Apr 30

Too Heavy

I've known her from before I could breathe,

Since my life truly hung in the balance of the 

fleshy cords that strummed chords to my stomach

I've known her since the small 

particles connected to my flesh and moved my 

lips ever so slightly 

Alerting the world that I was here.

She's never faltered, though she's changed,

And I don't talk to her as much as I should,

It's far too painful.

The sinking feeling of months in between us

And state lines beneath us are much too heavy.

But I can't imagine this world without her light

And she may be the one soul I can look for when 

I'm lost among my unweeded garden of intrusive thinking

And unwelcome anxieties.

All I  can do is yell out her name 

And hope to see her blue eyes in the constellations 

above me at night,
Mar 26

Swallow Me








i’ve lied on floors before,

unabashed and wailing

contemplating my death days 

before the sun could even rise 

and i’ve writhed in agony 

in the arms of my looping carpet.

but never before have i hated each atom, each molecule of wretched air twisted in putrid and vile weaving ribbons like i do now,

lying on an acrylic floor 

hating myself and hating everything. 

i have never before despised the birdsong playing around me in a lovely melody so sickening it makes me wish the floor would melt around me and swallow me up. 

swallow me. 

swallow me. 

swallow me. 

finish what you’ve started. infect me with your decrepit dreams of isolation and damn those who dare to laugh at you as if it is we who are lucky when they can try it again next year,

and i was numb and i was broken and i am angry. 
Mar 23

Dramatic Monologue

    I remember the day I died, less than the day I was born but more than the first day I said my own name. I remember how I got there just as well as when I left, and your  voice still echoes on the pages that I tear up for warmth among the blazing hellscape buried beneath. 
“It is not about how you get there, or how quickly you make it, it is about who you get there for. You will spend the rest of your life trying to get there, and when you finally do, there will be no one left waiting for you. I won’t even be there to say ‘I told you so’”
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.

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