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
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well.
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
and one fall will not kill you.
i have never told you about the way
i can feel my pulse skitter to a stop
in my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
stardust. (you're beautiful)he's
out of orbit -
dust in his
veins rise and
each word that
drips and pools
defined like the
ribcage of a
baby bird, his
were not made for
this earth but
for the stars.
some days he
fades in and
out of reality like
he never really
wanted to be there
on those days
i just think
my god, you really don't
realise how amazing you are.
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear?
Depression isn’t true!
Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...
Just maybe not for you.
it's okay to not be okaysometimes it’s okay
to sit on the floor of the bathroom stall
and let your feelings gather- it’s okay
to let them pool like a lachrymose lagoon
as the inside of your stomach does summersaults;
I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,
they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,
let them pour out of you like tidal waves-
release the tsunami from within you
and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,
they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beads
cathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;
but remember how even the clouds
may cry tempestuously today,
only to make room
for much brighter days
so I promise you, darling
it’s going to be okay.
An Angel's Promise'Thou art mine,
And so thou shall remain.'
I will not let you have any other before me,
Nor can there be any after.
For it is your soul that I have shared
And it is your soul that I do take.
Your worship is the blood that flows through me.
Your praise is the heart that pumps life into my veins.
I have accepted that which is torn;
And if you are not whole before me,
Then by my will and word,
You shall be made whole.
So fear not this frigid world,
Though its cold bites deeply into your flesh.
I shall take that which has been torn from you
And weep life into it,
Until only warmth remains.
For thou art already mine,
And so thou shall remain.
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:
I did not ask to be birthed
Into a cycle of stagnation.
I did not ask to be told,
That my dreams are achievable;
Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.
I did not ask for a failing system,
Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.
Nodding eagerly at one another,
As they wait for an inevitable death.
This I did not ask for,
And I am certain that most of you did not either.
But it is for that reason,
And for that reason alone, I say:
That it is up to us,
We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,
To create a system that is better,
Than the bitter shackles of the past.
Justice is what I long for.
Justice for MY people.
You Never Really Were ThereYou're right here, I know it.
I can hear your voice,
I can see your eyes,
I can smell your scent,
I can feel my heartbeat
Speeding as you approach.
But when I reach out my hand
To try and touch your face,
You just vanish in the air,
Remembering me that
You never really were there.
a list of things colleges don't want to know1. i have a cactus named atticus that i bought
on the day i thought i was going to die,
and i never forget to water it, not
even when i forget how it feels
to breathe without my lungs rebelling
against my brain.
2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravel
in a Georgian summer heat.
i try to keep talking anyway,
and hope that eventually
my voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.
3. once, a man whistled at me
outside of a grocery store from
the safety of his car.
four years later, i still haven’t stopped looking
over my shoulder.
4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharply
and i never put enough sugar
in my tea and i could probably survive
on watermelon alone. i’m left handed
and once taught myself to write only in capital
letters to piss off my seventh grade english teacher.
5. i have never felt closer to my father
than when we stayed
outside till two a.m. in november and watched
a meteor shower.
6. there are some things
i don’t think i’ll ever