my stomach muscles retract
bruises on the beginnings of my ribs
i can’t fight the deafening freight train engine
blowing my hair wildly
as i try to cross the tracks
barbed wire enclosing me in
the factories around me crashing and burning
i think i saw the devil in the train’s headlights.
i can’t make up for lost times
caught in the convenient current
washing my body like an entity that doesn’t deserve to be cleansed
the train horn is ear-piercing
like off-key violins in a symphony
the blood pumping quickly
my redundant diction
i ask for permission
from conductors and fakers and liars and schemers
and apparently they’re all good people.
i deserve to be lost in the wide expanse
of a generation
i can’t accept.
shattered promises and limbs
sprawled out on the train yards
as the stopping vehicles sound off their alarms
i am alarmed
but i am stapled to the tracks
by a woman who told me that it’s not that hard to overcome your fears
how do you feel now
with me bleeding out of my eye sockets
all over your precious property?

the woman.
she’s soft and young and impressionable.
the woman.
she’s kind and compassionate and beautiful.
the air she breathes
curtsies at her feet.
the happiness she bears
makes her complete.
the feathers in her long hair.
the eyelashes on her innocent face.
the fire blazing
inside of her heart.
the pathways inhabiting
her brain.
the woman hides
from the storm.
the rain falls on her back
and never apologizes.
the moon carefully watching
her smile form.
the woman runs from danger.
the danger dissipates into the atmosphere.
the pinecones shivering at the close call.
the woman dances in soggy puddles.
bathes her body in a stream
that touches her skin rhythmically.
the woman takes flight with the birds.
swooping above forest lines.
the woman rests when it comes a time.
she lets her rapid heart slow.
she tames her impulses
and lets her truth grow.
the woman shoots arrows as the sun rises.
she begs for warmth.
she feels her heart fill
with love and with caution.
the woman often strays beyond the path.
she explores the rocks, the twigs, the earth.
she breathes sweetly.
her arms flap freely.
the woman finds a crystal in the woods.
she shelters it from the beastly wolves.
holds it in her palms.
allows its full form to sprout.
encourages its struggles
repeats sweet phrases.
the woman lays down
with the body she tends to.
she lets the world
fill her with whatever it may.
no matter the consequence.
the woman sings as the river rushes.
she watches the moon sink beneath
the horizon.
she’s the kind of woman i wish to be.

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful

to maintain a kiss
to be something to miss
to be a wife with kids
you have to be beautiful

likewise, all of us feel we’re the detriment
in a society that loves to see us in bed
but we cry soggy tears on our sheets
and we don’t stop just because a model says we can be beautiful on the inside

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful
buy a diamond studded dress
and go out in the reeds
and sing a sailor’s song to your bride to be

likewise, all of us feel the world’s back turned
our royal blue skin on her selfish lips  
giving us dead flowers and then wishing us the best
sends us away with so many backhanded compliments

to be worth the world, you have to be beautiful
raise your arms up to the afternoon sun
and remind everyone you were sent from God
and baby, i was too but there’s no use to prove it

likewise, i turn jewelry into stone
i make this critical conditioned heart into gold
i sew my bedsheets to represent some home
i believe the truth comes bleeding out of our eyeballs
our lungs just trying to catch up to this world

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
we all call you by your given name
but you stomp on our fingers
you linger like a bad disease
it doesn’t pay to be kind and pretty

unlike you, i slave the day away
trying to feel the taste that gathers on your tongue
even when you do things wrong
i must try to feed the monster inside of my stomach
but it beats me to a pulp
every time i want something even as widespread as love

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
you don’t need all the credentials
you don’t even have to have potential
as a valued person for anything other than your outer self

likewise, one day i might slip under the rope
being able to stop playing limbo
but what does it matter?
i’m still not a rose quartz in the middle of a stage show

to be worth the world, you must be beautiful
dance in alleyways
sing in outer space
be someone who can be replaced



be easily replaced
and then you’re beautiful
in this world

it’s funny, you told me
that i would be popular in high school
you were unbelievably wrong

you said that out loud back then
and i felt like the coolest
person in the room

as you can see, the past
fills my mind, my body, my soul
and it’s not worth letting go
at least after all this time
my tears are still not manufactured

spot me—
under candlelight
because when the night comes
like a tidal wave
all my old victories
present themselves
as fantasies
when in all reality,
i was just as washed up then
as i am currently

before i even had a phone,
you were there.
i snapped photographic pictures
of you and you stayed in my
memory like hot glue
and i got burned and burned and burned
and now i hover around
as a burden in a blood soaked satin dress

you’re funny, until you feel threatened
and call every warm-blooded force
around you
ugly.

it hit the brunt of me,
and you never asked me to dance
i was waiting for you all night
your father kept talking to me
and wouldn’t
shut up for some reason
he always told me the
spotlights exploding
were just our hearts

or at least that’s what i gathered when i
read his mind

you laughed with me, you waited on me,
you conversed with me, you talked about me
and i would dunk
my head in the water beneath me
to rid of the cruelty you pushed on me;
to combat the rings of fire that you hurled me into

all these people who get to talk
about their feelings
yet, you never admitted
how you felt
and i was getting mixed signals
and i was young and dumb
and crazy and selfish and
hateful of myself
and you didn’t help at all
and..you know.. i never needed your help
it just would have been nice to be able to
know that you cared at least a little

i hate that i have to remember you
i don’t like me because of you
although it’s not always about me

    got your driver’s license?
  how does it
feel to not
     be in control
all the time?

