all of my problems
would be solved
were illness ever so apparenti cut the
of a wolf below my breast,
i call him sweet
and tearing lover
that cut me in two
a blade of
sitting distinctly within my chest:
it is to say
that i am not
comforts to killthe happiness that follows your voice from silence.
you are not god, i am not the mount
and i will not kneel
to hold you
when you are ready
her he loves
him he loves
there is a dawn
pulling, a sunset
liei am calm i
am as calm
as the hills
in a winter
you will find me afterwards
glistening and still.
i hate thinking of your loversi like to pick them, he tells me.
he tells her, and she blushes
and he traces her legs with his
hands. she is a beach doll,
a lay of sand against the shadow of
her head, lips fertile
with the crescent.
thick and forward, he tells her
he can make her shiver; i've got
hands like gods, i've been told.
she puts them in her mouths and
think, spanish inquisition.
she is thirsty for discovery.
he feels her,
he fucks her,
and like a tease
to find her.
untitledWHAT WERE YOU THINKING PRYING
HER MOUTH TO FIT YOU, DID YOU
EXPECT HER CRY, WAS IT LEFT
OPEN AND UNFORGIVEN BECAUSE
YOU ARE A BASTARD WHO FISHES
FOR LOVE IN THE PIT OF OLD
what do gods see in the dark?hello friend i've not yet had the pleasure to meet
your deceased, do they tally the reasons for
you why life is better belly up in a grave,
your daddy was an arsonist
carried guns and drew them
to your temple and would
ask you about gods,
do you know gods don't exist
little phillip, only darkness and
the absence of darkness which
if we were to look correctly at
ourselves are endless contortions
of light, endless, endless, ever
forming and reforming and
attempting to deform,
and you were never good at not
frightening yourself to tears, so
you did just that, and your daddy
laughed and said not to take things
before he put the gun to his chin
and killed himself.
the thing is,
you were not supposed to see
and you did, you curious little
thing, always asking questions
and always looking through
drawers and peeking through
cracks, don't you know curiosity
is cunning and will crack
you like a whip,
against the door frame you held
idkwho you are,
but this tepid
destruction of trust
that tumults in waves
against my hands outlaid
said to put myself
at the foot of your bed
and i would not be forgotten.
have stayed, despite
the discourse of sister
whores lining the frame, your
offshore maelstrom of urges
that howl through the inland
where i stay
i watch shores desecrate
with you leading massacar, a hand
drawn and a victim laid straight
that drench the banks,
sink your feet into me
stay until the soil dries;
i leave you
Out of TimeCan you feel it, I wonder?
The sand that slowly slips away.
The inexorable march of time,
Ticking away at you,
Piece by piece.
Regret, anguish; there is no joy in what comes.
All you have left are 'what if' memories,
Eating away at you, like maggots on the skin.
So deep was the pain inside of you,
So bitter the desire for change;
You even came crawling back to me,
Begging for another chance.
Shall I give it to you?
i'm sorry for only writing sad things,but saturday night i wanted to offend god
into listening to just one line- needed to drag someone
into hearing the roar between my ears with me.
i'd like to write something you can put music to-
lyrical and pretty. funny. maybe irreverent.
but today what is most real to me
is not laughter. it is feeling short of breath.
empty of poetic language. unfunny. too long
for a limerick. unsuited to sonnets. musical only
in the slamming of my heart. an erratic beat
at best. endings. comparing crises of the mind
to someone throwing up in the bathroom
after too much beer pong and hard rock-
both are shameful to repeat in therapy
and i feel like i cannot stop ruining parties.
needing steady hands for these atlas shoulders
that will not relax. staircases white like
imagined hospitals. thinking i should say
call me an ambulance. crying. not calling
an ambulance. not calling a taxi, i can't call
a taxi, i don't have money for a taxi, holding
my breath. 4, 7, 4. 4, 7, 4. in.
Feel like shit? Read this. Hey you.
Yeah you, reading this right now at this very moment.
You are awesome. No, really, you are.
You may not believe me, but it's true. You don't see it because you're upset right now.
Whatever you're going through right now, whatever has upset you or turned your life upside down, just know that it won't last forever. Nothing good lasts forever, that's true, but nothing bad lasts forever too.
Eventually whatever you're going through will pass, you'll move on through healing over time, and you'll be able to be happy again someday, don't worry. As long as you don't give up. You may never completely get over it, or it may take years or more to move on from, but I can promise as time goes on the pain will become less and less.
It may feel like no one gives a fuck about you, and you may want to give up on living, but please don't. I can promise atleast one person out there gives a fuck. And if no one does, then I do.
If you have no friends, I ca
They'll Write Dysphoria On My HeadstoneIf the journey to happiness appeared
as easy as we make it seem,
then I doubt our entire world would
Happiness is not a drug that can be forced
into our mouths,
when our situation is doused
in fire that erodes us from the inside out.
It takes a village to mend a village,
a home to mend a home,
though when the house is against one,
they start to feel alone.
Happiness can't be achieved,
when you're not acknowledged for you.
When your pronouns are erased,
when they start to misgender you.
Suddenly its your fault that
you suffer from anxiety.
Suddenly, you're to blame
when depression seizes you tightly.
Suicide is around the corner,
you want it every day,
but there's that one important
And for them, you must stay.
Though love can only last so long,
and our light will eventually fade.
Because though you continue to fight,
depression can take you away.
Your “parents” force you to be their minions,
strip you of your independence.
The beings that should accept
DoneI'm done with being who you want me to be,
Cuz I can't be that person anymore .
I need to spread my wings,
I need to be who I really am,
I'm done with being the doormat,
I'm done with saying yes when I really wanna say no!
I'm done with hiding behind my walls and mask,
I wanna fly,I wanna fight for who I am inside .
I won't bow down anymore,
I won't break if I fall.
I will rise.
FineI walked home in the middle of the street again,
with the listless pumping forward that comes from muscles hollowed out -
I didn't care if the cars hit me.
I wasn't seeking death I just stopped actively avoiding it again,
I just walked
with the restless wondering about headlights and obituaries
and the questions about whether or not I'd be loved once I did the world the favour
of not being so inconvenient as to continue to breathe.
If I could swim home in the malaise, or if I could be struck down
into a sudden and permanent state of something other than depression -
either would be fine...
Either would be fine.