thought I'd quit smoking
to be a better woman..
My mother always told me
it wasn't something pretty girls did..
until about three beers in
when she would ask to borrow a light
and say,
"It's great that you think that shirt is flattering,
but maybe a size up would be more.. comfortable."
And I thought I'd quit smoking
to be a better lover..
Because it "wasn't ****" to keep a lighter
in the back pocket of my jeans,
and it "gave off the wrong vibe about me"
and I always tasted like smoke..
Then, I thought I'd quit smoking
to be a better person, I guess..
Because I moved to the suburbs,
made friends with other moms,
who got wine drunk on Tuesdays,
and talked about nail salons,
playdates,
and brunch.
So I thought I'd quit smoking
to live longer, they said.
Because the warning was printed
and the science was in..
and the only thing,
they said for certain,
was that cigarettes killed.
But my mother found new criticisms,
and that boy left anyway,
The suburbs were terrible
and people I loved died regardless.
So, I realized,
**** that.
and opened a new pack.

Poetry, plants, painting, peace
Swimming, singing, sauna
Repeat

Nourishing, nurturing
Flourishing, furnishing

Baking, booking, bedding, bath-ing
Tickling, hiding, seeking, laughing

Sitting in silence

Walking in sunshine

Barefeet on sand

Coffee with friends

Pick ups, drop offs
playdates and parties

Nights out, nights in

Good friends and gin

New moons and full moons

A sky full of stars

Cycles and circles
Women and tea

Poetry, plants, painting, peace
Swimming, singing, sauna
Repeat

Perhaps, I was a peasant in love,
a partly pleasant player
in the prose and poetry
that I present to thee
my cherished queen
of love laden dreams.

Perhaps, I was
the curious cockroach
crawling across
the curators
favorite canvass,
the portrait of our
beloved queen,
to be crushed
carelessly by
the callous king,
becoming a small stain
on the otherwise
unblemished
painting.

Perhaps,
before we past
parting ways,
pondering
old playdates
when we played,
I was your partner
in strange adventures
before my feelings
became too complicated,
before I became
the crestfallen fool,
the King’s favorite jester
who made you laugh
while I tore myself in half
for the sake of your wellbeing.

Now my twin wanders somewhere
out there
unburdened by the broken heart
and if you see him
send him back
so, I can be him
once again.

i could just run away from the feelings

stuffed in a ***** little bottle

however the actions of others are not determined my the restless beating of my heart.



first went the girl with the long blonde hair

guns and helicopters and doctors' appointments

her backpack was passed around, making it lighter when it returned.



the tall boy opened his mouth next

tumors and legs and feeling alone

his package, too, was passed around for a lighter carry.



the girl with the round glasses looked up

police and fathers and lost purity

everyone took from her heavy bag to loosen the load.



the thin boy with the cuts spoke too

custody and friends and playdates

his luggage was considerably lighter by the time it came back.



the short girl with the large jacket decided to go

voices and death and silence

her satchel was not as full when it was placed back in her trembling hands.



finally, words jumbled at my lips

toxicity. guilt. shame. 

i couldn't hold back, my pack was too heavy

anxiety. fear. dread.

i had to take some weight off of me

anger. rage. hurt.



i opened my eyes, expecting pools of disgust on their faces

instead i see i thousand, shattered, mirrors staring back at me.

about the fights

the arguments

the ignoring


the sleepovers

the playdates

the parties

the birthdays


the everything



no ones perfect and i don’t expect you to be,

i wish you would talk to me more,

hug me more,

look at me more,

is this a sign of “hey,, i love you?”

god i don’t know anymore

i’ve broken my heart so many times

you’re all that’s on my mind

god i wish i could see you one more time



but youre hers.

and she’s yours.



she’s mine.

i’m not sure if i’m hers.


feelings are dumb

feelings are stupid


i really do think i love you

but as you said


“i think it was platonic”

“i think i lost feelings”


i don’t blame you after all

it was 3 years ago


i just wish i had you all those years


i wish you were my girlfriend?


maybe it’s the loneliness.


maybe it’s the mood swings.


maybe i don’t want anyone right now.


i honestly don’t know.


but believe me when i say,


i love you

Feliz Navidad we sing.
The Christmas show. A
Warning is said. "I'm
Leaving. New York."
Then Sydnie left.
Without our glue,
Joanna and I strayed
Away. I was five.

I found a new friend.
Lilly. We played. At the
Park, at school, art class.
She was gone, last day
Of school. "Who will see
Her this summer?" "I will."
Her magnet still hangs on
My fridge. I was six.

Girl Scouts. Bullying.
Hailey and Hannah were
There. We went to the
Zoo, on playdates. Friends
Came and left along the
Way, but they have always
Been there. I was seven.
She came up to me in gym.
A year older than me. I
Was running alone. Playing
A game I called homeless;
Basketball. Erica opened me up.
I talked to her and her friends
before school. Boys. Bagels.
One of them smoked. Last day
of school. She was moving.
I was eleven.

Summertime has ended. School is
Back, as is dance. I'm taking
A new class. Modern. Sophie just
Moved here. Over the year, we
Create Jimmothy Timmons and I
**** her snake, kind of.
I was twelve.

A boy sits next to me in Social
Studies. Ethan. He plays video
Games. I've always wanted to.
Another boy, Cormack looks
Over. He has a crush on me. The
Three of us talk at my locker
Every day. Cormack lies. They both
ask me to the dance. I was thirteen.
A girl runs up to me in gym.
Cindy. I talk to her. We play
Homeless, and talk about boys.
She has anxiety, like me.
I was thirteen.

I look over to my left one day
At lunch. It's Cindy, and...
Sophie? She goes to my school?
And it's Rebecca, and Maren, and
Sophia, and Grace, and Aillyana.
Over the year, I switch from
Facing Hailey and Hannah, to
them. I was thirteen.

Ethan and I text all the time.
We go to two dances. Cormack
Still tries to talk to me, still
Comes to my house, but I don't
Let him in. I was thirteen.

Ethan gives me a letter. It takes
A few days for me to read it. We
Never end up dating. I was thirteen.

I'm still friends with Hailey and
Hannah. With Cindy, Sophie, Rebecca,
Maren, Sophia, Grace, and Aillyana.
We all become friends with Joey,
And hang out all the time. I dance
With some of them. I have another
Family now, my Impulse girls. I
Will be rooming with Cindy next
Year. At school dances, we make
A salsa circle. We had around
Twenty people join us once.
I've made friends along the way.
Jośe, Aíne, Celia, Rose, Ananya,
Erin, Ginny, Abbey, Devon, Bella,
Three Emmas, Angelina, Claire,
Carley, Karina, Naomi, Riley, Oliva,
Abi, Sarah, Rachel, Allison, Tanu,
And many others. I've lost even more
Friends. Kennedy, Sonya, Brooke,
Cristopher, Aisa, Yusuf, Zoey, Emily,
Hallie, Chelsea, Gianna, Autumn, two
Jades, Donovan, Olive, Kaitlin, and
More. But I love the ones I've kept,
and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am seventeen.

Where did you go?
I have been missing you. You know?
What happened to you? Did life destroy you that bad?
Remember when we would dance in our room and dream of growing up.
I wish somebody would have told us that the future would hurt.
Remember those endless playdates with your friends everyday afterschool?
When homework wasn’t a thing.
When boys didn't matter that much.
When we didn't care what people said about us.
When were free and life was so easy.
But after all we wanted to grow up. We dreamed of it.
And,well, here we are. I miss you. You were good to me.
I do have question for you. Was I always so sad?
Would mean a lot if you could let me know.

XOXO

Older you ;)