it’s not as empowering as you would have liked
and good
your ego doesn’t deserve to be bloated right now

i am not in love with you,
let’s be clear; i never was in love
with you, honestly
who could be?

i was about to see your new flesh
a couple months ago
but a spirit must have taken over your
mind
and the excitement i had
vanished
into the august midnight breeze

don’t you know that:
I DON’T NEED YOU
I NEVER NEEDED YOU
I DON’T WANT YOU TO RETURN
I DON’T WANT YOU AROUND

hopefully our ending can be brutal
but not too brutal
for i need to see you once more

the wilderness is violent, and chaotic and
vapid
fireworks crackle in the golden brown sky
i don’t want to kiss in a busted-up mustang
with a cracked windshield
don’t want to bathe in beer or get drunk in love
unless you want to carve your name on my chest
leave me hanging on the drywall in your bedroom
or leave me outstretched in the dessert
left to my own vices
the heated sun burning marks on my body

from the day we became mirages of our inner selves
and our demons fought in ****** battles that ended in calamity,
we have hid each other in line breaks and kingdoms

the rising sun the single witness of our togetherness
and of the
blisters on my chest
from the tattoos you engraved on the foreign body of mine that didn’t give you the consent

fear,
an emotion i feel
on a daily basis
looking such a human
in the emerald eyes—
terrifying

they like my hair
the curls, the waves
the volume, the aliveness
but i can’t help but
tiptoe over the thought
that
the fondness of it
is disguised hatred…
fear

melancholy, but alone
oxymorons to me
being melancholy and
alone do not exist together
but somehow
when they all leave
my side like blurry ghosts
the sadness creeps up
slowly, painfully, brutally…
fear

the anxiety inside of me
fueled by gasoline
fires on my tongue
buildings dilapidated
lava flows softly
in a thunder city…
fear

children and their
dreams vigorous with
marzipan and cherries
their fake hair
and fake bodies
and overestimated “sorrow”
their heels snap on the floor
like cinderella i sweep
the dirt off the tiles
as they whisper delightfully
about the ball in
a nearby castle…
fear

oh, to be a swan
to swim in streams
that invite me
to glide in waters
that embrace me—
hunters!
they must have seen
our pure white glossy
feathers from afar
do you hear that noise?
heaven sakes, he’s
been shot…
fear

oh, to have a swan funeral
wearing our hearts
on our wings
fly away friend,
go join the sparrows
and doves
and peacocks in
Heaven
i wish i could join you
i’m alone and melancholy
down here where the hunters
roam
where the apple trees
are seasonal
and not forevermore
meet me,
but i doubt you will
given your circumstance
compared to mine…
fear

seized—
deceased people around me
see the anxiety that
towers over me
like a dictator hungry
for tyranny

frightened—
held by the nightmares
that heighten my senses
tighten my vessels
take into account
my unenlightened downfall

conquered—
off my rocker
stabbed with blades,
they knocked her
out and she cried
but not ta’
worry, she’s
bonkers;
shocker

captured—
years since i’ve felt rapture
left my optimism
in a time capsule
fractured my bones
discarded them in a chapter
book
lost my laughter
caught in disaster

just when i assume the worst has passed,
the peril continues
strong and decided
seizing me,
frightening me,
conquering me,
capturing me

in the ballroom
your eyes like comets
mine like phosphorescent lights
in the humid july sky

our arms moving like seaward ships
caught you stranded amidst the violence
eyelashes that swayed in the wind
you saw me, you asked me to dance

i don’t believe everything is as it should be
it was just a kiss, i don’t think i actually miss you
or maybe i’m slowly getting addicted
to the cadence of your voice
every night, it’s back to that july or was it november weather?

you touched my hand with a fiery blaze that pranced inside that stuffy room
you gave me a glance, i gave you a chance
you could’ve tumbled from the balcony
would my reaction time have been as swift as when you had caught me by surprise?

why am i such a fool?
if it had started with you
we could have fled together like panicked soldiers
from the esteemed battlegrounds their forefathers fought for so their successors could lose their next battles
and get captured and chained against walls

and i wanted you, i was only a husband away from kissing you,
touching you,
impaling you

you were moments away from calling my bluff
it’s enough, i’m in handcuffs
while you stand in the ballroom
your eyes on me like you’re the spotlight and i’m your stage device

we danced like we meant it
would you have given me up for a fairer maiden?
one with less personality issues and without a right hand man?
would you have stopped if i told you that dancing is for ghosts in empty hotels?

i would have died trying in a slashed wedding dress
if the force i called my lover didn’t snag my clothes on his irregular branches

i can’t see beyond these singing cliffs
please kiss me
on the dock of my yacht
i’ll adore you until you ***** me over
or until i ***** you over
and we become ashes on the riverbed
that was the location where my lips touched yours
on the grass
not on the ballroom steps
not with a cigarette in your mouth

you were slipping through the gloves i wore?
i don’t recall, did the background start to get blurry
when you swept me off my feet?
did i panic?
did you love it?
did you notice the electricity escaping from my palms?

