i make up all the wonderful things he says to me i think he fell into my mouth or maybe my mind and he only came out fictional. i think staring at my black dorm window is unproductive, as if all the lovers are merely out there and waiting like saints in the smoke, while… Continue reading poem: 1:42 a.m.
Tag: poetry
poem: why won’t people look me in the eyes
why won't people look me in the eyes what is so wrong with me that only ghosts ask 'are you okay.' and even they are grimacing at me, thinking oh this one is certainly sub-human certainly not worth what we give out as cash-currency because she [and this is where even i cannot insert the… Continue reading poem: why won’t people look me in the eyes
poem: the first boy
his eyes are sparkling liquid chocolate brown. a cliché description but when he looks over at her and whispers something anti-institutional her fingers want all of the excited energy clenched into his profile and the softness that comes when he speaks to her alone, purely as academics, of course, and as fellow students in a… Continue reading poem: the first boy
poem: the second boy
with a desperately quick--"wait"--! in the golden brown bricked coffee house with her hair curling over her eyes and her palms warmed to perfect cosmopolitan happiness by hands cupping coffee & hands cupping at fragile hopes which already written themselves into great chronicles in her soul: she can already see them: friends, first, then maybe… Continue reading poem: the second boy
poem: on letters
there is ecstasy and there is ecstasy. if it was not 2018 i could easily say, 'he wrote me back' and you would understand. i am not sorry that it is not a text. the envelope, the paper, his handwriting (i'm blushing) are coming apart like a delirium in my soul. all the cliches, made… Continue reading poem: on letters
poem: i fell into myself
i fell into myself as if on happenstance there is so much there to pluck apart. Drown me for hours, i will arise, refreshed, the fatherhood scrapled off; myself, too much in the mind for all but virginity; Myself, arising like the tide.
poem: i like abandoned spaces
i like abandoned spaces where people once were and now are not were mist comes in violence over the frolicking dead. but they are inverted space, blanks, where i can breathe; their dead ancient souls are closer to mine then the souls of the living this hot, heavy population that fills up my chest like… Continue reading poem: i like abandoned spaces
poem: when i say, mother
when i say mother, the depression is back she does not see how i can be stripped as a person and made whole as a writer both of it, all at once, like some black eulogy cut along my wrists and my fingernails the pen lines in my skin so pretty in print
poem: introspection
can we consider the importance of introspection, carefully, our minds lavvied in milk sunlight and the webs and weeds lolled about our fingers; the rats and things now in our pupils, now in our dusty, heavy eyelids caught down by the bedsheets, the watery linen sheets, the edges still stained with the heat of our… Continue reading poem: introspection
poem: the best thing i can be is lonely
the best thing i can be is lonely the boy next to me has scars on his lips where something was forcibly ripped out i think it was maybe my mental edge i think we're maybe soulmates, that his black finger nails are meant to prick at my skin but then he stands up and… Continue reading poem: the best thing i can be is lonely
the last pavilion 