Oct 19

i only chew bubblegum:

I run on energy drinks 
and loose change 
and an almost empty gas tank 
and there is newspaper 
in my closet 
and empty picture frames on my floor 
and more and more 
I am uninspired by the 
sky above me 
I arrive on time 
to places I don't want to be 
and tell jokes that rub my 
past self 
the wrong way 
and I will light a candle 
for everyone who has 
mispronounced my name 
and then burn my house to the ground 
and it is spite 
that fuels my will to 
succeed 
and the voice in my head 
that says 
you take yourself 
too seriously 
that slows me down 
and scary movies make me laugh 
and I like it when photos are 
blurry 
or when telephones
have a curly cord 
i wish i could pull off
red lipstick 
but i was made to wear 
pink gloss 
and smudged mascara 
there is a war 
on the tip of my tongue
Oct 07

Don't forget to write it down:

To Do: 
  • clean the bathroom 
  • pack a lunch 
  • find a stone the color of your eyes
  • figure out where the garden gnomes keep going 
  • finish questions for chapters 1-4
  • wish on the fish at the bottom of the pond 
  • reaccount the exact happenings of Monday morning
  • pick up milk
  • hide from the ghost in the attic (learn its name) 
  • try and predict this week's weather 
  • forget the fears of Friday night 
  • vacuum bedroom
Oct 06

i am less and less my own:

I have my fathers eyes 
and tendency toward resentment 
and my mothers hands look 
just like mine 
but my nose is my own 
shaped by unkown allergies
and blood stained tissues
and my mothers 
fear 
was placed underneath my
ribcage 
before my first breath 
because I was built 
from the inside out 
and I am sorry 
that I don't have answers 
and only questions 
it comes with the 
blonde hair 
and each time I 
look into his eyes 
and see anger 
I know it too 
lives in me 
for we are all made of bits 
and pieces 
Sep 21

tu es mon seul amour chéri:

sometimes 
after a cigarette 
you let your hands 
trail over the texture 
of your jeans 

sometimes 
late at night 
you idealize paris 
and promise to fall in love with me 
while sipping coffee 
and considering the shape of the Eiffel tower 

sometimes 
you dance slowly 
on the shagg carpet 
with tears in your eyes 
pulling me close and whispering 
words to a song you don't know 

sometimes 
i worry about 
how often you watch the
ground 
instead of the sky above 

parfois
il n'est pas facile de t'aimer
parceque tu es si tres loin
et toujours brise

sometimes 
i too 
dream of paris 
Sep 19

we're closed come back tomorrow:

ive started to notice 
that im bleeding from my 
chest 

and I am staining the carpet

leaving foot prints that track 
my restless mind 
and hungry stomach 

there are splotches on the 
ceiling where 
the white of the walls 
left their carefully marked boundaries 
migrating into one another 

we buy bus tickets to a town 
called hope 

only visiting 
not able to afford 
the expensive housing  

instead we will travel 
with coins in our pockets 
trying our best to repair the wounds 
we acquire along the way 

gathering missing parts 
and extra pieces 

the carpets 
will remember out broken hearts 
and the pain they brought with them 

but the walls remember the 
joy 

of tea late at night
and coffee in the morning 

for we are smiling more often 
then we are not 
Sep 02

remember the earth worms:

do you remember 
the day you missed 
in 3rd grade 
when we all learned how to fall 
in love 
with the clovers 
that sprouted between 
blades of grass 
how we spent nights 
with our eyelids propped 
open 
with hope and 
impatience 
easy laughs and 
playground romance 
now we fall asleep quickly 
anxious for the relief 
of an Unconscious mind 
now i write my worries 
on scraps of paper 
that are shoved into a pillow 
missing some of the stuffing 
my head hurts 
and my bones are no longer 
strong 
today is impatient 
and fell in love with tomorrow 
and the days tumble over each other 
urging me to grow up 
like a sunflower 
or a black hole 
what if i get hit by a bus 
before i hit play 
what if i die careful 

fall down and get up again 

but my legs are tired
and there's still so much to do 
Aug 27

I'm so tired, tomorrow though.

there is gaps
between my breaths 

that take up
more time
than they should 

more gone than 
there 

i have a new callus 
on the crease of my 
index finger 

and a bruise 
on my knee 
mixed in with grass 

and the bite 
of almost tomorrow 

and street lights 
that flash across my 
thighs 
highlighting scars that came easily 

i don't want to
go back 
to the stretched out 
hair ties 

and socks 
without holes

i want to move down
and become grounded 

or maybe just fall asleep 
early 

chin up 
let the sunshine in 

squash the hope 
to save your heart 
from another crack

she can't take
much more 

open your eyes 
don't go away 

stay with me one more night 
but only if you like 

its okay 
i wont be mad 
Aug 25

how to survive modern warfare:

it is too early 
for feelings of 
violence 

be quick to forgive 
quicker to turn a blind eye 

i woke up one day 
to mens eyes 
that met in between my shoulders 
before my eyes 
letting my skin crawl because 
I am a flower 
not a venomous snake 
smile bigger 
do not fight it will only make things harder 
instead take extra showers 
maybe today the soap will wash out 
that feeling of dread 
that you are trapped inside 
a body 
made of curves that hug 
almost as close
as his hands around my shoulders 
in the 7th grade 
don't say anything 
laugh instead of cry 
it was a joke
don't be so sensitive
when they say whore 
be ashamed 
when they say slut 
cover up 
push yourself into submission 
this is how you survive 
hold your keys between your knuckles 
check your back seat 
lock your doors 
Aug 17

All the missing spaces in between:

I fell in love with a boy 
in a magazine.

I cut out his face
and plastered it onto 
the back of a canvas,
not bothering to find his name 
in the article.

It is nights like these 
as I lie flat on my back 
and let tears run into my hair 
and slip behind my ears 

that I wish I could 
sink to the bottom of my mattress 
and live in the gaps
between the floorboards,

my fingers tingling 
with nothing at all,

my heart the tangled city streets 
of Boston,

and my ribs the downed power lines 
of Los Angeles.

And I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.

And I am definitely missing 
an earring back 

and some space 
in my lungs 

and I wish myself away 
onto a crowded city metro 
with a pack of cigarettes in my front pocket 
from some tragic indie film 
Aug 13

if you only had 24 hours:

you're taller now 

i knew this 
before 

but six foot three 
sounds a lot smaller 
than it looks 

especially when its standing 
in front of you 

we pretend 
quietly 
through whispered words 
and too long glances 

that late night calls
and tired smiles 
are what friendship is made of 

too afraid 
of what it would mean 
to jump and fall fast 

too busy looking at 
each other 
to realize we already 
walked off the edge 

so I will pretend 
because you are 
that we did not fill our stomachs with 
birds 

that I didn't fall in love 
the way leaves turn 
in august 

staying in the safety 
of not saying too much 
not saying enough 

you're taller now 
I know this because 
I hold on and don't let go 
and my toes get tired from 
keeping me up 

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