‪‪❤︎‬

There is no wind in these sails.

There is no pull in this hull.

There is a leak in these walls.

I fear I cannot hide the drip from you.

The rage of this sea.

The weight of my grief,

The depth of this bruise.

It overflows in buckets.

It loops me in metronome,

Panic with no lull.

Passengers, horrified before the moon,

You have tethered them to your doom.

6.23.25

I stare at the screen.

Digital dissociation

to soothe the unnerving.

Never turn off

the white flashing.

Melting into pixels:

thoughts vanishing.

My mind is a blur,

melding every second

into a week.

Turning every clock

back with a blink.

Pretending, pretending

this body is fueled

by gigabytes of code.

010101010,

dissolving numbers

without whispers

of reveries.

A glitching profile

without history.

A modern imprisoning,

a dying battery.

I stare

at a black screen.

My reflection

is disturbing.

8.2.26

I want to drink

until I vomit.

I want to dance

until I collapse.

Sometimes

I want to forget.

All regrets,

no stomach.

Bottle the bile,

a little while.

I want to disappear

until I can breathe.

I want to survive,

but I can’t escape.

7.18.26

A jaded woman with onyx eyes

does not search for pleasant surprises.

She no longer hopes for wishes denied.

Shadows litter her face,

her gaze lowered toward

cobblestone faded gray,

but half past midnight…

During another mundane plight,

you glittered in tangerine light,

diligently stoking a flame.

Perhaps you kept the warmth

wanting to tickle her pink, or

to distract her from her grief.

Possibly you enjoyed

those lively reactions,

pockets of engagement that

polished evenings navy cast.

Potentially she cherished

an iota amongst

a mound of memories:

a polaroid of mere moments.

I am not sure

she is anything special.

It riddles me green,

with disgust or envy

of all the iridescent colors

you’ve managed to witness.

A weary woman adorned in ink

selfishly carries a dream.

The vermillion embers crackling

amidst the sapphire sky

cry out her final plea,

“remember me…

remember me vividly”

7.15.26

You feel like freedom

I need to touch.

My face is hot,

talking is not enough.

Bring me closer…

just a lick.

I need to see

your face when

I admit these sins:

Too lewd to process,

strong in my heart.

I will hold your secrets

…in the dark.

I alone will feel you,

consume your soul.

Share your freedoms,

I will give you my desire.

7.11.26

My sister says,

“the rabbit is not

running fast enough”

and begrudgingly

I must agree.

Freedom is a fickle wish,

a luxury dish when

you live on plastid scraps.

Perhaps if I had learned

the forest trails…

I could have run away.

Oh well.

I was busy

dodging the butchers knife,

and hopping over

hunters traps.

I concerned myself

with camouflage

avoiding an entourage

of constant threats.

I was preoccupied

by my father’s teeth

and mother’s warnings.

I have strained for more,

munched on endurance,

tried on efficiency.

It is not enough for me.

So maybe the rabbit,

has been “dragging

her hind feet,”

but fear has always

been a familiar face.

7.5.26

I escape

into a digital void

to avoid my problems,

that’s poor judgment.

I pretend

I am someone else

to detach my consciousness;

did that dissolve my body?

The coroner

comes again.

I am truly rotten.

7.2.26

Rancid words

on your tongue

but I am too busy

picking plums.

All my petals are torn.

Your horrors

can’t hurt anymore.

Spoon-fed poison

at an early age

I glided by

on false hope

and saccharine lies.

A greenhouse

humming with flies.

I was snipped

too young.

My heart,

full of maggots.

My fingers,

stained purple.

Your words

roll off my back

when they should

sting like acid.

My flesh is numb.

You are my

most familiar aversion,

a knot in my spine

I no longer recognize.

6.30.26

I can be what you want,

just give me a chance,

give me a chance,

give me a chance!

I can feel my pulse…

inside my hand.

Give me a chance,

give me a chance!

I understand what I need…

your acceptance.

Are you willing,

are you willing?

Give me your thumbs.

I will bite each one.

Does it hurt bad?

I hope it hurts.

Give me your rejection.

