May 15
poem 0 comments

And I Am A Tin-Man

I sink into the tar,
The black substance slowly oozing around my arms,
Like creeping vines of rationalized sickness.
I breathe in, the sticky substance tapping on my lips,
Begging to choke me.
The cold mirror in my hand sends chills up to my cheeks,
Dulling the rose-colored ashes that once stained them,
Burned there from years of silent sobs and deafening whispers. 
I feel my blood stop pumping, turning to iron.
My veins become wire, and my body doesn't belong to me anymore.
My heart is a tin can,
And I 
Am
A
Tin
Man
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Posted: 05.15.18
May 14
poem 0 comments

Scarlett

She perches on a rock,
Her back straight and arms up,
Carding though her strawberry hair,
The flowers I once planted there have long since wilted,
And as I gaze upon her from afar 
he becomes more ethereal.
I have a strange hiraeth for her,
as if I had once, myself, lived in her spirit.
 
I am a woman of skepticism yet,
Something about this woman makes my mind think that there is a God
The glowing Incandescence in my own body, produced by her sparkling eyes
And her rain stained lips,
soft like the words she spoke were lavender,
Cherry.
Peach.
Slowly grows brighter as she hums and rubs her cheek,
The spot of a man's hand engrained there,
Like it was acid,
Like it was his rightful home. 
And though the world surround her,
Trees and lily flowers of every shape and color,
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Posted: 05.14.18
May 12
poem 1 comment

Ophelia


She sits on the end of my bed,

her heart rabbiting against her ribs

as her mind works to create a forest around her body,

the branches caressing her wrists 

the spitting image of an ineffable Ophelia

Her hair fans on the cranberry red sheets

as her mouth spills secrets like wine

in the hand of a thunderstorm 

Her hands flex open and closed,

dripping her sickness through an IV that’s been removed for years

Her cheeks rise and fall like she’s trying to remember how to smile

I ask her why she does this and she laughs at me 

saying that

I

am

the 

beginning

of 

her 

end
 
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Posted: 05.12.18
Apr 30
poem 1 comment

Out Of Smoke and Stars, The Latter Loses.

Her face turns cold as stone
as I watch her father grip her shirt,
pulling her forward, touching their foreheads together,
his face red as he dictates what she can and cannot be.

I watch as my best friend's heart is torn out
by the person who made it.
The slurs that fall from his cold, chapped lips 
and the smoke that curls from a cigarette left burning in a dish by the door
remind me of our childhood,
here, in this home, the place that always smelled 
slightly like lavender and incense,
the air fogged with lost inhibitions.

And as he swings at her, his eyes wild and his ears shut,
deaf to her pleas,
I remember holding her close,
hugging her body, wrapping mine around her while
she sobbed about her mother-- lying dead in the soil behind her home.

I remember how we found each other when we were both suffocating,

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Posted: 04.30.18
Apr 24
poem 0 comments

21st Century Appeal

Twenty First Century Appeal body:
Everything is exploitable,
No one has to care,
Everything is avoidable,
No one has to share.

Anything is obtainable,
No one has to try,
Anything is sustainable,
No one has to lie.

But everyone pillages and everyone steals,
It's the twenty-first-century appeal.

Someone tell me,
Am I crazy?
For thinking there’s more than this?
More than the wicked lips and dripping saline?
More than ignorance and bliss?

Someone tell me,
Am I hazy?
For hoping there's something more than this?
The electronic trees and iron lungs?
More than the shoving and pushing daily?
Someone tell me.

Everything is expendable,
No one has to save,
Everything is commendable,
No one has to play.

Anything is realizable
No one has to heal,
Anything is logistical,
No one has to feel.
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Posted: 04.24.18
Apr 24
poem 0 comments

Harp


He told me I could do things,
The things that made my stomach 
Turn upside down.
I felt my veins pull at my heart
As I did them,
But he made a harp from my bones
And he cured me with the melodies.
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Posted: 04.24.18
Apr 24
poem 0 comments

Steel

I can't remember,
Did I tell my parents I loved them
This morning?

I wonder if they're sitting in bed, talking about vacation-
Or if they went out for breakfast. 

I can't remember the last thing they said to me.
Did it matter at the time? I don't know.

I never listen to them, 
Dismissive with an eye-roll and a 
'Maybe later'

I can't remember when I last told them I loved them,
And I can't remember if it matters. 
 
 
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Posted: 04.24.18
Apr 24
poem 0 comments

Maybe It's Me


I don't know if I owe you something,
If I can pay you in the blood on my hands,
If I can compensate with my orange bottles.
I don't know if I am a fool 
For holding your hand while you held hers,
I don't know if I am an idiot for wearing dark sunglasses inside,
The ones that blinded me from her eyes.
Maybe there's something wrong with me,
Maybe there's something in my head 
That won't let me let go.
And that night you talked with me when you were drunk,
And you said you loved me,
And then you slept under sheets of her bed,
And I felt my heart stop beating the rhythm of your name,
Maybe it's my fault for tearing it out completely instead of letting myself
Live without you.
 Maybe it's all me. 
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Posted: 04.24.18
Apr 24
poem 0 comments

Reflection

Apr 10
poem 0 comments

Black Blood

I look down at the bench,
As she tells me she doesn't
Want to live her life
And my eyes cant meet hers,
Because I love her
And how could she not love herself
When I bled out to keep her heart beating?
How could she cry her black blood out,
When I gave her my veins
So she could live.
And how could she take that knife 
Infront of my sobbing face
And cut the rope that 
Tied her to this world
As I begged her to stop
And she laughed at my cries
And bled herself out just 
To prove me wrong
When I said
"You could never make me hate you."  
 
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Posted: 04.10.18

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