#structureless poem

go ahead and etch your soul

into my heart.

let it flow through my veins,

even into my lungs.

then draw that knife you wield

and watch as the blood sputter

out of my chest.

see the air escape

as i struggle to breathe,

and walk away

as i lay dead.

you killed me, i let you.

now i’m bleeding black

all over my walls,

and my walking corpse

has taken a liking

to waking but dying

everyday.

and you left on my skin

scars that say:

maybe only death

there are a lot of things

within me that feel like

poems but aren’t quite;

words that seem

closer to a fist

yet similar

to a truce.

swirls of voices

warring inside me,

like a congress

but held inside

a single person,

which uncannily

rhymes a lot

with prison,

not just in tongue

but also in skin.

how brave it is

to be similar

with oneself,

to be one mind

and one soul.

how strange to be

in tune with you.

the bright sky rests now

and i can’t think of

anything but the shadows

and i can’t feel

anything but the claws

and shrapnels

cutting my skin

tearing my masks

bludgeoning my walls

i so carefully kept

standing hard against

the violence of light

in the dark i am me

i am bare and bruised

The girl in the walls hides herself often.

I rarely see her.

One time I got to ask her why she hides.

She said “people hurt me, people of the outside”

I didn’t get her.

 The girl in the walls cries often.

I always hear her.

One time I got to ask her why she cries.

She said “people destroy everything, pieces of me dies”

I approached her.

 The girl in the walls starts to harden.

I feared her.

My body felt stiff from her stare.

She said “I don’t need you, fuck it if I’m broken”

I knew her.

 The girl in the walls hides herself often.

Because I want her to.

I told her to hide or people will leave me behind.

She said “but I am you, we are bound”

i didn’t want to blame a soul on why i’m killing my shelter

but it wasn’t until him that the void was undeterred

it wasn’t until him that the need made my veins cower

it wasn’t until him that i cannot see a thing when i shower

it wasn’t until him that i viewed these edges as lovers

waiting to be touched by my gentle, burning candles

wanting to bite tender skin with bittersweet sharpness

my universe shouldn’t be romanticizing agony and screams