Her fingers uncurled
like a flower in bloom
as if beckoning
to touch her.
The lines in
were like a sea
and she hummed
that he would be
white outShe hated the blizzard
In the way that she
Was apt to speak,
tongue rolling over
snowballs down a hill;
it would cause
PapercutsIt is said god took
seven days to create the world;
it took me less than that
to fall in love with you.
I found myself folding
the poems I wrote for you
into origami hearts
in hopes that
when you saw them
you’d think of me.
Somewhere down the line
I must have lost myself
because the only things
I have left to
remember you by
are paper cuts.
burial groundsher stomach is hollow
like an abandoned church
left decades ago
for a greater faith,
a higher calling.
she is still
anthromorphism the land along the nile was hot, sticky. the sun beat down and pierced skin like little mouths of teeth, burning, burning; stinging. i smile. dalila's hand rests at the small of my back, fingers curled into the linen of my dress.
fish, aziza, one hand moves to gently touch mine, dark fingertips tapping careful on my knuckles, fish, make him proud.
her hand fell to her sides as she sway foot to foot in the breeze that bore scalding sand.
i cast the line and the bait falls into the water with a quiet sound before it sank down towards the riverbed.
i do not know how long it is that i wait. i wait and wipe sweat from my dripping forehead with the back on my free hand.
a tug and the line tightens, taught from the desperation of whatever writhed on the hook beneath the current.
i pulled, pulled, pulled until the thing fell at my feet. his face; entirely human. the golden bodied thing gaped lips and fought for breath, choking, choking.
the rod fell from my hands, taking th
Notes on Being Mentally Ill and Fully Aware Of It1. she felt guilty for the things she felt
and the times that she couldn’t control it,
hands clasped together
asking god for freedom,
her empty body;
do not pray for salvation,
2. “go outside and do something,”
says her mother,
as if sunlight would burn away all
of her sorrow;
happiness wasn’t so easy as just
passing through an open door.
3. “a butterfly can’t ever see the beauty of
her own wings,”
they tell her.
“thank you,” she says,
“thank you for telling me i’ll never know
On Having a Wolf Over For Teahe smiled with white sharp points, maw gaping wide to gulp black tea. my tongue swept over cracked lips and i swallowed hard, forcing down the knot that was forming in my throat. he saw the apprehension and snapped his gnashing jaws shut, rattling me. bloodstained paws tapped and clicked against the dirt caked tiles of the kitchen floor, his eyes following me as he moved.
the wolf wove circles and circles and circles around me, circles and circles and circles.
i want you to bleed
i set out my finest shining chipped china, the kind with flowers on the edge.
smiling a sunflower smile, i told myself to remember to pick the briars out of my teeth.
I can see right through you,
my fingers shook and clinked spoons against teacups; masochism tasted sweeter with cream and sugar.
Birdyyou’d been staring at the ceiling fan for an hour by then, little body resting on the sheets of our linen lined bed. i wondered if it was because you thought you were going in circles, too.
i don’t know what to do anymore
your words were quiet, dripping out from behind your teeth. you hadn't eaten in two days or drank your morning coffee in three and like some little bird fallen from her nest i could only imagine your wings beating with a quiet fwip-fwip trying to get back up again.
i’d watched all the stages of you falling; falling asleep, falling down, falling apart. i sent empty prayers to god every time you asked me what was wrong with you, i wanted to reach out and touch you but i thought maybe my fingertips would break you, be the final fissure to send you spiraling into the dust that flitted in the four pm evening light, a deluge of gold spilling in through the windows.
take me somewhere nice
you begged me, you pleaded, but i didn’t know whe
CrashI wasn’t sure how long ago the bathwater had gone cold, or if it had even been warm to begin with. The ceramic tub was deep and the sides were lined with vanilla candles, their little lights being the main source of warmth in the room. The only other subtle glow was the tip of Mama’s cigarette, the embers burning with a swirl of smoke.
Mama’s brunette tresses spilled over her shoulders, plastered to her skin. I could recall with fine detail each freckle that spotted her wide face, little constellations on her pale flesh. Her round lips parted for another breath of the cigarette’s smoke, the water lapped against her bare legs as she moved one to cross over the other. Her back straightened and she sat up, staring straight ahead at me with a sad smile. I didn’t want to tell her that the cold water was uncomfortable, but I don’t think I knew better at the time anyway.
Our little bathroom had peeling baby blue wallpaper and pastel pink floor tiles, a gaud
The Perks of Being a PoetToday feels like
sort of day.
All I can do
is see metaphors
and I can't help but notice
and both sad I feel.
It’s cold outside
and my hands have turned
red and white
from clenching this pen too hard.
All I want to do is
take pretty pictures
and write pretty poems
and listen to The Beatles
and The Smiths
for hours at a time.
I want to read books
like Robert Frost
or e.e. cummings
and drink the words
two tablespoons too strong.
I don’t know why
I feel this way
but with blank pages
spread in front of me
like a universe of
“You can make this future yours”
I don’t want it to stop.
I can’t stop.
I'd Rather Be DeadYou're always asking me if I had anything worth dying for.
I'll pose the opposite to you and ask you this:
"Why is it that you find life to be worth living?"
