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
when you held the cigarette
between your fingers
that were dwindled down with age,
like embers from flame
did you ever imagine
your family sitting in
hospital rooms and church pews,
lingering over your ashes
boxed up like a pack of smokes,
you withered like flowers
with wheelchairs instead of stems.
they tell me
when i was born
you were afraid
you'd break me,
gentle enough for a cig
but not a baby –
they tell me you loved
the way my head fit in
the palm of your hand.
i watched you
on those last few days,
red and yellow tulips
on the shelf
to brighten up the room;
there's nothing like a death
to bring a family together.
your grand daughter
swelters like pavement
under the summer sun
from the smell.
being a bird means flying (i'm afraid of heights)they tell me to be a phoenix
do not want to go up in
i must admit that
i don’t like the heat;
it’s all too much for
me to handle,
you're bugging metwo hands raised
in silent surrender,
a passive repression
of an infantry;
a brooding anger
stirring in her chest
like a nest of hornets.
with every little
she must have swallowed
a cicada because
she could feel her heart
beat so fast
it buzzed out
a humdrum song.
Nightlights1 - Where art thou, Juliet?
Paloma’s fingers rapped against the window of her best friend’s first floor bedroom three times at first, and when no response came, she tapped out a soft little beat.
The curtains parted to reveal a teenage girl, blonde hair fallen uncombed around her rounded baby face. For a moment, the girl squinted at Paloma before prying open the window with her long, piano player fingers.
It squeaked and complained as it slid up against the wood, the glass rattling. She had one of the oldest houses in the neighborhood, and it showed.
She propped the window up with a wooden slab and stuck her head out, only to be greeted with Paloma’s deep voice, “Juliet, my fair Juliet, there art thou,” she reached up for her Juliet’s hand and brought it to her mouth, gently kissing her knuckles.
“That’s not how it goes, Paloma,
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
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.
On losing a friend(it did not end in tears.)
I could give you armfuls of oceans, great
mountain ranges wrapped in silver bows,
a coral reef gleaming like a sapphire chain
but you will always ask for a dormant volcano
and a star you can hold in your palm.
And I have tried to be that star, have tried to
combust bright enough, shrink small enough
but it is never enough for you. You kiss my
mouth with those carmine lips and swallow my
heartbeat with your gentle laugh and I glow
I glow and you go you go you go on stringing
me along a trail of crumbs, making me forget
that I am starving myself for your table scraps.
I could press the slats of pre-dawn light into your
answering machine, could fold dust columns that
fall between venetian archways into your bedsheets,
could hang the lost jewels of jaguar fangs clattering
above your dreamcatcher and you would only ask for
a dormant volcano and a brittle sea-salt glass wave.
And I have tried to capture the tides and I have tried
to blow glass but my hands are clum
The GardeniasI told you I had wildflowers growing in my veins
and you thought it was quaint,
so when I took shears to my jugular -
you wouldn’t help me cut them out.
You thought I’d be opheliac
if they bloomed, splashing white
into my already paling wrists.
Maybe you thought the perfume would purify me
and being a tragic heroine
would be better than just being tragic.
Their roots choked out my heart and
to my blood
as I died,
drowning in the after-effects of Pretty,
all I could hear
was you telling me that you loved
that I had Gardenias in my eyes.
JudgmentCapricious, erratic creatures,
You observe the likeness of unknown features,
Condemning, curving your mouth with disdain
For the decorum of oneself shall obey your malicious reign.
The abomination you painted in your narrow mind,
Was no more than an eccentric brother yet to find
Utter compliance you seek,
Yet of vain dejection you only reek.
The enmity that guides your every line
Is but poison you gulped instead of light so divine.
Depart from the ignorance that compels you,
Underneath the deception lies all that is true.
DarknessThe disease came in the form of quiet, loving destruction.
It pulled me out to sea,
Waves crashing in on me from all directions.
It planted lilies in my throat.
Until I choked on
Roses and chrysanthemums.
It made my mind my own personal head stone.
Nothing but polluted words
The flowers made it sound so playful and innocent when I said,
'I am better off dead.'
You rage wars.
Tugging at the skin underneath my eyes.
Of a once friendly stranger's goodbyes.
Quiet and loving.
You made me fall in love with the velvet of your darkness.
