.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.i keepbutterfliesin mystomach;pierce holesthrough sowe canbreathe
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
.misery lovescompany aslong as it'son his termsand i've abetter chanceof winningif i just playby the rules
.winter gavebirth to a baby,cold and still
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.i will notlove for fearof losingand if afondnessshould creepthrough likeivy, i'll cut itback
.pour love allover, then strikea match;the fire willburn itself out,but the ruinswill smoulder
.the breathin my lungs -you tookeverything
.you got given a life,now you have to earn your living
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.just try not tothink ofthat memory, that onewolf that callsfor the restof the pack;you'll spend allnight howlingwith them insideyour head
.tonight across the street i sawthe devil sneak into god's garden;he took trowel in hand, planted seedsin the earth, grinned real wide andshut the white gate behind him(gonna come up smelling of roses)
.my cat has ninelives and i fear he willspend each one doingthe same fuckingthingstaring out of thewindow at the birds onthe fence, when he could beout there, sinking histeeth in
binge eatingi have a buildupof black holessuffocating my arteries,having swallowed downthe bitter taste of too manygirls with galaxies travelingthe length of their spines.i ate them in mouthfuls,gaping & sad like a bingereaching for the skies-unable to hold them all in.i don’t think the universeis as vast& wondrousas it used to be,thrivingbetween theintercostal spacesof my ribs;i am hungry.& with a collectionof moon sighsas a reminderin my pockets,i will just have to learnhow to calm this swollenindigo pulse while eating.
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,the longest night of the year.you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.i knew you were not meant to last,powerful as a gale but fragile asthe tulip stems you snapped,a sickening cycle of you,an overwhelming tidal wave.they say two wrongs will never make a right,but i made so many bad choices thati wound up back where I began.it was too easy to love you,but getting you to love me back was impossible.i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,until my nails split into shards.you were born a phantom,and i, your corpse.holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;i fought but always sank into your arms.i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, andfound my organs choked with you,smothered by your existence.you sucked out my breathevery time i kissed you.i died every day with your handknotted in my hair.You left on june 21st,the longest day of the year.i bit down sorrow and deconstructedthe labyrinth within me,the one you hadn't th
Goodnight MoonThe battered sky bloomsas the dark teabag stainunder her weary eyes.Like the coupletstrung around her necklaceand embeddedwith teeth marks -jewels impressed intothe vast expansive skyof her laden shoulderbones.The bruise darkensand the stars seem impossible.Too far awayand smiling a long dead smile.But somewhere a pomegranate lip,swollen with the disdainthat he made her swallow -somewhere, those lipsfind the courage to sayGoodnight.
a.m./p.m.i put my handsin the stars-feathery hair, coldskin and cyanosis fed, i realize that i amnothing. born in neither winteror spring, crying aboutcherry tree spines andthrowing stones, iwas left for thewolves. it is the dawn ofFebruary, and i am so close toseventeen that i cantaste it; i am very nearly choking on age. the sky beckons me most at 11:49 pm, becauseit's hovering between tomorrow and yesterday--that destroys me. i want to burn it to theground, breathethe ashes in like cigarettes ondirty curbs. i am stuck here in a windowless town witha thousand memories stuck between my canines;into the wind, i drop words like deadweights. take me home.
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,i have thissudden urge to cutmy hair.most of the time,i just wish I were anythingother than me.a rocket ship, a bird-the sweet flavored smokeI promised my girlfriendthese briar patch lungswould not in.hale.instead,i have fallen in lovewith the strangest of things-eyes that intimidategodless boys.the way my scarsplay hide and seekwith her hands. -the love lettersthat start and endwith kissespressed against limbs.i make promisesi know i can not keep.but if i were a liari would say i was tiredof writing to the stars.
