I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.

First thing I did was run from the scene,
left the old streets and all they’d seen.
She said goodbye — I froze in place,
then turned before tears showed on my face.

Then came the nights I caved to the haze,
lines on the table, weeks in a daze.
Each hit a way to not recall —
but nothing numbed the fall at all.

I crossed state lines, left all I knew,
wore smiles I borrowed and played them through.
But even then, she stayed inside —
a quiet weight I couldn’t hide.

So I left it all, the past, the place,
the life I built around her trace.
Not to explore the world or start anew,
but to survive a life that ended with you.

the stars speak to me
tiny glimmers of hope dotted across the
vast abyss of darkness
for they burn for millions of years,
yet light up not a fraction of the sky
but they persevere!
they persevere for the one who might find solace in their glow.
lighting up even one person's life
is reason enough to keep going
to keep living

i am surrounded by mirrors
i look different in each one
every time i glance at a reflection
i morph into something else entirely.
and a stranger stares back.

in one i'm too short.
too short to hold onto my father's hand
i reach and reach
scream and cry
but i go unnoticed.
and a gaping hole forms in my heart.
a hole i try to fill with substances, people and emotions-
but none of them fit.  

in the second i am too fat,
tummy bulges out, and thighs rub together.
my arms are too flabby.
in the background is my mother,
staring at my body with disdainful eyes.
those eyes burn a hole in my chest,
one i that i think starvation will fill,
instead food became my best friend in that reality,
and my mother, a stranger.

in the third hard eyes glare back at me.
a girl who's been so unloved she becomes silent.
this reflection petrifies me,
for this girl is angry and cruel.
her excellence is used against her.
she has been shunned and left behind,
with nothing but her writing to find.

finally, in the last there's droopy eyes.
and that's all that's there,
droopy eyes, smudges on the glass, and someone else's fingerprints.
which reality is mine?

who do i believe?
the version that cries?
the one that lies?
the one they clap for,
or the one that watches from behind?

I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.

I saw
in the streets —
that desperate
hustle;
(grinding...)
They’re
not hungry,
nor are they
satisfied.

I saw
in the streets —
the filthy rich
and the poor;
(begging...)
They’re
not affluent,
nor are they
the *******.

I watched,
and wondered —
am I
one of them
too?

I saw
in the streets —
the appetite
for more;
(hungry...)
They’re
not content,
nor are they
dissatisfied.

I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.

No one’s
screaming,
but I still
hear the
sirens —
As they
pick up
the dead
people
walking.

Eleven-years-old should be bold and boyful
Joyful, jelly beans and snow on Christmas
Robert Frost’s birches, swinging on branches
Latching to hopes that have yet to become.

Seventeen should be dreaming, dress-up as grown-up
Growing and grinning and racing the time—
Sprint to the finish, and then look behind
Hours to minutes and seconds to breaths.

But his face had roundness that gave way to edges,
Glittering, forged from the weight of the press
How much can you take away from the boy?
You take and you take until there’s nothing left.

He howled at night, at the stars and the sky
He’d have pulled down the moon, if only he could
And he should, he ought to have clawed down the heavens
For the hole gaping wide, for a god who deserts.

And still, though he trembled, sweat slicking his skin
When he saw you watching, he gave you a grin.
It was tender, titanium, tenacious and thin
And tremulous, breaking apart in the wind.

His fingers pressed into the dirt and the dice
Then he gazed at you, O Fate, like a vise
His heart made of gold but his eyes made of ice
And he told you, O Fate:
“𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.”

been wearing the truth
up my sleeve
for ten whole years,
yet people who've known me
for half that time
stumble
when it gets revealed.

inside and out,
time has sealed
those battles fought in vain.
we're like family now—
truth and i.
but when they flinch
at the unconcealed,
i still don’t know
what to say.

The little plant bends

with the sun and the wind, blooms --


as much as it can.