I can hear it slicing through my brain,
like a sharp, stray tune of imperfect melody.
It tampers with desolate whimpers
A cry for attention
My contoured skin is peeled away
by those words

"Never will I be,
Pretty."

If I could just cut it off
like excess skin
like layers of flabby fats

If there's a liposuction
for dark thoughts
If I can tuck it
away from my tummy

I'd do it in a heartbeat.

he is like an unfinished painting
a song with secretive lyrics
he spills a line then retracts a paragraph
with his eyes; that wide ocean
of unending metaphors
he watches and keeps to himself
a bag full of captured moments

and i am a bird, perched on an ordinary tree
i craned my neck, yet he couldn't see
my subtle melody, another mystery,
trapped underneath the leaves
i beg for mercy from a worm
that was supposed to be my meal

there are no trees across the ocean.

even in the negatives
i will never be cleared
or towed away in his collection of polaroids
yet in between my words, there he is
coloring the spaces my ink left
filling and filling and spilling
on my bed sheet, in my closet
among the neurons in my head

there will never be trees across the ocean.

The most destructive vice I've ever known
is no drink or herb,
but her salty ocean blue eyes;
in which all my love and hope lies.

Tobacco and wine
Flowers and pine
Our love was bittersweet
I loved how I hated you
And you hated how you loved me
Together, a chaotic symphony

As a writer
I just want my words to reach out
With nimble hands
And play
the bright strings of light that connect us
Like a harp
To send vibrations through the world
Along these passage ways
And maybe stumble along
Finding the red strings to peoples hearts
And pluck at them lightly
Sending out notes
A bit deeper than before
In hopes of reminding them
How important it is
To feel something .

I'm the combination of too many wrong words
And not enough of the right ones.