i spotted your pupils become lucid
the lights didn’t even change colors
and you danced with some kind of suitor
but i don’t know who you are
or what your motives are
just know that the mirror can only hold evil if it’s as marvelous as you

the patterns of your footsteps in my nightmares or perhaps
in the trances my exhilaration transports me to

are

lurking in the shadows
in the doorframes
the hallways of trains i haven’t stepped toes in
complaints flooding the mailboxes i happen to own

i loaned you my heart as a temporary ornament
you could dangle like candy
in front of adored damsels looking to be courted
i’m becoming the focal point in your daily
struggle to gain power over the situation that sadly owns me

waltz inside of my irises instead of on the floating platform
that is about to crumble beneath the soles of our dress shoes

my conscience buried in the thawing soil

did you lose sight of the plans you foiled?

whistle to the carriage you paid for
open the door for the feeble woman in the backseat
it would have boiled your blood,
and so i would’ve kissed your lips

but ghosts don’t dance in ballrooms;
they just sit
and watch everyone else become brides and grooms
and they feel the tug every single time
the room erupts in sudden laughter
they wait like stubborn angels  
at the noisy soirée
anticipating the collapse of young souls
like me and you

and therefore; the downfall we have will be a spectacle
your disintegration in the mirror will be a quotidian one
as i watch your bones dance in your body like little puppets in a silly drama

catch me when i fall for
the doors i have entered
before haven’t
restored my soul
and i would have kissed you
or even said i missed you
if he wasn’t the person he was
if you weren’t the person you are
and if i was completely unaware of the consequences of mistakenly false coincidences
perhaps i would have put my lips to yours
outdoors
as the creek entertained our obscene selves
and heard our dramatic moans
and groaned
“good riddance”

“good riddance indeed”

our tempers fizzled and the skeletons were evicted from our closets
good causes, it’s my fault—it’s
just that i said all those cheery things to impress you
as if you were Socrates or someone of such high standing;
undoubtedly, you are

but the cliff i leaped off of slowly became you—the ghost in the castle walls
who waltzes with gorgeous girls
just to dream of what it would be like to
kiss them,
touch them,
impale them

i wonder how it felt to be in control
to hold me like i would puncture your skin
like some breed of lovesick vampire

i was only a girl in love with a future
she could not let unfold
because she had a husband waiting at home

waiting for her to slip up
feeling less and less in control

but with your gaze like lightning
ignoring is such a demanding reality
and
i want to kiss you,
i miss you,
this isn’t a petty joke
join me in the meadow
hands in mine
and touch me,
kiss me,
impale me

his eyes as bright blue as the ocean that envelops him.
the life in his nonexistent smile.
his eyes like beacons of hope.  
but he’s crying in pillows that engulf his sorrow
he’s begging the master to give him tomorrow
to lift the hammer off his chest
to halt the train until the morning hour
to untie the cuffs around his wrists tied to the tracks.
he’s hiding the fits, the consuming illnesses
the signs of weakness that creep into his concreteness.
his eyes as bright blue as the ocean that devours him.

what if i never marry?
what if i put on my wedding dress for a hologram?
what if i never find you?
the you i see on tv, the you i see in my dreams?
what if you died long ago and i’ve been searching around every corner for your soul?
what if the songs i write can only ever be for me?
what if the life i wished to lead up and left me?
what if the movies i watched made me believe in love that never happens?
what if the ring doesn’t fit my finger perfectly, or the bells refuse to ring at the ceremony?
what if i never marry?
what if i can’t get a house that the two of us fakers can live in?
what if the world that told me having a boyfriend makes your value increase
stops tolerating my independent nature?
what if i can’t fit in with all the husbands and wives and the cute little smiles?
what if everything i’ve been told was garbage that was supposed to be taken out?
what if i never marry?
what if i never walk across the aisle to a crying man, a diamond in the blood?
what if he never takes my hand with a willing body or a purified gland?
what if he tells me my worth is measured by the bodies i pin down and claim as my accomplishments?
what if i never marry?
what if i’m never good enough for this dramatic licentious frantic zombie nation we call the world?
what would they think of me?

your hands were fire
i needed to be warmed
in my little flower crown
on my hesitant head
but
i denied it
it makes me sick with sorrow
as i paced in my own selfish delusion
losing focus
losing faith
we danced on the patio
as the night thickened
i turned you down
left you turning black
underneath my touch
you grabbed her hand
reaching for a soft resolution
did you know?
i forgot how to process
i wrote you notes in candlelight
hoping moments could become
real again
real
real…
i once believed i would marry the weather
and its mood swings
but i lost my way while walking back home
tripped on the beaten path
i lost the fire that was contained in your soul
it couldn’t turn to solid fast enough
i died alone in a abandoned bar
as you dined in a two story house with your children at the foot of your bed
but i didn’t love you and i still don’t, so why do you seem like my missing piece?  
why do i feel like i need you?
something real, something real, something real

i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he believed we were going to be inseparable lovers encaged inside of barbed wire
he believed i would be his muse,
till his last breath

but i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he breathes in rose blossomed newlywed smiles
he dances in spite of the acid rain

he believed we were an unstoppable tsunami
destined to keep growing and growing
enveloping all things into our youthful hearts

i believed we were a radioactive volcano
tension, tension, and tension
until suddenly we burst
into violent lava
and wreak havoc on the binds that hold us
together

he saw our glowing embers
never yet thought of the impending destruction
we would cause
with our hurricane stubbornness
and tornado hotheadedness

because

i breathe in chemical aurora borealis
i dance in ballrooms with no one watching

he breathes in idealistic remedies
he dances on stage as the curtain draws

he believed we would face this world together
like uplifted doves carrying olive branches in their beaks
i believed we would crumble
like every clumsy ancient civilization

