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let Her sleep
Walking isn’t peaceful anymore. Each step is a syllable marching forward through some remembered story. It feels like an addiction, this retelling. It’s how I feel when someone describes a particularly flavorful beer or a perfectly balanced whiskey. After months of blissful indifference I want it, suddenly and immediately, transfused and coursing through my veins.…
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Unsolicited
You sliced through my skin and injected your venom into the red waters of my body. Like roots thirsting it was sucked up hungrily transported, dispersed It lingers still To get feedback of what they think of you Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened But then, I never asked.
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dissociation
Consciousness peeling away from my body like sunburned skin;Like dried glue and fidgety fingers, nervous from thoughts of what is to comeThe crash of glasses and you,Dinner simmering with a cloud of steam fogging the glass – an eyelid closing.The walls that once felt drafty, now impenetrable. There’s no use knocking now. (09.12.22) . .…
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surface // the fiction of my flesh
You’re reading my body The stories of my scars and the writing of my wrinkles But what does my skin say of the longing in my soul and the aching of my heart If the tears carved canyons in my cheeks, how deep would they be? Would you climb them? If the darkened cavern of…
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reminders
sidewalk chalk, smudgeda van like hisThe trees with severed limbs still sending sapto parts no longer there.The sweetness clumps at the edges,it can’t turn back. The leaves fall like rain —the sound of forgetting, drowned by the hum of cicadas. The scent of summer lingers, I plug my nose and return home. (09.05.22)
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an unplanned saturday
Today contains a yearning and no balm to soothe it The harsh light on this walk makes me feel lumpy;the twice-stubbed toe, fumbling. A tree covered with leaves like fans, the intricacy of the patterns of the bark, and the gentle breezealmost overtook the moist oppressive heatand the tree swing locked behind the fence with…
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To Wander
To write straightforwardly,comprehensibly,is to know what it is you want to sayand that you want to say it. We walk the circuitous path when we don’t know where we are going,how to get there,or if we are ready ready to finish our walk go inside and say those things we’ve been dreading. (09.03.22)
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A Song
That song you said you hatedI’m listening to it on repeat. When you told me your opinion I stayedwhat I thought to be suspiciouslysilent If you hate something I love I fearedmaybe we’re not as compatible as I thought Though what’s a song, really,compared to the rest. Just poetic sound wrapped in emotion mined from…
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A Knock
Last night I was home, alone,And there was a knocking at the door. I went to open it But no, I was mistaken, it was only my heart. Later, I was sitting with a cup of tea,And there was again a pounding in my chest (I went to open it) But no, I was mistaken,…
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reflection // dual dupability
It’s fascinating to watch someone lie to themselvesand, by extension, to you. You want to be mad To shake them, to wake themTo hold a mirror and say“See. Here.” But Alice is not an English teacher or a psychologist. To her, her dreams are just dreams. So even if she does climb through the looking…
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on a train
I feel trapped and surrounded yet disconnected and aimless. Like I’m on a railroad going nowhere, alone in a train car full of people. Backpacks packed with stuff that I can’t access or use. People I know but not people I can talk to. The view outside is a blur but somehow it’s also blurry…
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I am not eating my feelings
I am not eating my feelings My feelings taste like salty ocean water in my lungs like pine sol like biting full force and without warning into that terrible chewy bit in a chicken sandwich like mediocre overpriced food from an otherwise beautiful memory filled with people I’m supposed to be trying to forget like…
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A Day In June
The sunshine is a bully You’re wasting your life, it whispers, draped over my windowsill. The anxiety that has settled, resting in a puddle below my belly button, swirls up like the oat milk in my morning coffee pale as my legs, resting here inside. I’m tired, I whisper in response because I am. I…
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flowers & fuel
“I live when I’m happy and I write when I’m not.” I don’t know how to write about happy things, fun things, soft things.I’ve never been one to compare the flutter of her lashes to those of a butterfly on a warm summer day dancing among the blossomsor remark on how staring into his eyes…
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Notes On Wanting
1 I had wanted it to be you, you know.But of course, you probably don’t know. can’t know. and if you do know,Pretend you don’t.Because that is a dopamine trail long since dissipated amongst the cloudsScattered across the prairies, forests, mountains, riversAll that is left is some confusing intermingled web tainted by anxiety/attraction/performance/emotions/Probably just chemicals…
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sand
four minutes have passed by numbly staring at the bathroom ceiling the water of the tub lukewarm four months have passed by blindly eyes fixed on screens and pages the place I live unchanging but for the fluctuating piles of cups and clothes four years have passed me by quietly there should have been moremore…
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Internet Famous
If I make some silly rhymes If I post at different times If I add a trending tag Will I have it in the bag? Will I make it to the top If my tweeting doesn’t stop? Will I finally get success? Will I stop at nothing less? Will that fill this empty void? Will…
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visceral
years ago a Stranger dug a pit in the soft earth of my mind and it was in that excavation where the branches of events were thrown and burned charring the pit beyond recognition or repair and now when I return to that site everything returns the anger the hope the hate the embarrassment the…
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. . . t i m e . . .
