Shuffle

the beginning ig

and what if i started a secret blog. and what if i used it. and what if.

on fall

fall is a season for the lovers

transitory and fleeting,

never quite settling in one place or time

fall is never landing,

a leaf carried by the wind

pushed by forces outside you

to places you didn’t want to be, perhaps

but you find yourself there regardless.

fall is the gentle whisper of the breeze, transformed

to the violence of a hurricane

wind chapped skin, fingernails brittle, you fall.

clawing for something you’ll never have

praying for something you’ll never be

desperate to affix yourself to the branch

but you’re adrift now, and

there’s no going back.

fall is still falling,

after the storm ends

after everyone moves on and forgets,

fall is left behind.

memory trapped in a brittle, orange leaf

sliding to rest on the slope of a dying hill

“home at last,” it whispers, as it flakes away

“home at last”

three thousand

the days pass so quickly,

resolutions so fickle

and there is something old, very old, inside me

that spits on it all

the lecherous gluttony and

sick indulgence, stuffing soft, pink bellies

full to bursting

built into that, a stopping point

the shining stretch of flesh, hesitant,

untested, afraid to try

energy must exist in equal balance,

and the beast takes

yawning cavernous hunger,

a need never satiated, swallowing the world.

hurting, hunting,

it does not forget – it does not want to forget.

content in its loathing, superior in a void.

hating and hating.

but it forgets itself

fed by another hand, before it learned to take.

hurt by another's mouth, before it learned to snap

someone else's creation, it is not itself

it is residue,

it is fear

the days pass so quickly,

without reprieve, in delay

i walk alongside them,

and the beast always stays.

all the people i wasted poems on

i hope you get your peace

i hope this lets you feel release

i hope the hurt was worth it

i hope the feeling raw

i hope it scalds when you remember me

and burns the skin right off your lying maw

lucky charm

i would look at a text

thumbnail skitter over message, scroll,

and think that this must be how real people talk

i looked for the answers to the universe in the

scuff of nail polish on my desk, or

scried my future in the blue tint of

lucky charms milk,

but there was no supernatural to be found in the ordinary,

no simple magic to the daily

and i woke up before the sun rose, but even then i

couldn’t find anything to be happy about

or any beauty in the darkened world,

until the gray light crept over the sky, illuminating the ugliness

the bus stop smells, and

fetid streets, and

the ants on the counter, crawling over their dead friends’ bodies,

among the pesticidal waste

and i wonder if someone wished me out of existence,

or if maybe, it stuck, when you told me i couldn’t be real

on scent

scent indicates familiarity; it’s always there but doesn’t really mean anything until it means something, 

and now its not just brownies cooking, but ours over stifled giggles at two am

and now its not just a car exhaust, but yours singing songs into a sunset 

and then, years later, you catch a whiff

and your head turns, inevitably, because it would be worse than shame, to miss something you love

and maybe a part of you wants you to be happy

and when you lose that forever maybe you’ll seek it in a bottle, or save it in fabric, or even try to rediscover it in the recesses of your mind, 

but scent is uniquely reserved for the here and now,

and i will never live this moment again, but 

maybe i will catch a whiff of it on the breeze 

and my head will turn ever so slightly, 

and i will remember oh, how i loved you so.

the heart

i want to write poetry but there’s no words in my mouth

saliva foams to the surface and there’s no sink to spit it out

clogged with frustration and rage,

i tell you:

i stopped trusting myself a long time ago

the heart is not the guarantor of interest.

i go back, again and again

find solace in the cage,

my present moment unsatisfying, and yet

more concievable than a future where i changed

the heart beats and tells me to listen.

mortal hand, electric flow, i tell it no.

action potential, depolarization

numb limbs, itching skin, proof, here;

that my body mattered, in a way, in the end

when they pressed an ear to my chest

still warm with fading beat,

ready to rest,

it told them, whispered secret;

she tried to escape me, separate me, deflect

and when the soul goes unnourished, body suffers

the energy pervades, more spent on the physical

on mental toil, means none for the rest

when she hated herself, she knew it was wrong

but she couldn’t convince herself of the best

good was not worth it, and she sunk, and i beat

until she finished me, too, inevitably, like the rest

‘now bury me quietly’ it said happily, contract and release salted life

the heart was right, in the end, as it is

neglect mind, neglect body, neglect soul

i tried to love you, it was supposed to be you

but you were never the goal

cowardice (1)

you wish to hide from your mind,

you wish to not be real

you hunger for experience

you crave their artifice

you yearn for something better than this

the curve of smiling lip

you let the colors consume you

if attention strays, it never dips

you want to look and not be seen

you want the mouth to open

you talk of vulnerability,

you hide behind a screen

you indulge in habits you hate,

you hate yourself by proxy

it holds no violence, but it festers

a sight you cant unsee

you wonder how you got here

you wonder how to flee

it draws you back, time again,

its a funny thing like that

habits form, but once they’re there

they’re awfully hard to crack

smoke and mirrors

i want you to make me pretty

unmake who i was beneath your hands

take all my soft parts and sharpen me

press me to you to find no curved edge

i want you to push down where it hurts

i want you to yield me a secret

you can’t break something already broken

i already know you'll never keep it

don’t ask to know me,

go on, make me anew

see me where no one has seen

i can pretend i was what you drew

look in the places that matter the least,

lick the tears from my cheeks and bite down

strip me to skin to skin, but

there will always be space, no matter how thin

i want you to taste me

take a day or two to wash the scent

miss me when i’m gone; won’t you?

convince me not to pretend

it isn’t kind, is it? to yourself, nor i

making mirrors and posing and refracting light

you can try, but we’ll never see eye to eye

even when silk drape isn’t on your mind

smoke and mirrors, painful prayer, nothing to see

you will never make a beggar of me

on spring

pastel sunrise, mottled green

flower bloom, thawed stream

spring is upon us, the air is clean

crisp cloud cuts the sky

and there’s a gleam in your eye

an adventure there, and i want to follow

outstretched hand, t-shirts at dusk

grassy knoll, abandoned park

mosquitos buzz and bat them away

air cool and perfumed with the breeze of the day

and there’s a bed waiting when you get home

and the silence is warm when you’re alone

sky open above you and dizzy with fear

the grip of nostalgia never felt so real

until now, grass flat beneath your back

and sand between toes, pretty rock in backpack

teetering on the precipice of all you have known

at once still so young, at once so near grown

living felt stagnant but the answer was clear

every me nested in me, stacked years upon years

the coming of spring still awakens such thrill

and the promise of budding spreads dreams anew:

this was never a middle, as the pond is never still

but the beginning of everything, and everything that will