but still i rest here,
with eyes devoid of aurora borealis projections
and i wish
that i would have
surrendered to his tsunami

i need to grasp the feeling of being washed away instead of hanging on to loneliness like it’s the last straw of my far fetched happiness
wash me away
i am useless if you cannot love me

there’s this boy who looks like my first celebrity crush
he’s taken by a beautiful girl
with cherry painted lips and a golden smile
oh, what i would give
to get lost in the labyrinth of blossoming love
to hear the accordion singing its recycled cheesy song
but it dives and curls and the wind is blowing in a strange manner
exhausted feelings catch up to me

there’s this boy who makes me scared for my soul because i like him so, but i’ve never met him
that’s how all my love songs go
nobody ever realizes
nobody ever knows
they always slip through my sweaty fingers
and their deep voices just become shallow echoes

there’s this boy who is the star in every show

there’s always the side character who pines
and never gets loved
it hurts to be so empty

scared of the dark and of fire swallowing me in the middle of the stubborn night
setting my closet ablaze
shirts turning to embers as i slept beneath the smoke
and we would have to stand by the mailbox
but someone was always left behind.
it usually ended there.

but my restlessness soon turned into a snowflake, falling from the chilled sky
onto the mailbox outside my house
and melting.

my writing is a gigantic forest fire of clichés
slowly charring in my eye view.
unlike the snowflakes that flew from
my brain.

and i’m still kind of scared of the looming darkness
and the creatures inside of my closet
still kind of worried about my house catching fire
and losing all my belongings
but what’s to that?
what do i actually own or belong to?

blue is blinded rage

fear lasts and i can’t breathe in this smoke…in this chemical kingdom…that they all love…smog and smoke and strangulation….and no one cares…?

cause elvis still kept singing jailhouse rock
even though he never went to jail
and the seas are still operating in the exact same way they always have been
celebrities still think they’re all that cause us feeble people put them on pedestals
the moon is still a refuge to lost stars spread upon the frivolous lands
fire still burns, even at night
even in your closest
even if you think you’re safe by your mailbox
even if people tell you that you’re worth
it

the smoke will envelop you
the smog will catch up to you
the ashes will become you


….
i’m afraid it will take away what i don’t have

they tore down the pool in my hometown
the place i went during the summer to cool off
my old stomping ground to go for fun
my childhood is slipping further and further away
every single day

i don’t want to be a woman
standing on a suitcase packed with psychedelics
losing her remaining mind in a ditch on the side of the deserted road.
i don’t want to be a woman
who’s taught to love herself but the others around her
are peach trees in summer
with lips plump and red
with tiny thighs that extend.
i don’t want to be a woman
with frail bones because the calcium deficiency caught her early
shouting for her knees that are weak
and for her obsolete brain waves that forget their true place.
i don’t want to be woman
following the trail until it suits her no more
creating a secret code then tossing it into the river
with jaguar eyes and a lopsided smile
she’s fine with letting new histories die in her arms.
i don’t want to be a woman
in all truth, i don’t want to be associated with anyone
i don’t belong in this body, in this mindset, in this world
every word on each paper is screaming at me to rebuke my inner organs and to become a knight without limits
because i don’t believe in speaking up for the sake of speaking up.
i don’t want to be a woman
or a man for that matter
i just want to exist in the forest fires of los angeles
the city with no angels
no reason to be endowed with this city of torches and absolute tomfoolery
but look where i am now
i discarded my existence for fame and rash decisions
i don’t want to be a woman, do you?
if i put on a halter top and show you more skin, would you love who i am or the flesh that is impure and shameful?
i don’t want forced views to be my condemnation
i don’t want your silk dresses and pearls.
sham admiration is not my master
nor will it ever be in my mind or my soul.

        i don’t want to be woman, do you?