Post-It Notes to Send Back in Time (part 2)i.You own your own body.Your life is yours.And don’t letanyoneevertell you otherwise.ii.It’s okay to believe in God.It’s okay not to.And it’s okay to go back and forthbetween the twobecause no god worth believing inwould punish youfor doubt or disbelief.iii.Learn how to take a compliment.iv.Invisibility isn’t so bad.When people notice youthey scrutinize you.If they don’t see youyou have ultimate freedom.So don’t be afraid to hide in that corner.Own that corner. It’s yours.v.Pay no heed to art snobs.vi.Don’t be an art snob yourself.vii.Remember how you were toldthat every time you “sinned” it wasequivalent to crucifying Jesusall over againso every mistake you madeno matter how smallmade you feel like you’d killed someone?Yeah. That was bullshit.viii.It’s okay to not have a boyfriend.It’s okay to not want one.ix.Hate is not the problem,it’s what you h
Cancer has a smell.Old classics,lilac air-fresheners,the half cup ofpeppermint ice creamthat’s beensitting in your freezerfor weeks, and cat litter.He won’t eat anymore,but there arepiles and pilesof dirty dishessitting in the sink.He’s slowlydisintegratingbefore your eyes.You can wrapyour whole selfaround his tiny bonesnow.You can hold himlike he used to hold youall those years ago.And you are angry.You try to findsomeone,or somethingto blame.You hate doctors,and you hateNovember now.November meansbirthdays, diagnoses,chemo treatments,and realization.You have to force yourselfto stop crying,every day.This is the one personwho’s always had faithin you.He’s read every poemand hoarded every awardyou ever won.You ignore statistics,because rosesthey alwayssmell nicer.
Just RightThey called me The White Whale.I dreamed of carving off my blubber,perhaps learning to breathefor minutes at a timeso I could sing,because whales are elusive.The ocean is vast. I could have livedwithout another pinch, another poke, anotherhe only loves you for your tits. Get a tan,go for a jog, are you gonna eator assimilate?Their harpoons were steady.They had no remorse, a close friend told me,"I just want you to be healthy." She braided my hair,complimented the color, my eyes a drizzle,said there was a mermaid hiding in my shape,I started smoking the next day.I used to pace from the cabinetto the basement with armfuls of confections, I hid behind our yellow shed and guzzledblack coffee, nicotine, green tea, THC,with giddiness turned vibrant,all colors shook,the first person to noticesaid he didn't know I could look so good.I found my cheekbones, polished my scales,glittered and flitted and flirted and swam in schools of gaping grou
.how to comfort someonewith an anxiety disorder: tell them to grow up.god knowsthat they only panic because they're just not old enoughto handle themselves. say that it's notthat bad.because, hey,since it's not bad for you,it can't be for them. that's just how it works,right?"calm down".this oneis my personal favorite.because the one thingthat i want to hearwhen i'm choking on my own sweatand heartis that i need to calm down.
Wistful"I am the boy who wants to loveyour misshapen words,your broken hearted pieces,andyour ink split fingers.I am the boy who wants to kissthose scar tattooed arms,that tear stained faceandmend what has been broken. I am the boy who canand willmake your heartsing poetry again."If only he would say itnowlike he hadthen.
a-positivemy father once told me that you can’t marry someone with your same blood type.chances are your children would emerge with a myriad of deformities;your DNA strands wouldn't coincide the way your souls would.this hit me with the realization that maybe, in a time before this one,someone foresaw the way we would look at each other and decidedwe were a secret better kept hidden.this morning was the first in a long time that i woke up feeling beautifulwithout a boy convincing me so the night before. is this what freedom feels like?heart spilling out of my chest and alveoli snapping into place.this is untouched skin:smooth and lightened, lotioned with a sense of confidence.war-torn with wanton and longing for limbs no longer here.is there a name for that two-in-the-morning feeling?the way guts wrench themselves open and botanical gardens scream.is this what capillaries do when no one is looking?cry or maybe wonder if they will ever see light again.there just might be an
.tiny heart drummingin your chest, i canhear youred gravy pumpingin your veins, i cansmell youyou are such a freshmeal, and i can almosttaste you