30 Jul

And I miss them because they
Can hold me together
When all that’s left is the physical

And I am not paper, because
The paper has been soaked through
And torn, and my limbs

Are coming apart in sticky, meaty


30 Jul

I want a key to your apartment,
all the memories from before you were

I want to know what drove you to carve runes,
where your teenage idealisms came from
-what they were.

I want to smooth your corners, or maybe
you can tell me why you love them
so I can learn to also.

And some days I want to know
All of the whys in the universe
but first, I want to know yours.

Not eating, but devouring

30 Jul

The ouroboros was now made
Entirely of knives

It wrapped itself around a world
Where parents broke, and starved their children

And added to itself when in return,
The children continued to listen to their elders.


24 Jul

it is uncertainties catching on fingertips
with their own sort of roughness

it is the owls that want to be flowers
and the girls who want to princesses
and middle-aged men who want to be

anything other than what they turned out as.

it is nooses snagging around necks that think
in dual arguments, unsure what they
are supposed to be talking themselves into

because it feels like a fight both ways.

Urban Myths

24 Jul

it is the same.
it comes out, the same.

the penmanship may be
better- the swirls
more deliberate.

but it always makes stories
of roses, and courage;

fish finding legs,
and the knives that come after.


21 Jul

He left again,
just like each time before.

I fell in love, understood
the honor, the arrows.
and it hurt no less.

and it will hurt no less when you
leave, even if it is for honor,
or valor, or vengeance,
chasing after the end of a story

or me. I suppose
it could be me, that
milky fish-half, always
getting in the way.


21 Jul

I don’t even know
if I could say I hate them

-the in-between spaces.

those hollows, where
they bloom, the inches of air
beneath the soles of your feet.

i know they should not
live in me too. my body is
already made of crevasses,
bridges, and corners.

and i know i am not
a light-bearer’s daughter,
i cannot make light to see.


21 Jul

there are fearful oceans
in my belly.

today, they are not of afraid
of mortality, or even time.
not the slow creep-crawling of starvation
or the vomitous urges that are
not nerves, or any other sort of

no. they are afraid,
in their childish fancy of
not being first, or only,
or best.

they are not even afraid
of hurt. that perverse
monster lives inside them,
they made their peace with it.

but they do fear those depths within,
like children, they never
stopped being afraid of the dark.


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