you know,
when i was young
i saw the world as a canvas.
a blank sheet of material waiting for my curious little fingers to touch,
to sculpt, to model.
and oh, did i paint.
i moved mountains with my palms, i made rivers flow with the touch of my hands
and you know what?
i thought myself a pretty esteemed artist.
i imagined my future living in a huge penthouse in the biggest city in the world i could think of at that age and that was
pittsburgh.
i would tower over the laborers and the tax workers and the mailmen and the street performers because i was the new “it” girl.
glistening in pearls above the city people who always take life so seriously.
inside of my kindergarten classroom,
i believed everything to be possible.
we learned about Noah’s ark and what two plus two was and i was smart
and quick on my feet
meanwhile some other child was crying and i couldn’t understand why because everything i could have ever wanted was displayed on the chalkboard in that very moment.
the world was a thousand colors in that classroom.
there were always crayons at my disposal, in which i used them to sketch part of the planet that was still blank on the canvas.
i believed.
i believed that Santa still existed and that the tooth fairy would bring me money instead of a tooth under my pillow but guess what?
i didn’t lose my first tooth until second grade.
back when the only worry i had was that my teeth weren’t loose and wobbly
back when the world looked friendly and the only things that were hostile were my pugnacious teeth that wouldn’t budge.
i saw skies where there were vicious mirrors, blessings where there were flaws.
my classmates were foolish but i-
i knew what i wanted my canvas to be.
but
soon
i
started
getting
older
and cancer was a real thing. violence was a real issue not just something i saw in a batman comic. society turned her back on the very children she birthed.
my hands stopped painting with bright colors.
highlighters were stolen out of my hands, pencils placed in them.
gray graphite with no emotion except “do this math problem or you will fail at a future.”
what future am i exactly preparing myself for at this speed?
what happened to the coloring books
and the watercolors and the all about me posters i made?
where did they go?
did they disappear into the void of shame?
because once the authorities took away my liberties; my freedom, i started slacking.
the world became a barren wasteland like the one after simba left the teeming pride lands.
bulldozed over.
all that creativity pent up in me..it had to be slaughtered.
it had to be executed.
so i breathed smoke to **** the formation inside of me
it choked, and so did i
and i
felt bad for it.
creativity was the one driving force, the one constant in my world that was falling apart and making room for the erratic world that punched through the walls of my love for the old world.
what would i be without a classroom full of tools that i could use whenever i saw fit?
this is insane.
people started coming into my life and out and i could not hold their hands and beg for their stay; they would leave me kicked and scarred
and maybe they whispered “sorry” to me because some of their empathetic nature still existed.
some of their light still hadn’t been stomped out.
it was fully wrecked when their parents got divorced
and there were screaming battles
and that’s when they heard that vile swear word that comes up in every conversation now as a teenager
and that word makes them upset
yet
they can’t remember why
just like their parents never understood why their child got so depressed jumping from house to house.
whiplash to the extreme.
and i can’t breathe without the creativity that connected the dots in my childish brain
and now being childish is an insult and i cross out all my experimental portraits and replace them with whatever the teenager next to me is drawing
because being original is easy to pick on.
and i didn’t want to be 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 kid.
no one wants to be 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 kid.
the canvas i once held in my hands is ashy and blackened and
unsalvageable.
its poor soul destroyed by a tiny bonfire by the woods
because no one likes when you decide you want to create the world in your image
cause it’s corrupted in everyone else’s
and they want you to suffer just like they did, to discover that innocence and ignorance are apparently now synonymous with each other and you can’t think otherwise!
what was looking at another kid’s artwork as a child?
there was only seeing that john had the color purple drawn on his paper
and sofia had the new stamps that were put up near the bulletin board.
that was all.
none of this body dysmorphic garbage.
the world isn’t beautiful as it was before on poster board and i don’t remember the last time i was truly physically and emotionally happy.
i now found the art of wanting to rip the hair out of my skull and there are times that i contemplate if i should just end it all,
but then i think back to all those years when i was younger and how big the world felt in my tiny fingers,
though i know—some tiny fingers build rocket ships, some tiny fingers get involved in cancer research to save other people from the same thing their grandparents had to battle with and lose to, some tiny fingers become doctors and nurses and good people with good hearts with hope for the restless world.
some tiny fingers might have lost the canvas and the poster board,
but they never lost sight of what world they were gonna leave an impact in,
what world they were gonna make great one day—one child with a crayon at a time.

you know,
it’s not easy
to be a woman
with a gunshot wound
and torn wings
on her back.
it’s not easy to
love a woman
who spins
in circles
and acts
like a maniac.
it’s not simple
to exist
in the poetic
tenebrosity
of this
era of living.
there are
hearts
shrouded with
darkness
pierced with
the tongs of their
garden rakes.
there are heads
on stakes
that never got
to stand
away from the
shadows,
shadows that were
casted upon them
for no reason
but that they
were labeled
evil, and so
they thought
they were,
they believed
they were,
they knew
they were.
it’s not easy
to be a person
with an honest
heartbeat on
the drug, littered
and pest invested
streets.
it’s easy,
(apparently),
to go about your
day without
even processing
the torture
some souls
go through just
for their eyes
to never be opened
for
their hearts to never
be warmed
with the
same blaze
you set in your home
to make it feel
all cozy and aesthetic
around the
holiday season.
it’s easy
to turn a blind
eye, to deny
the vile nature
of the bones that
outline souls of all
kinds of barbaric
creatures.
it’s easy to
look upon
it with a grimace,
with a dishonest
appeal to
strengthen the
crevices of
your heart that you
have to fulfill
to prove to some
entity of yourself
that you are a
kind person.
that you aren’t
selfish and
unsparing.
but is it working?
cause although
i see the flames
in your brownish
quite convincing eyeballs
i do see help,
i do spot the parts
of your sweet heart
in your retinas
undamaged by the
bright sun,
i do see the
endearment
lay claim on
your lips.
i see it.
i see it all.
it’s not easy
being a human
in a world where
opportunity only
comes to those
who only see
because they are
told to,
that only see what
they are told
that they can see,
and they hear
what they are
bound to hear
and so on.
it’s not easy
to crawl on
your fractured knees
and twisted ankles
in a pit of
venomous vipers.
it’s so easy
to see the crime,
the shame,
the atrocities,
and try
nothing to stop it.
it’s not easy
being a man
with gunshot wounds
in a combative
ill-conducted
circus,
navigating his
way through
the scattered
yelps of his
brothers
who got lost
in the shadows
and never returned.
you only hear
what you want
to hear.
the truth
aches more
than shoving a
rocket ship
up your runny
nose and
for valid reasons.
don’t shut out the voices of your own children, Society.
don’t separate the stories
of those
who will end
their lives being
ignited in the same
fire, in the exact
same
flame
that touched
the skin of
the silent pleading
children
who were never understood
of the people who
wrote a trillion words
and still weren’t heard
of the vagabonds
that were
casted out of
their villages and
wandered so far
that they lost
sight of who they
were.
some songs
are never
sung,
some instruments
broken and never
played,
millions of killers
never
prosecuted,
victims that
never got their
justice,
some babies never
born,
tens upon thousands
of lifetimes
forgotten.
some darknesses
are too violent.
some corruption
too manic.
it’s not easy
being a human
with bullet wounds
and
gashes
on our backs.
the shadows
of the universe
make us maniacs.
you reap
what you sow,
and you’re gonna
have to battle
millions of
justifiably
angry revolutionists…
so do you want to do this
the easy way,
or the hard way?
pick your machine guns that will always run out of bullets,

we will always have our voices.

