i won't tell you his name but it's very beautiful still inside my mouth and i could have civilized him and brought that innocence softness of him into everyday candlelight. the places where i go, now, are only places where he smiled at me once but all is fiction and idealized in this locked box… Continue reading poem: foolish games
Tag: poetry
poem: girl standing (abroad)
girl standing in the yellowing light of a foreign classroom with asian fingerprints on the windows and her face turned up to the rippling low green mountains that sneak up to the smog and the blue horizons. she has a red scarf twisted around her neck and her future with the romance pecking at the… Continue reading poem: girl standing (abroad)
poem: clichés at nineteen
the light shifted grey down over her face she did not put herself into crying she just sat on her bed and laughed at the irony of it all. that nothing had really changed that her only romance was chemical (the dopamine he triggered in her psychotic ticking brain). she's over him now, anyway. let… Continue reading poem: clichés at nineteen
poem: stop hoping and stop hurting
stop hoping and stop hurting get out of your head and accept the very aesthetic and terrible life of always being alone. i guess i look good in black, anyway, even if it's always metaphorical (i can't sell myself so cheaply, sorry). but there is truth in the long singular days of staring out the… Continue reading poem: stop hoping and stop hurting
poem: the boy after the anime
if you pulled my dna out in lace like coffee you'd find a girl who cries over anime and foreign boys and has you like a dream under her eyelids. careful, my mother said: it is a thing women do they make these blossoming fantasies where the boy leaves kisses up the side of my… Continue reading poem: the boy after the anime
poem: this is what i am doing instead of writing my paper
five-thousand little fingerprints ringing around the inside of my head. their worth rung out to ladders and crystal dish-clothes where one china plate slipped and shards made blood we all made blood, through the touching singing whispers in my head. called nicely: poetry called cynically: otherness mostly, i say, it is just a trapsing melancholy… Continue reading poem: this is what i am doing instead of writing my paper
poem: i think at this point
i think at this point i am mostly depraved and like a westward moth just barely breathing through the feathery lips, the science of all civilization shall thicken under me. so that i can break and call it a delicate prestige, a privilege of the girls with color-wine bottles hung from their irises, hung from… Continue reading poem: i think at this point
poem: light snow
in her head he brings her coffee and a small smile, which he places just before her as something young and fragile and maybe delicate. she bites her lips when she smiles back, the cold november in the crinkly spaces of her mittens that scrunch into his black gloves when he takes her hand and… Continue reading poem: light snow
poem: dear 2018
shall i tell you of my womanhood and the unpopular things that leave me sitting alone at parties, the 1960's splashed angrily in my face, and my hands now wet with mascara tears. but i am still not going to graduate school and i still don't want my entire life boxed into a career. i… Continue reading poem: dear 2018
poem: grey early afternoon
i think about him all the time. all of him and what he represents he is in me like smoke and rain even when i don't want him. it is early afternoon and foggy: i am trying but he is still inside me
the last pavilion 