float onnow I'm thinkingthat the moon's smarter than me:she's in love with the earthbut keeps her distance,keeps moving,keeps living.I lose my orbitwhen you're not around,and I find myself without gravity,waiting for you all nightwhen I know you'd rather besomewhere else.
windfallI would gather allthe seven seas for you.for me, you would notspare a raindrop.
I know you, I love youWe fall in love with the microscopic, rough-edged details of people. We crave the knowledge of our lovers, crave to know them the way nobody else can. In a way, these idiosyncrasies become our own personal gift, a sliver of our favorite person preserved within ourselves.You love the way he licks his lips twice before saying something important, exactly twice, like he’s counting out two seconds to reclaim his composure.You love how her fingertips smell like turpentine and lavender when she finishes a painting because she doesn’t stop until her brushes are clean, and then she spends too much time trying to scrub her hands fresh.You love how he sometimes mouths the lyrics to songs under his breath, just loud enough to be audible over the radio, and you love the way he smiles and blushes and stutters when you notice him doing so.You love her expression when she reads, shifting and flowing like a hundred butterflies in response to the words on the page; you love the frantic
teethmy mother used to say,"never fall in love with somethingthat can leave you behind."now I understand, now I knowthat humans were given legs for a reason,that moving onis a state of mind on migration.tell me,if I told you I loved you,would you cut out my tongue?I can still hear your voice when you saidyou could never love anyone else,and now all I can think isliarliarliar.
Morpheus Hexi.I am the moon walker,the black coffee athletein the star-dotted evening gown.I am young, but I feel old,like an antique withfresh paint.Sleep lives in my shadow,a morphine caregiverwith gentle hands,but I dare not fall into his arms.There is a sad knowledgein his eyesthat I do not trust.ii.You left me behind,but my pillow stillsmells like you,and now my bed feelslike a fucking coffinwithout you in it.iii.Nights like thismake me wonderwhat it feels like to die.It bothers me thatonly the dead know,and they refuse to share their secret.One day I will find outthe truth for myself,and that scares me.iv.Three a.m. teaches youhow to suffer quietly.Sleep pulls on my sleevelike a black-cloaked child.He tells me everything will be alright(but by morning, I knowhe will be gone, andI will be alone again).
succubusNemesis likes to play fair,and I respect her for that.if I stab out your eye,you're welcome to stab out mine.and when we chat about "equality,"we sometimes work around the word,taking quiet bites to miss the rotten spots.no one understands untilthey taste the grainy blacknessrubbing on the roof of their mouth.no one understandsunless it happens to them.so, when she speaks her mind,she's a bitch,and nobody loves a bitch.the truth is,nobody loves when their punching baglearns to punch back;suddenly the game isn't fun anymore.and we're reduced to that one word,"bitch,"reduced tothat feminist with the wordsmen roll their eyes to.now we've truly sunk,getting on their level,clawing like cats,drawing bloodbut not raising wages,not preventing rape,not fixing anything.they are childrenwith their palms pressed over their ears.they want me to be robotic, a fleshysex-doll for them to fuckwho has tits and no brain,and I've screamed myself hoarsebut all I've lear
june fifteenthtoday issunburned shouldersand your fingers between mine,warm and damp in the heat.my legs stick toplastic lawn chairs,my body sticks to yourslike bubblegum-fresh paste,melting into youand liking what it becomes.black asphalt boy,you are sizzling leatherand suffocating airin an overheated car.we walk across the shoreand the soles of my feetyearn for the cool damp sandstruggling for breathbetween the waves."I don't want toforget this," I say,and you smile andclose your eyeslike the sun setting,slowly, streaking downthe sky of your face.the sun is so far butyou're right hereand I think I mightbe in love with you.I'll move on to autumnbut you'll still bein summer, forever,living and livinguntil the day you die.
you stoleyou are smoke,blackened feathers,and I forgethow the mockingbirdused to sing.please,I forgethow to miss someone.you left warm spots in me,familiar dents and puckersnow empty.nothing holds my eyes in place.they roll from one end of my skullto the other,rattling.I don't want to seea world without you in it.you let this place hollow outand dry like infinite droughts.youlet meburn.the years age me,and I don't know who I amanymore.I only remember you,but I forget that you are gone.
never become a writeri.never become a writer.you will become a perfectionist,picking life apartwith a magpie's eye,hunting for the beautiful bits until you can make yourselfa sparkling thronein the center of a junkyard.ii.you will write when you're sad.you will write when you're happy.whenever you feel something,you will vomit the emotion outinto some sort of literature.when you're finished,you'll be emptyand surrounded by pages and pages of everything you once were.iii.you will try to make pain sound delicious,painting over the ragged woundswith pink paintand candy-coat lies.you will learnhow to decorate graveyards.everyone will play in them,but you alone will see the headstones.iv.if you fall in love,you will turn your love into a poem,and you will always like your own wordsmore than you like the real person.you'll become so selfishyou'll disgust yourself,but you will not be ab
lessons in rising abovemy spine cracks from whereyou once snapped vertebrae; Iturned my back on you.