“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
to myself in the mirror
or maybe even
to a distant/immediate
lover
under
the covers.
“shine and be shown,”
one day i’ll yell to
the spruce trees
whose branches
hover over
me
or to
the way i
look in skinny
jeans.
“love the death inside of you
and keep the
life inside
of you as
strong as you can,”
one day i’ll tell my
grandchildren if i lose
my fear of giving
birth or
to somebody
needing
of a pep talk.
“be valiant,
don’t ever be false,
for that is worse than
the most heinous
of truths
you have hiding
inside your skull,”
i’ll tell you as
we sit
on
the kitchen floor
in underwear
under
the fluor
escent
flickering lights
eating brunch
at noon in the
afternoon.
and you’ll tell
me the exact
same thing
and i’ve always
been such a
terrible
liar.
“sparkle and shine,”
one day i’ll say
on the dock
by the lake house
with the really
suspicious murky
water
and i’ll say it
with pride to
the image
of my past
image in
the pitiless
mirror.
perhaps you’ll
say it to me as well,
as the fog
opens up a
new front
in my/our
front yard
as i peep
through the
blinds
and i feel alive
and the
poetry in my
veins awakens
to the beat of
the ripened heat.
and i’ll shine like
the sun,
just can you be
my spotlight if
my light suddenly
dims?
can you?
can you, please?

i can’t seem to write poetry deep and soft and emotive. i can’t seem to do anything with my splintered hands and my lazy blue eyes.
i can’t find the beauty
in words;
no one reads my words to find the beauty in them as well.
i can’t seem to recite poetry off my tongue and into
my brain cavities when
i sleep with my lulled anxiety. i don’t understand how
life can be beautiful from in these cell blocks.
you can’t read poetry in vacant reveries
with deadbeats and
coffee and midnight mental breakdowns.
i can’t find poetry in my bones embedded deep beyond
my unfamiliarity.
you can’t find poetry
in centuries of instinct
or in your skinned knee; unless you see words in forms that people don’t know and can’t comprehend, therefore i am assuming you, as the reader, can’t
find poetry in the worst types of things because i have before,
so what
am i even rambling about anymore?
maybe poetry can’t even
be found
in the bones,
it’s in the soul.

don’t waste your time trying to impress someone with higher status or nicer clothes or a prettier face.
they won’t acknowledge you anyway.

stop wasting your time, hung up on love that you crave.
being in high school and never having a boyfriend is totally ok.
you aren’t unlikeable just because you’re single, i can promise you that.
  
crush culture will make you wanna spill your guts out.

don’t make people your villains just because you envy them and their skeletal structure.

i know it feels as if you’re bathing in a hot spring filled with inexorable anxiety
and i know you wanna escape more than anything else in the entire universe.
this is just a moment.
you have the entire rest of a lifetime for yourself.
just stay strong.

don’t worry about what others think about you.
the only approval you should be seeking is your own; everyone else’s is irrelevant.
who cares if they judge you for such a trivial matter?
they don’t know the real you and if they did, they wouldn’t even look at you funny ever again.

i know you think that you’re not worth it for some reason
but you are worth every laugh shared and every contagious smile,
you are worth the space you occupy in other peoples’ minds.
you might not be brightest star, but you can keep shining.
you don’t have to be a prodigy at everything.
you’re good at things,
you’re talented,
you’re able.

you don’t need to be spotted in crowds.
if you want to remain invisible to the naked eye, go right ahead.
i promise no one is stopping you from keeping your distance.

you don’t have to be loud and crave to be seen to matter in this world.

times can feel like asteroids hitting your planet (and a war threatening it)
summer goes and winter comes and flowers bloom and then go dull.
people are just like seasons;
you don’t need to be happy all the time.

but who knows?
you’ll grow into a fine young lady/man
and no one will know what struggles taunted you when you were in eleventh grade.
besides,
no one thought that neptune had rings when they were there all along;
they were just invisible.


—see, even invisible things can be seen if you capture them with the right camera

i lost my ticket to get on your train
and i witnessed you wave from the caboose; you didn’t even try to get off.

i don’t believe in love or maintaining childhood friendships
i believe in falling short and purposeful abandonment.

you talk to my sister, but not me
what am i supposed to do about that?
it’s my fault i know;
i didn’t acknowledge your presence
i’m so pitiful.

i could throw you a million apologies
i wouldn’t be angry if you wouldn’t forgive me
maybe sometimes in the hallway, you get a bittersweet taste in your mouth when we lock eyes
and you regret the missed time we could’ve spent together
at football games, in history class, in health class
and i regret that too;
in this particular universe.

you drive and i’m terrified to get my permit
i don’t wanna accidentally ****** someone or myself in a car crash
you had a boy best friend in the front seat
and now i’m entirely numb and empty
what have i come to?

