0

blank words.

The feelings are there,
but the words aren’t.
How can you share understanding,
if you can’t put it in sound?
How can you share
the things inside your head,
if the words come out jumbled,
and plain;
when what is spinning
around inside your head,
is kind of like seeing the sunset,
on a soldiers folded flag,
while his widow weeps,
and the world comes together
to mourn him.
It’s like that.
it’s beauty and pain,
hope and rage,
and how do you put that into words,
because even this,
just isn’t enough.

0

burnt cheese.

i say i love you.
i say it in that way that
gives you permission not
to respond;
like maybe its a joke,
or you’re just a friend,
or maybe you did something
nice and it’s just a thank you.
i say i love you.
aftertaste like burnt cheese
stuck to the roof of your mouth,
hot fire you can’t spit out.
i push down all those
questions like
do you love me too?
can you just tell me
that you want me.
just me.
i pretend like i’m not insecure
even though i look in the mirror
and i fucking hate that girl
with the shit brown eyes
and the fucked up hair.
i hate her so fucking much.
i know what they say,
i know what i say,
but it’d feel so good just to
hear you say it.
just once –
i love you.
i love you so much.
you move the fuck away
and here i am,
writing shitty poems
wishing i was wrapped up
in you like the night sky
says goodnight to the earth.

0

dont worry im not fucking suicidal

they’d be so surprised,
if i answered the door with
blood dripping down both my hands
and bloody handprints on the fucking walls.
they’d be so suprised,
really they would.
they’d talk.
they’d say, but we didn’t see this coming.
i’d lie, you know.
oops, haha, silly me,
just an accident with a kitchen knife,
you see, i was a cooking a big pot
of what-the-fuck and god-this-sucks
and what do you know,
slit both my fucking wrists,
totally an accident.
they’d believe me.
because pain is something we hide
in the closet underneath last years swim suit
and the pictures from our fucked up high school
years.
i’ll chug a bottle of some cheap shitty wine,
the whole thing if it doesn’t slip
out of bloody fingertips.
but if it does, we’ll pretend it didn’t even happen
white wine, what wine?
look at the time,
you sure you’re okay,
that’s their favorite line.
clearly, i’m not fucking okay.
clearly, i need help because
this blood is never gonna come off the walls
and they’re white,
so obviously it’s going to stain,
oh, you got that other thing,
that’s okay.
i think i can get these stains out
if i cry fucking hard enough after you leave.
i think i’ve got more bandaids,
underneath the bathing suits.

0

candles.

don’t bother to sew yourself shut,
just stand there, hold yourself open
let them see your beating heart
vulnerable doesn’t mean broken.

change the narrative of sorrow
as it turns out, happiness is something
that you can borrow.
you can share it.

like a candle and a flame,
your light doesn’t need to be extinguished
share it, no shame.
you’re beautiful even when you’re bleeding.