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19.01.25, or the house
it's these walls, I tell you. they're made of powder. so thin they crumble from a muffled cry. and it's these bones of yours, the ones around your skull. they've gotten too thick. you don't hear me anymore. you don't hear me anymore. you don't hear me anymore. you don't hear me anymore. you don't hear me anymore. you don't hear me anymore. you don' ( Read more... ) -
16.01.25, or breathe underwater
in the heart within my heart,
the one who dares not say its name,
I can breathe underwater
and the sky is never barren.
and the moon is always golden
except for when it shimmers silver
and every star writes every name
into rain (when so I wish).
and my mother doesn't starve herself
and to cry is never yelled at
and I love people the way I loved people
when I ( Read more... ) -
29.10.24, or the most fun a girl can have
an electric flicker sparks my finger as I turn off the lights
I never catch it before it goes
then I'm alone again.
I can't see in the dark
I have never seen myself in the correct sense.
entrenched within my secrecy,
I fear
my mother doesn't think me pretty.
I am a girl. I was born a girl.
my mother was, too.
a pretty girl.
prettier a girl than I am
or ever ( Read more... ) -
27.08.24, or i die in the end of this one
I'm a slow-runner who'll throw up before we reach the mile
and I request in your best interest
that you look away while I fail
(it's the rules of decorum).
I'm afraid
the way numbers go has never changed since numbers have been numbers
(what were numbers before?)
and can I do one on you
like you did one on me
(twice)? hardly.
the countdown in my ( Read more... ) -
16.08.24, or teething
I'll bite whatever feeds me
like a teething baby
with the wretched
unforgivable
twist of awareness;
which unendears any intentions
and I scream into the night
until lungs give up
and ears bleed out
because I have yet to learn
the language of
regret.
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23.1.23, or itchings I can't reach and shoes that barely fit
to the daughters walking alongside their mothers,
overaware of the way we turn our feet while walking so they won't comment on it. so they won't call us names or get offended when we point it out.
to the clothes they hand-us-down,
an evergreen hole throughout their wardrobe (and it better look as well on us as it did on her, but just enough, never ( Read more... ) -
12.03.24, or misslist
I miss my childhood dog.
I miss the muddy boots I couldn't walk in.
I miss the pink closet and the fluorescent stars.
I miss the smaller hands I had to play the small guitar.
I miss the plastic slide in the playground next to my father's ex-wife's house.
and I'll read the eulogy of everything I no longer have,
and kickstart the mourning with
( Read more... ) -
13.05.24, or handbooks on via crucis
I spend my nights facing an unlocked gate in hopes I catch the passage of time in a rusty whim. I don't. It has a way of overrunning you like Santa Claus in your grandparents' porch; like the realization of yourself a little too late.
I don’t regret as much as I wonder or as much as I tether "what ifs" into dirty locks of hair. Open-mouthed prayers ( Read more... ) -
31.03.24, or the angry man in the house and his angry little boy
I see my brother's pain
in the way he cries bullets.
his wrath stinks
of my father's stale beers
and grainy barley bread
from the morning after.
I see my brother's pain
in my own.
while I drown and he burns,
someone else's bite
carves a hole inside
the door.
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24.03.24, or big bad moon
there's a big bad moon in a starless night
and I'm thinking of a 1001 things to tell you
but not sending any.
I'm the type of air that wraps around your lungs
and squeezes
and then cries out "I know mouth to mouth
don't leave just yet!"
don't leave just yet.
I see your face around my bedroom ceiling
and you don't wanna talk and I wanna hate you
but I never ( Read more... )