yes, i came home and wallowed in a puddle of my own forlorn tears
i can’t do anything else but sob

it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault
i am to blame, you could’ve told me “hi”
but i am not gonna blame this tumbling storyline on you
you like this school environment better than me
and i completely understand your reasons
again, it’s my fault and i stripped away my own dignity.

i am more numb than morphine could ever make me

i plagued this earth until it became a wasteland
and now i am cursing the vultures that only want to pick up scraps they can’t find here

why oh why does it have to be me destined to shoo them away?

the atmosphere seems bleaker through the second story windows
on the first floor, there i scramble, breaking through the wake of the waves in my illusion crawling mind
creating a line of sea water from the teardrops that tumble onto my shaky hands
trudging through the unbeknownst woods,
seeing mini faces carved into tree logs
and then i collapse
over and over again.
every day feels like a shank in the veins
as if a phantom has taken the reins with its cold bony hands
and i am left to sit in the carriage of death
with Belonging, Happiness, Optimism, and Life itself.
do i look as stormy and gloomy as the earth through the second story windows of this prison?
i hope not.

you know i’ve tried to be worth something in the world to you.
my submitted requests reaching your inbox,
my rampant desires begging at your throne.
i have never liked cruel,
so i don’t understand why i still hold high hopes for you.
you must be so used to people discarding you
and leaving you out with the street rats and rabid animals,
but i; i am opening the door for you.
you can come in and take a seat and you can drink and eat whatever you want to,
i couldn’t care less.
i want you to make a home in my home.
i can **** myself for you if you give me a knife and the motivation.
i can twist and change myself for you if you admit that my façades are better than my actualities.
i can bleed myself dry if you adore the color red.
i can be at your beck and call every day and every minute and every second of the week.
i can admit that i’m a fake, i’m a fraud
when i write poems about your hold on me
i don’t understand you.
i don’t think i will ever understand you.
these hips of mine will be treasured if they have your printing on them.
do you know how hard it is to convince someone that they are the only resource you need?
impossible.
i’m constantly trying to fit the word count on my acceptance essay to you,
but i just can’t speak the language that you do.
and that might be a me problem,
but cut me some slack.
i just want you love,
send your adoration my way.

when all the leaves fall and change
when the sunset gets sooner everyday
in that exact pale chilly darkness
that is where my heart rests
perhaps i have dreamed once before
i dreamed i would see a dinosaur
in real life, in real form
and maybe i dreamt big things for my future
i have watched the shower nozzle water cascade down me
like some kind of wanna-be hot spring
the leaves have turned brown alike my heart
and my lungs grow heavy and wet like the morning dew that falls
i imagine that if i was a painter i would sculpt myself in autumn
in a tiny little cottage
with smoke rising from the chimney
alone, in an opening of deciduous trees,
here the leaves fall softly and slowly
and my heart sinks quietly and slowly
underneath the sobbing trees

waiting for months to pass
and then, i’m blue
and am labeled ungrateful.
waiting for months to turn to dust
in my rusty palms
to set straight my wonky emotions
to soothe my ferocious oceans.
counting days till my cage is opened
reciting rhymes until i come back to life.
waiting for months to disappear
become marks on the calendar
can’t wait for this year to be over.
waiting for these months to stop dragging
my laden feet
upon the creaky floorboards
resisting the torture.
waiting for the months to surrender
to the year’s higher rule
succumb to the power.
waiting for these months to blow by
to relocate out of my eye view
to package up and leave.

i can’t endure these months anymore

i stabbed my demons with a double-edged sword
it punctured my skin as well
and with that blood, i wrote your name,
not in times new roman,
but in my own special font
i cried over the torn parts of my flesh
but we all grow out of our tears,
don’t we?
after i stabbed my demons with a double-edged sword,
they climbed up into my brain cavities
and they took more
than i ever self sabotaged out of me
i carried my fallen blood in the suitcase
i will bury myself alive in one day
my demons spill secrets instead of blood
from their dreary corpses
and i rapidly try to gather them
in my dismay
if you write them away, they just come back stronger
because words aren’t indelible,
they can be erased
if you try to make peace with them,
they take too much of you
and label it a treaty
when it is honestly just tyranny
call it by no other name
if you start a war,
they start a revolution
and soon they have the entire universe up against you,
and no matter what anyone says,
you can’t beat the universe
you aren’t the avengers
you can’t do any of these things
and expect them to dissipate
and dissolve into the snowfall
you have to take yourself out
with the weapon you chose to ****** them in cold blood with
you have to bestow a double-edged sword
and you have to willingly sacrifice your entire self and more
cause unlike seasons, demons never leave
unless you **** their host
here goes nothing

