Feb 20

Accidental Living

We are fighting entropy 
in our sleep.

We fold the blankets halfway over, 
fill our brains with blue light,
fall asleep on our sides. 

I recognize your desperate face
in the moon's craters. 
I find your fingerprints 
in paper bags, my bedroom doorknob, oranges: 
sweet smelling with the nectar of cities
and dirty rainwater, pouring down dirty pavement
after the first spring storm. 

I wouldn't say I'm looking for you,
just noticing the way traces of you
are sprinkled over my life. 

I might be falling apart,
I might miss something I've never had, 
I might accidentally love everyone who smiles at me,
but I refuse to believe I'm the opposite of entropy. 

Feb 13


Feb 12


I aspire to write anything 
worse than the sun. 
It threatens
to drive me to the nearest gas station,
refill my heart to overflow,
leave small expanses behind. 

I don't strive for perfection 
(only brutal honesty).

Had I understood I would've throw you a line, 
hauled you a try at living,
given you two hands. 

Maybe I don't know what it's like to vow 
my life away 
or to talk without "but" attached to the end of my nose
but I've had thousands of horrible chances.

I'm sacred of myself when I pay for hypotheticals online
and leave with locked doors in my wake. 
I'm contradictory.

We're all in convalenscene
(surely, it's not my fault). 
Feb 06

Soap- spoken word

Feb 01


There is sunshine this morning. 
It warps the frost on the window,
melts frozen feathers into my palm, 
dampens the folded cuff of my coat. 
I'm not waiting for anyone. 

This morning there is music resonating
down the hallway at school. 
Someone stands in the center of a room to my right,
mouth open,
dancing with words,
smiling only half as wide as me. 

There's ink on my wrist,
blued from writing late into the night 
when my bare feet refused to walk
in the solitary dark to the cold sink down the hall, 
wash my hands
with frothy soap under endless water. 

I wish for a fleeting second I could light a tall candle,
sit criss crossed on my bedroom floor, 
watch the wax tip into the tilting Earth
as I suffocate the gap between night and day. 

Instead, I press my head down, 
will myself to burn the memory
of the dancing figure 
Jan 25


He's there, on the corner.
The kind of boy who looks
at you like the sun. 

But you belong
to warm winter rain,
the kind that buries people under raincoats
and smells waxy, like summer stars. 
He should know by now,
you told him that night,
when hands smelled like apples
and the sky wouldn't let go of its daylight. 

After a while, he'll remember what it's like to have rain
as only a friend, grow tired 
of damp hair and falling
asleep to thunderstorms.
He'll move to a place
like the Atacama,
where you have to dig
ten feet to find me. 
Jan 16

Winter Colors

Jan 14


I survive on pretending. 
I don't notice 
the empty seat on the bus; 
the faraway sound of lonely 
through my foggy bedroom window. 

I'm acquainted
with everything related to the dark, 
and nothing with his hands. 

I pinch myself in the hall
to keep from looking. Or crying. 
Or both. 

I forget half of myself
under the bed
and am reduced, instead, 
to writing in the backs of books. 

I'm smothering myself,

He is the thief
behind the broken glass
on the bathroom floor. 
Jan 07

The Dreams I Have When I'm Scared of Death

I woke up crying
this morning, 
there was the taste 
of gun shots in my mouth,
the sound of your name 
stuck between my teeth. 

I remember dreaming of your hands last night. 

I missed you then,
not anymore. 
I won't let myself. 

You had build a wall of chairs
to keep out the guns.
You were afraid.
Not crying. 

I've never seen you cry.
You look at me
like you know what I am with tears on my face. 

When I looked down
there was blood on my jeans 
and it wasn't mine. 

I guess this is an apology.

I guess I'm sorry I don't miss you. 
I'm sorry that my dreams 
are coming true tomorrow. 
I'm sorry your hands are always cold.
I'm sorry thier guns worked.
I'm sorry you died trying to save me. 
I'm sorry it didn't rain for you. 
I'm sorry I didn't lock the door fast enough.