disorder"mirror, mirror, on the wallwho's the fairest of them all?"i whispered to my doleful reflection,but this was no fairy tale:this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.my skeleton was so beautifuli wanted to showcase it,give onlookers a glimpse of my impendingdeath through my very flesh.i could picture myself, edges carved awaylike a cored apple.i just wanted to feel real.everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easilybut i just gnawed on my lip until itasted blood, and leta piece of myself die.the flavor made my mouth wateras my stomach ground out hoarserequests for expansion, for meaning.i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,hollow with self-hatred.i could only feel affection with pain.perfection became my obsession,consuming me alive the way i would haveloved to consume anything at all.some part of me believe i could be a super model,and living my life on ambition and emptinesswas the way to do it.every day i watched the little numberson t
do you even hear yourself?he declares himself a feminist"in the purest sense of the word"and expects every woman to prove that (to him, specifically)she is worthy of equal respect
.i'll measure my lifein coffee grounds, in summerfreckles and you
The Biggest LieI’ve heard KnightsWith broken shieldsPromise to protectPrincesses from the world.I’ve tried to rewriteThese fairytales,But I’ve run out ofInk, and someoneCarved them into walls.
things that fall apart2:36, new york city, i canimagine youlooking out your window,watching the cars pass by instead of the waves, andsomething isn't right, because there's ocean in your blood andi anchor you.love,you still believe in the girl i used to be, butshe's been gone longer than this white sky summer.
meadows.you only ever picked dead flowersbecause you wanted to leave the living onesfor others to admire...i guess that's why you chose meover everyone else.
sea sweptpoor, lovely symphony,you've fallen in love with a shipwreckand are doomed to be dragged out into her sea;you're just a boy, drowning in the saltinessof her bitter tears - shed to stain her ink-smudged misery -and i know you taste her painas if it were your own.
dearly belovedthese daysyour name has been slippingin and out of my rib cageand sometimes,my heart forgets to beat.it's funny,i suppose—how even after all these months i stilldon't want to believe thatyou're dead. how during thefirst couple of weeks i prayedto a god i didn't believe in and begged to knowif death tasted sweet to you. how once,when the monsters in my headdidn't let me sleep, iwrote you three poems and thendestroyed four.you were a supernova thatlit up my life fora few radiant moments before,like all good things in thisfilthy world,you came to an end.the sinner in me hopes that you have wings now.but i think that,most of all,i hope you no longerremember what painfeels like.
one.you told me that lifewas full ofcolor... thenwhy do mytearsrungrey.
.wish i livedlike an animal,wish i cared aboutnothingbut fuckingand staying alive(wish this was a lie)
the dictionary roommy best friend and i love reading together.when i long for his pulse against my lips,mine quickens like the nervous jitter of an addict.he cradles my face like a mouth carries a poembut his hands are shipwrecked masts, beaconsof a 2-year battle that lasts much longer.they shake at night from the withdrawals, hauntedby the ghosts slithering through empty pill bottles.for 2 years, my best friend didn’t know his own name.he hid it in his pocket like loose change he tradedfor bars of euphoria. the process was simple:crush 2 pills and inhale them with your eyes open.watch the dust float up into your nostrils like flecksof memory loss. dry swallow one for each syllablein my name. crush another and save it for later.every night, he trapped himself in oblivion;blind and stumbling, reaching for my bodyin a mirage of blackness.i was alone in a room full of dictionaries,trying to find the meaning behind everything.the spaces between my words doubled in distance.his hear
5:20i went to the forestto purify my lungsthen i saw the thickand uglythree letter scari left in a slenderbirch, and wondered howi could let you poisonanother living thing.moths aren't afraid of pinstill they're stuck to a piece of styrofoam.
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindwould be better left unsaid,such as:i. how I stared at a bottle of pillsfor an hour as if they would slide downmy throat on their own.ii. when I stepped out of the showerwith bloody knees and didn't botherto put a band aid over them. iii. why I can't keep a smile longenough for someone to takemy picture.iv. who I wanted to be when I wasa little girl and who I amright here and now. v. where I tried to jump off abridge and landed in waterdeep enough for me to swim in.vi. what I wanted to scream atyou that day but I just stayedsilent and hoped you would forget.no more pretty words andludicrous metaphorstoday; just life,the truth, and everythingthat I never want to tellanyone else.
reveal yourselfIt's taken me all this timeto realize thatthe flowers in your hairwere actually weeds,and your promiseswere already brokenbefore you made them.