The way you cloaked yourself around me.
You gave me the piercing control of a knife.
'Death isn't a disease. It is a solution.'
A solution to the dark abyss.
Nags at the back of my skull.
It makes my eyes dull.
The darkness loved my light.
It loved it so much,
It was a parasite.
It stole my sun.
Now I am just a super nova
Collapsing in on itself,
Until I, myself, become the black hole.
A Letter to My Best FriendA letter to my best friend, for when he is feeling badly
When your sunny skies turn to thunder clouds.
When you can't hear your own thoughts
Over rumbling drum rolls of thunder.
I will be the umbrella to protect you
From the freezing rain.
I'd set my bones aflame
Watch them spark and burn.
I'd turn my soul into a Bon fire
Just to keep you warm.
I'd catch fire flies like stars.
I would keep them in a jar
And give them to you.
Because you light up the dark of the night sky.
When I am feeling blue
You are the one that helps me get through
The murk of my lonely thoughts.
And sometimes, I don't feel like you see yourself clearly.
I wish you could see you
The way I do.
I see you in the stars
You talk about them so fondly.
Every constellation reminds me of you.
I wonder if you are made of cosmos.
Such chaotic, pure energy,
I see you in the rain.
You are cold
I'd dance to the music of your soft,
Pitter- patter melody.
I see you in the air I breathe.
Because you are the thing
Fairy Tale GirlFairy tale little girl.
She wears a crown upon her head,
And befriends the monsters under her bed.
She sings songs to birds.
But no one ever heard
Her cries when the castle walls came tumbling down.
Real world little girl.
She weaves herself a fantasy inside her mind.
Hoping to find
The same peace from when she was young.
And she's like water colors.
So soft, and easily washed away.
She is the soft blues in the morning of a new day.
I found her hiding within her tower.
Far above the real world below.
She is so broken but never lets it show,
So desperate for some fairy tale ending.
She asked me quietly one day,
'Do you think the world will ever be like my story books?'
I thought for a moment before replying,
'In order to survive there are some bad things you have to overlook.'
'The world is grey.'
I heard her say one day.
As if accepting the odd mixture of good and bad.
Her voice sounded happy and sad,
All at once.
As she ripped away the last page
In her story book.
Your feelings are validI once read
that a teaspoon of matter
from a black hole
can weigh thousands of tons
so think about that
when someone tells you
your problem is no big deal
it may not look
like you have the weight of the world
upon your shoulders
but it sure can feel like it.
The Rogue FactorRise, fall, get up, stumble and run
it's getting harder to catch a breath
in this cloud of scorching lies you've shoved me in.
Stop right there, I am not following you again
you, the one who held a scythe to my throat,
had only brought me closer to a death I didn't cry for.
It's a price I've paid for having faith in
you, the one with blooming roses
and stinging, poisonous thorns.
Whose dreams was I chasing?
Were they yours, mine or
were they the illusions of a distant fall?
Heaven and Hell crossed at your feet
but you took the wrong turn and blindly led the way,
straight into a fire that welcomed me with open arms.
Doubt someone like you can atone,
you, the one with a habit of tearing souls.
Yet here I stand, and fight
against you, once and for all.
I grew tired of letting you take control.
I found a strength in a goal you can't claim,
my life and my work are no longer yours.
Hope shines bright you monster,
I'm not going to be a victim,
I'm not holdi
Eighteen Years OldTwenty years old, and unhappy with the world.
Twenty years old and threatening teenage girls.
Twenty years old and unsure of who you are.
Twenty years old and hiding behind keys
and a space bar.
At twenty years old, your anger gets the best of you,
at twenty years old, I'd hate to be you.
At eighteen years old, I feel sorry for you,
despite the amount of agony you've put me
Because the one who is the giver of your life
criticizes your appearance and your size.
Despite talking, and the gawking,
and all in between,
I know you're just a poor man suffering.
But you're twenty years old, and you should
You're twenty years old,
and you'll never understand this letter.
Fifteen years old, with the mind of a toddler.
Fifteen years old, and though I'm writing this,
I shouldn't even bother.
Fifteen years old, and you're already a professional stalker,
you're toxic, your disgusting, and a suicide blogger.
Fifteen years old, and life is a game, you can ruin people,
play with pe