Nov 26

the thing about leaving

leaving, in a strange way,
seems to hurt more than 
being left, something
i never thought i would say.

but my head hurts and
you've given up on calling me,
so i really can't tell if you
ever cared.

i spend my hours pondering
uselessly about the fact that maybe
you just wanted to talk to someone,
and i was always there.

i was a jacket you could wear
when you were cold, but you threw
me away just as the summer air 
blew against your skin.

i drive myself insane at night,
a bitter taste in the back of my mouth
as i wonder if you wished
i was her all those times you
walked away.

did you want it to be her?
was i enough to fill the hole she
left, the one i only found when i stumbled 
into it?
or did i fall just short, my fingers
grasping for yours as you watched
me scream?

i absorb attention from anyone
Nov 02


i'm standing in the middle of a crowd,
and all i can hear is the resounding
sound of a piano, something that used
to make me fall asleep but now seems
to keep me awake, pounding at my temple
as i fight to close my eyes. 

there is something in my drink,
something that tastes like dirt and
shame and guilt, all mixed with a settling
feeling of satisfaction. 

every so often, i seem to realize
that i want to be surrounded by familiar
faces, to be comforted, but my actions
leave me in a room of sorry
voices and broken morals, something
that has become the only way i 
can ever shine
(i still flicker)

i get dizzy and ditzy,
as i shove a blue pill full
of promises down my throat,
a remedy to winter, a seasonal
medicine i have been introduced to.
(i guess serotonin is still censorable)

i am happy, i just can't sleep,
Sep 29

changing again

i decide that i like the feeling of the wind against my
damp skin, the way it dances across my hair,
my face a monochrome mess as summer
seeps out of my body.

the constellations clinging to my thighs fade,
the memory of touch distant as i start
screaming, words and blood and skittles
pouring out of my open mouth as i try to speak.

deja vu is not a good enough word,
not a worthy enough mess of letters put
together to make anyone understand the
pain i relive in my own mind every time i
remember that the leaves will turn brown,
and i will turn bitter.

warmth will turn into distance, and i will
start screaming into my rug, blue light washing
over me as i wake up, hair unwashed, bed untouched,
covered in dust.

when the snow falls, i will crawl
into the mirror and hold my hands to my ears,
because it is easier to sit and pull at my rotting skin
Aug 27

a short poem about a car ride

life goes by as if i am sitting in the
backseat of a car, watching droplets race
down the glass because there is nothing
else for me to do. 

watching my reflection because you
are not here, and there was no "you" in
the first place, i just want to feel like 
i was held, at some point.

life goes by quickly, my days blurring
and bleeding into the next, like the trees that
i am left to watch, passing me by like they were
never even there.

i used to like to exhale against the window,
and draw a face on the little fogged up area,
letting it smile back at me. 
now i just look out and wait for something
new to show up in the green blur that i've been
staring at for 6 months.

sometimes i cry. i cry because i'm so tired of this,
this repetetiveness, these days of staring out of a window,
of sitting in the backseat as someone, something else
May 11
poem challenge: Happiness is ...

happiness in a way

happiness is the ache in
my muscles at 5:32 in the afternoon,
the gentle reminder that i am real
and i haven't faded

the gold specks in someone's eyes
that come out in the sun, the warmth
of a hot shower that i can finally cry in,
the release of emotions.

the soft strumming of guitar strings,
the sound of singing, and anything that makes
me smile at this point really.

hot tea, and food, with its twisted
form of satisfaction for my greedy body,
the food that keeps us from fading.

happiness isn't happy, really, but at least
it's not sad.

happiness is relief, happiness is not
feeling like your falling from the sky every
time that you get out of bed, not wanting
the world to fall apart around you.

happiness is someone's thumb
brushing tears off your face, happiness
is the bandaid on a nasty cut, the
Jan 31

fever dreams

we scream in our sleep 
until our lungs are thin
and decaying, the only 
things keeping you from hearing
me are the paper thin walls i have built
around me.

every night, i close my eyes,
hold you hand and let the purple
light wash over our rotting bodies, 
awakening us from a restless

we float around and
laugh  until we cry, tears like
silver on our tanning faces, summer
lingering in our eyes.

my feet touch the ground
but i jump, and so you follow,
our bodies tangled on the floor-
a mess of broken glass.

when the light hits us
just right, we are 

so in our glory, we dance on
the moon, rays of sunlight burning 
us to the bone until our skeletons
drift through the milky nothingness.

when i open my eyes, my bed
is cold and the world is dark again.
Jan 08

only the ghosts know us

it's not so lonely anymore, facedown
on the hardwood floor, listening to the
ghosts whisper their secrets in my ear
until i fall asleep.

i've been talking to you in
my dreams, and it's made me lose
my faith in the lord above, because
your bed is empty and she is lonely.

jesus christ, i don't want it,
(irony catches me at my worst hours)
i don't want this need to remember you
just to feel something again.

the feel of callused hands against my
cheek, your voice speaking a language
i wish i could have learned, it all comes back,
and i don't want it, but serendipity has
never been kind to me.

i don't believe in god, but i believe in ghosts, 
i believe in the smell of cigarettes, and
i believe in you.

i hate remembering, but the guilt
of forgetting has stained the soft white
fabric of my dignity.
Jan 08

fading as we kill

when i reach for you, the world
just starts spinning again, like i have
been pushed out of focus, like i always am.

am i looking at you, or am i
just dreaming again? my body is numb
as the lights flood my vision, your
hands leaving bruises on my conscience. 

suddenly, this was a crime scene, and i 
am running with your blood on my hands.
one of us must always fall, after all. 

you have never met me, you have never
seen me, but you are here apologizing
anyways, or so say my eyes.
(i don’t trust them much, but don’t tell them)

i can’t hear you, darling, 
the ringing is too loud. has there always
been such a loud ringing in my ears,
or is it your voice?

this is a crime scene,
i remember running, blood on
my hands, blood on my skirt.

i don’t care, right now all i care
is about saving you. who did this,
my love. 
Dec 06

feed me to the longing minds once more

they will ask why i lock
the door at night and i will
tell them it's because i am a creature
of habit, soft and unready for the monsters
that claw at my bedframe in
the early hours of the morning.

i don't let the monsters in, because
i know that i am the same as them,
cocooning myself in the idea of being lonely
until the thought of interaction hides itself
in the fallen leaves outside my window.

i am crazed by the lovers,
yearning for human touch, but
keeping myself away from it because
once i feel it, i will push it away once more,
my mind full and my skin burning.

i am driven insane by the few 
things i hold dear to me, avoiding the
reality of my obsessions, the ones who
shut out any idea of reaching for the
outside world again.

building these walls was not easy,
and tearing them down will be nothing
Nov 29

the importance of existing

a hand holds my thigh, and for
the first time in months, i feel as
if i can feel myself returning to existence.

it’s such a big word, existing,
it’s such a hard thing to do, but
8 billion unhappy creatures crawl
out of their minds and take it on
every day, so who am i to let myself go?

my fingers dabble in blue paints
as i sit by the window, watching strangers
laugh with eachother, and i wonder if
that is what i will look like in a few years,
and if belonging comes with age.

my heart feels something other than
love and sadness, and yes, maybe i am
scared, scared to change the person
i have turned into, but aren’t we all?

i am scared that i have spent 3 months
thanking the people that have hurt me
more than the people i have screamed at,
but what’s scarier is that i just want to forget.

they told me to have fun, and if i’m