I am ready for digestion.

Can you imagine,

if I spilled the feeling?

6.27.26

A head on a spike,

the discolored silver

poking a wretched mind.

Preoccupation with him

is a thrilling affliction.

I observe from a distance,

while my body leans forward.

My eyes fixed upon

a fascinating horror.

If I can keep restraint,

I might find a reward.

My brains are on display,

my heart is off leash,

a goddamn runaway.

Seconds carved from a clock,

how do I capture what I want?

I take a glance at myself:

did impaling her help?

I earned approval:

a validation high,

the chase is undeniable,

making mutilation justifiable.

Fear is only an obstacle.

My longing is inhospitable.

I itch for your gaze

lodged in my skin.

6.23.26

How often can you split yourself

and expect coins to fall out?

How many times can you birth

from a barren womb?

In a house that deprives you,

with labor that destroys your hue.

This world is my tomb,

trapped in the dark of this room

with scratched up pall for curtains.

I am wholeheartedly the fool.

Empty bottles scattered,

and bugs swarming my bed.

Poured my effort into—

only to circle the same wound.

Push in, and shake me out,

keep hurting me until I learn

there is nothing I can do.

Another delay, a rerouted train.

There’s something monstrous,

at every destination, in this station.

And there’s something in every cave

that makes me behave until…

my back is bent, concave.

My screech is overdue,

in silence, unwitnessed,

cruelties: atrocities, unforgiven.

My eyes are sunken, bruised.

Tell me it is not true:

This is not a life I wanted.

I have nothing to offer you.

4.30.26

I am going to be sick.

What won’t you stomach?

Grit your teeth and

bide your time so often.

No wonder you’re nauseous.

Scavenging, skittering,

for a mountain to climb,

or a forest to hike.

I need anything to

keep myself preoccupied.

Anxiety soaked sadness…

subdued by a blacklist

of obsessive distractions.

I am so sick.

Dissociate to forget:

my heartbeat is rapid,

my dreams are intense.

I can’t stomach the truth,

replacing reality with ruse.

You love to drift as if

that is your prescription.

6.18.26

Attempting to cry—

I want to wail,

like a small child,

and be cradled

like a woman.

This relentless burning

is an intensity

that frowns upon me,

but I need it.

I need to crush

your heart in my palm.

Turn my guts inside out

until my toes curl.

I need you to touch

the same flesh

you did then,

to feel that hurt again.

All I get is a few

measly tears,

but I wanted

to be your baby.

I cry out for you,

yet my voice is wasted.

I know you

won’t understand.

You hear

without interpretation.

You invade

without hesitation.

That throbbing heat

you constantly create

reminds me: I am alive

even if I am unsatisfied.

6.15.26

I’ll circle back

until you can read

what’s on my mind.

There are some things

I can’t define.

And even more

that bring me

to my knees.

There’s no place

to settle these secrets.

There’s no fair jury

to appraise the evidence.

There’s no lawyer

to defend the premise.

It is all history:

a collection of records

that plaster my pain

onto the wall.

I stare at it biased

and in awe.

I am stunned

I survived.

I am anxious

I won’t be revived.

I’ll circle back

when you can

read my mind.

6.13.26

There are some sounds

that wilt before they bloom.

There are some desires

that only birth dust and doom.

Surely not everything needs

to be said aloud, but if allowed

there are some words that

have gone stale in my mouth.

The amount of times I cannot count.

There are some thoughts

that vanish in the face of fear,

but at times I have wanted

her to hear that I cannot

be my mother’s mother.

I am smothering in the role.

6.9.26

An ancient melancholy

clinging to the walls:

they creak and they haunt.

How gaunt you have become.

I did not notice at first,

how whittled down you seem.

An uncanny groan,

carrying a shaky tone.

It is a generational sadness,

that seeps into your marrow.

You keep reaching,

for hollow ghosts:

a love that vanished.

You need a blessed exit,

for your decrepit soul.

A familiar artifact,

you mourn alone.

Humans are social,

but this home

is all smoke.

So pace the halls

all you want,

take another toke,

trust, the walls know.

6.5.26