Is it so interesting to go through each day feeling anxious?
To the point that you feel nauseated enough to collapse.
Is it so joyous to spend each night staring at a blank ceiling,
Hearing the clock tick on toward morning,
And yet you lie awake.
Tired, but awake, emotionless, but awake...
Do you truly get up each day, facing it with optimism.
Or do you look at the news and the state of the world,
And genuinely fear for your safety?
Now, if it were me that you had asked my dear,
I'd tell you quite honestly: That I'd rather be dead.
At least I would not have to hear the white lie inside my head.
That tomorrow will bring me a 'better' day...
But of course, you are welcome to believe that.
Bully You're ugly.
You'll never amount to anything.
No one will ever like you.
If you think he'll stay, you're mistaken.
You have no friends.
People hate you.
You are a freak.
You have no place here.
You are nothing more than a coward who
is too afraid to step outside half the time.
Your face is like something from a horror movie.
No one will ever truly fall in love with you.
Guys want girls that are beautiful and face it,
you are considered everything but that.
Hide behind your hair dye because you want to
feign like you don't care.
But inside the cruel eyes of others burn holes into
You will never amount to anything.
The only thing you will ever be good for
is cleaning up dog shit.
You will never be good enough.
Why bother even dreaming?
How can you consider the possibility of love
when everything you do, the way you look, walk,
talk, move, think, can only ever be seen as
Not only is the outside hideous;
the inside is no better.
Why do you think you've
Stripping MeYou may take what you want from me,
Be it my pride or dignity.
You may throw insults at me,
And burn the shredded pieces of my sanity.
You may belittle me, as much as you want,
If only to make your meager life worth living.
But even if you do all that...
No one will protect you when I pull you into the dark.
No one will try to search for you, as my leather ropes tie you down.
No one will hear your screams as metallic screws drive into your face,
Etching an eternal smile, since you'll never leave this place...
"Now then, my dear sweet James, shall we play our favourite game?"
Past Tense BluesWases
So are weres;
And it's the becauses
That make them feel
That much worse.
We Only Live To DieThis is what we live for—these whispers on our lips
The drying bits of blood on our paper-cut fingertips
Opening the letters that we left our future selves
A bittersweet reminder of those storybooks on the shelves
This is what we live for – this emotion in our souls
The torture and the bittersweet moments of lost control
Biting cracked lips with the dirt beneath our nails
These moments of imperfection as our trains of thought derail
This is what we live for – shutting doors and opening eyes
Smiling for a moment, before the tears reveal our lies
This is what we live for, this reality, this life…
This is what we live for,
As we only live
You're Going to be Okay.It’s not your fault.
It’s not what you deserve.
Don’t think that way,
Because one day,
This won’t matter anyways.
Keep your head held high for now,
I know it hurts,
Words can feel suffocating.
As you feel like your lungs are collapsing,
Under the weight of the pain,
In your chest.
I know it stings,
And it seems like it takes forever for the bell to ring.
As you count down the hours.
But it doesn’t matter.
When you just go home,
To sit in your room alone.
Because words unlike bruises don’t go away.
Once they are said they are here to stay.
And silence is excruciating.
But being in a crowd of violent stares,
Is no better.
So where do you go?
Is the question you’ll never know.
But don’t give up just yet!
Things will not always be like this.
Yes, today seems hopeless.
Tomorrow seems worse.
One more day of hearing another hateful word.
Might make your head explode,
And sometimes you want to drive yourself completely off the road.
You are someone's reason to liveShe had skin like a cactus-
could only hurt
anyone who got
she held what
You have to know pain to....Sometimes you have to fall apart.
You have to bleed out,
In order to have the courage to shout.
Against the darkness.
You have to know what it's like,
To feel disconnected,
To be best friends with your anxiety,
Because it's the only thing to keep you company.
Because you've never felt so lonely.
Even though you're surrounded in a sea of noise,
Which drowns out your voice.
As you choke,
On society's noose
You're afraid to cut it loose.
Because you don't know what others will think of you.
You have to know depression.
You have to know what it's like to be alone.
You have to know what it's like to be silenced.
In order to appreciate breathing,
And to fall in love with colors.
After being blind,
For all of that time.
And only being able to see memories,
In order to appreciate a person's presence.
And the feeling,
When you finally find a friend.
Who will stick with you until the end.
And not judge you for your scars.
But loves who you are.
RapeI am a seventeen year old boy
I have determination in my bright blue orbs.
My smile can calm even the strongest tempest.
My friends are nothing short of amazing,
and my family...well, they are some of the most
supportive people I have in my life.
I'm going to make it big. Have a family,
live in a big house.
I'm going to marry my princess, have money
I'll be happy.
And my children will look up to me,
so will my wife. I'll protect them,
I'll be their role model.
I'll be the grandpa my grand kids love.
I'll live a long life, until it's time for me to go.
And even then, I'll be smiling down, not ready
to really depart from happiness.
I'm a seventeen year old boy,
and my tears stain my ruffled jacket.
I can't smile like I used to, but I try.
But I'm still so lonesome.
Where were the friends that understood me?
Where was the family that supported me?
They try, but I can't let them in.
My future crumbles, my wife vanishes,
my children...their children, drown in the