Time is minutes, seconds, hours, days. Time is duration. Time is movement, time is change. Time is the beating of my heart, the pulsing of blood through my veins. Time is scars, wounds, scabs. Time is mechanical, time is fluid. Time is bodily. Time is a subjective experience. Time is an objective reality. Time is…
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It was just an adjective.
Simple sounds muffled amongst the layers of meaning that wrap overlap and veil Meant to convey they confuse refusing to be as simple as they seem Because we’ve imbued them all Convoluted them all And if they’re not in a dictionary yet, just you wait And the words on the screen broken down are just…
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the damage of one dandelion
He was everything that has roots in the cracks of my skin that are sidewalk scars – the bleeding wrinkles of time in my soul that had scabbed over but ripped open anew – and I hate him for it. He was the middle school girl in science class Too high in the social strata…
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Below the Line
There’s a sickness in my soul It’s filled with self-creating holes The blood both paint and soap washing painting losing hope Entropic forces rip apart Tear the wholeness of the heart Ceaseless void and darkened eye Deep and never-ending sigh (abstractrelationsvi)
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Inescapable
Stop. Please stop. Their gunshots like the drops on her forehead, Cold and penetrating. She shut her eyes and her mind between each: bracing herself for the next, steeling herself. She had, for a long time, liked to think that her mind was indestructible But slowly, slowly she was learning otherwise She turned the knob,…
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[((shellter))]
The small finger traces the maze of mortar, sliding through streets that run between buildings of brick in a vertical cityand that finger doesn’t know that a standard mortar joint is assumed to be 3/8″And that brick sizes are determined based on that assumptionAnd that Frank Lloyd Wright spec’d colored mortar to accentuate horizontalityAnd that…
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Unfinished
Her signature unknowingly picked up the gauntlet that he unknowingly dropped. And this unknown challenge was both imaginary and impossible: there were no rules and all the rules, nothing was defined and everything was. With no weapons and all the weapons, it was all and nothing Like the space between walls that we call rooms…
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The Accident
A white car in fog heading towards her driving home his points and ideas with no lights on so nobody sees him coming. But they break down – The metaphors that is He should have called it a mini van His ghost child trailing behind him. But it’s a fog eat fog world in here…
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damn dandelions
lessons in a languageI never learned.must have missed that daywhen they taughtthe tongue of temporality. now, nature noticesmy deficiency.damn dandelionstaunting,flaunting their inabilityto hold onyet somehow stillrooted, remembered, resilient. it’s just a seasonthe new buds whisper,hold looselyas they flutter in the breezethis too shall passfalling, falling if onlyI (the roots, the rock) replyenvious of their freedomto…
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……………………..
the sound of spitting camels at my back … I start to walk (to trudge, to clamber) … sinking with each step; … it is not simply my feet … searching for substance, … but as my toes are sifting sand … all I find is shifting land … Bottomless … this sandbox was poured…
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processing (part 1)
I knew I was injured, but I thought the bleeding was under control. I thought it was a surface wound – situational, temporary. But as the numbness subsides and feeling returns I am getting the impression that I was quite wrong; the cut that I thought was surface deep was actually much deeper into myself…
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in slowness
In slowness I hear the irritable tapping of my mother’s foot as we sit in a restaurant booth waiting for our delayed dinner. I hear the frustrated sighs of my friends when the internet lags. I feel the clenching of my jaw and annoyance expanding in my chest as someone wastes my time repeating information…
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plastic
The crumbling grave markers poke their mossy stone heads above the dirt, their faces showing their age like my grandfather’s own weathered face. Those hands that toiled in the dirt, held chipmunks, birthed calves, slaughtered dinner – they touched life and they touched death. They knew the balance at the heart of continuity. Each inhale…
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the photographer
once, a long time ago, there was an artist. (call him singularity, call him paradise) after the completion of his most recent, and some would say most famous, piece of art (a self-portrait) he photographed it and made this photograph into a puzzle. the photographer now sits at a table sorting through the box of…
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i am
(unfiltered, unedited) i am decay i am thoughts, fleeting and dreams evaporating i am mist, fog i am divide between attraction i am battered memory, dispersing cloud i am ungluing of collage, scattering in breeze i am glass, reflection in a puddle i am streak from tear on cheek i am ache colliding with burning…
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balance
a void carved into the sphere ceaselessly spinning the green exterior (green and brown and pavement) is red within. she bleeds when the void is carved, when the vein is punctured. her blood is needed somewhere else— needed or wanted a fine line— but moved regardless (not destroyed, no matter how forceful, for she can…
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abstract relations vi 