Feb 23

Six Too Fast



six too fast

it creeps in—

crawling its way up my esophagus 

laying heavy on my tongue

the bitter bile burning the cave top

sizzling sicklets of blood bouncing

off taste buds and settling in the 

concave caverns of bone

a small pool for the acid soldiers to rest.

my stomach churns, 

expanding insides to ripped seams,

IV fluid building up in the corridors of flesh, 

my eyes are fading and someone is saying something somewhere but 

i can’t listen because the inside of my mouth is raw and bloody

and full of phantom sores 

and my heart, pumps one beat too slow.

then six too fast.

second time’s the charm. 
 
Feb 11

How Dare You (To The Boy In A Building)


how dare you make me feel like i was over reacting

how dare you. 

you walk by me. 

once. 

twice. 

and again. 

and again 

and again 

and again 

and i’ve lost count how many times

your eyes have flickered from the drawstring on your sweatpants to the triangle of negative space formed by the 

way i sit on the floor—

legs locked and crossed. 

you stared down the trash can. as if it was so interesting to you, 

hands hidden against the purplish brown plastic, 

but still clearly in front of you, 

like a child whining in line 

‘you should have gone before we left’ 

in a way i wish that’s all you were doing. 

a gross display of shamelessness, but no. 

you just keep walking back and forth. 

i alert my friends,

we all squish against the wall,
Feb 09

you

Feb 09

i can hear you

i can hear you. 

i can hear you 

i can hear you




i know you know i can 




but you still don’t care enough 

to shut up 




you don’t care enough to spare my feelings


you leave me to craft grim reapers out of salt soaked tissues given by a friend two hundred and sixteen miles away 


i wish you were that far, 

maybe then i wouldn’t feel so worthless 

maybe then you wouldn’t slaughter me with your words, 

plucked from a dictionary binded with back-door insults by grub street poets. 


you always make it worse. 

i crave your absence in times like these. 

please,

leave.
 
Feb 04

curse drunk

you're always drinking 
more than you can digest 
but you only deflect 
and you claim no violence 
but then i hear from below me 
your screams and slams 
an echo of your childhood, 
laced with hers, too. 
and i've seen how it ruined you
and her, maybe a little less 
but still enough that it will always linger. 
and i won't have my years
ripped from me like that 
it would be better not to know you 
then to know you like this 
because fear bubbles up in me 
when i hear your spitting rage 
and muffled breaking of plates 
in the kitchen i once found safe, 
i lock my door, then. 
just in case, 
you finally decide to 
take it out on me. 
 
Feb 04

curse drunk

you're always drinking 
more than you can digest 
but you only deflect 
and you claim no violence 
but then i hear from below me 
your screams and slams 
an echo of your childhood, 
laced with hers, too. 
and i've seen how it ruined you
and her, maybe a little less 
but still enough that it will always linger. 
and i won't have my years
ripped from me like that 
it would be better not to know you 
then to know you like this 
because fear bubbles up in me 
when i hear your spitting rage 
and muffled breaking of plates 
in the kitchen i once found safe, 
mans i lock my door, then. 
just in case, 
you finally decide to 
take it out on me. 
 
Jan 29

01-28-04

to my soul mate; you’ve grown so much— so fast. it’s been ten years since i met you, your baby hairs swimming in the breeze that occupied the summer air. Small scrapes upon your knees marking pavements walked by phantom dreams. it’s been nine  years since the need to knock felt trivial, it’s been eight since i called you anything less than a sister. it’s been seven since you kept me alive, unknowingly breathing light and life into my soul, subconsciously promising that life wasn’t done with me quite yet. it’s been six since i felt your family was good as my own, and mine yours. it’s been five since i named my fish after you. she died, like they all did— but somehow yours was sadder. it’s been 4 since i left everything i knew but you were still there, three since i took little capsules of happiness, rendered obscure on the days i saw you, two since you joined me, one since our walks through death’s halls of fame, and zero since i loved you.
Jan 29

The room above my birth

there’s still an indent,
where the tan fabric used to hang,
and there remains
a tint of greeen, below the pink,
above the orange.
small phantom footsteps 
discovering the pressure points beneath the rug.
then, a quiet voice, 
trickling through the thick air;
‘goodnight sweetheart, i hate to go.’
Memories faded against 
name changes and forgotten linens
lurking in lock boxes through 
anger of expectations —
rabbits running above dust bunnies hidden under the 
sticker clad wardrobe.
and there is blood dried
from soles well worn against
the small waves of fibers,
stitched in ugly browns 
and beautiful hands.
a collective worth more than ten lives;
but could never be sold for more than a penny.
and in the middle — two children, lying alone,
counting acrylic stars adhered to the roof above...
a world not yet unknown — 
in the room above my birth. 
Jan 26

thumb pick

i wish i knew you. 

god, i’ve heard so much. 

i don’t know your eye color 

and 

somehow i always feel guilty 

when people ask 

‘remember?’

and i know i was there 

but 

it still feels like

i was never there 

at

all 

i can remember the way 

you made me feel, 

in a way. 

it’s quite dull 

and fading now. 

everyone talks about how 

amazing you 

were— their eyes 

light up

and i can’t stand it 

because i can’t 

feel that way about a stranger. 

and that’s what you are. 

a stranger. 

without photographs 

you would just be another face 

in the crowd.
 
Dec 05

thursday

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