i’ve watched the same show for over two weeks
and when my favorite character was falling apart,
it put a damper on my mood.
i am that attached..
to fiction.
it wasn’t even real and i still cried in my bed
with my hair concealing my eyes.
i never like to think of myself as the most empathetic person out there,
it was a sudden jolt in my nature.
perhaps i see myself in his wild eyes,
not the wicked side,
but something in him that reflects in my heart.
i’m repulsed by my poetry.
i wouldn’t even consider it poetic in any way.
i tell my close friends that i write poetry
and i like to think that they scoff at that idea.
i told my retiring teacher that i wrote poetry
and she gave me her email.
what makes her think i’m good enough to be read throughly by an english teacher of forty years?
kinda ironic since i’m posting on a poetry website.
i’m embarrassed of my efforts,
ashamed of my achievements.
see, i’ve never been good at anything
i played basketball in middle school
and my friend would always say that i bombed a shot or i needed to do something more involving.
my past crush even said i was too short to play or something.
i tried being nice for a day because my sister and mother were telling me i was too mean,
i swear i’m not.
but i tried to be nice
and bad things still happened
and i called people rude names.
i’m not good at staying prompt to journaling
like tumblr girls at their highest.
catch my drift, i have never been good at anything,
and poetry is the only thing that makes me feel like i’m alive
who cares if it’s actually well written?
it’s self expression.
i hope everyone at least tries to write one poem once in their lifetime,
it changed my life.
step one: find a muse, trust me, if you have a good one, you might not even experience writers block
(that’s an overestimate, but sure)
step two: write about anything and everything.
write about your drive to work, how the highway signs started to feel like heartbeats because they were so repetitive.
write about your dreadful day at school and about the teacher who freaked out.
step three: find a metaphor in everything.
trust me, if you look hard enough, there’s always a metaphor.
step four: see yourself in other people. capture the conversation the bus passengers had. write from different perspectives;
you’ll learn a lot about empathy.
step five: don’t listen to my advice because i’m not qualified.
don’t listen to the writer of bad poems.
there’s no use in fearing rejection,
i get rejected by myself on the daily.
you’ll never be something to someone if you don’t just say it.
tell them you like them.
tell them they make your world glimmer
and they make bad days a little more bearable.
and if they shrug, it’s ok, souls don’t have the same meaning to everyone
and that’s beautiful.
you’ll live.
rejection is inevitable.
when i’m invested in a show or a person, it becomes my obsession.
when i lie awake at night, i’m wondering what will happen next,
what character is going to get killed off next.
i want my poems to be lengthier and
luckily i can rant like nobody’s business.
i feel less anxious when i throw my feelings onto paper,
and i think things through.
no need to have to suffer through all your chaotic thoughts alone.
write.
that’s advice to me.
write when your favorite character is stressed,
write when you feel peeping eyes on your back.
write when the world churns you out of shape like butter.
write when the music doesn’t seem to calm your inner self.
the world can be wrong,
that’s a possibility.
you are allowed to critique it,
you are allowed to believe in miracles
and you are allowed to ask God if you can’t conjure up an answer all by yourself.
that’s why they say He’s always listening.
they lie about lots of other things,
but definitely not that.
writing is not for everyone,
it picks its candidates with reasoning.
i guess i was chosen
and i won’t let my muses down.
they live inside of my heart even when i wanna tear them out.
i won’t send my poetry to my old teacher,
and i won’t live another day without the benefits of writing.
i still have two more seasons to binge watch of this show
and more and more reasons to be alive.
the world is wrong,
but i never said i was right.
i have no vendettas
and writing has infiltrated my mind.
no tickets are accepted at admission.
come another time.

the sky gets darker earlier this time of year
my heart grows weeds
and becomes as hostile as an abusive man
exiting a pub
i lose all the strength i built up
and all my protecting walls collapse
instead of breaking free i break down
in my room, silently, with only the echoes of my pain surrounding me
my parents say it’ll all be fine,
but if it was that simple, why wouldn’t i try to lessen the blow?
why would i wanna be stuck with voices
ringing in my head like noisy sirens?

i pray noticeably more when the sun dies sooner
i know it’s a bad habit,
only pray when things aren’t going well,
i’m so sorry,
i wish i was a better disciple, a better woman with stronger feet holding her up

my bedtimes get earlier,
but i fall asleep much slower
noticeably slower
the stars don’t remain beacons of hope, 
they are fireballs bursting,
relishing in my devastation

time drags on in this time of year
my knees fold under pressure
my lungs shrivel up
my brain turns into a non-thinking zone
and i can’t escape the neurons packed deep into my radioactive mind
i can’t rid of my involvement in that sabotage

i pray and i pray and i pray
noticeably more this time of year
they get answered, but some of them are just too extreme
i don’t blame a soul
only the lost energy lodged into my wild mind
(and see, i can’t even think, i can’t breathe this time of year)

i’m never prepared
for this time of year
the summer air losing its warmth
the autumn chill filling my throat

i drowned many years ago
i still lurk in the water
and sometimes when i get full of myself
i grab feet and legs and drag them under with me
so they can feel the exact pain i did
when i lost my last breath
around this time last year

you crumbled in my hands like flimsy bricks on lazy made housing developments
tumbling like rocks on sides of cliffs
dull guilty eyes stared back at me
black circles gazing presumptuously
at my porcelain skin
we were not bad people
we were just victims to cruel assumption
you took the brunt of the dazed collusion
and they stole me from you
as the spaceships coughed up fumes
capable of killing a single man
in under five seconds
we all cry the same tears when we hear the world is coming to a close
we travel to tiny towns where our families are stationed
and we weep in each other’s arms
because all our tears are made up of saltwater
none are fresher than another  
none are clearer
none are holier
i danced with you as the world was bombed to ashes
and minimized to dust particles
but you broke out of my embrace
and shot me in the head instead
the darkness poured out of your grim eyelids
and into my soul
i choked on my own rotten blood
feeling fire slither up next to my paralyzed body

you lit all the corners of the rooms
with candles
now they’re burning
burning the wax all the way down to the bottom
this time,
i’m not dancing,
i’m burning alive

forever is a crueler way of saying never