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
Tag: the last pavilion
poem: 1:42 a.m.
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.
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.
update: things are not so terrible
So as you might have noticed, I am posting less now. We'll call this a good thing because I started this blog because I felt like my poetry skills were dying. Thankfully, they have been restored to me (#depression-is-useful), and I'm back to scribbling down poetry in all my notebooks like I was in highschool.… Continue reading update: things are not so terrible
writing: in her head
In her head, there were wild bright things. She sat in her van with her hand dangling over the wheel and her pale blue eyes raw from crying. She sat there for a long time, Mr. Brightside flickering against the radio static. It was indie alt-rock station; listening to music that wasn't strictly mainstream made… Continue reading writing: in her head
quote: i want to taste and glory in each day
"I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain." — Sylvia Plath [x]
