home

Bless us, O Lord

I return home smaller each year than the last. My grandmother tells me how i've shrunk when she wraps her arms around my ribs and squeezes. My eyes have sunken into their sockets and I am reminded with each scrutinizing gaze from my relatives. They shove money into my pockets and pray for my nourishment come Christmas.  

and these thy gifts

I pick at my plate and pivot my gaze every few hours, searching for a dead man. I expect him to walk down the stairs, taller than the years prior. His lanky arms cloaked in cashmere, materials of maturity juxtaposed against his forever baby face. He sits frozen behind memorial photos and I wish I could punch through the glass to pull him back into my reality. I am reminded not to talk about such things. There is safety in my silence. As if that could suffocate my grief.

which we are about to receive from thy bounty

My brunette hair bobs against my slender neck. No one noticed how I cut my hair, nor the masculine style I arrive in. I deny speculation of any suitors, though the blonde hair of a woman stains my eyelids. I wish to be uncomplicated and palatable for the thanksgiving feast in which my identity is served and picked apart.    

through Christ, our Lord

My youngest sister fingers through her Bible. A cross dangles down my décolletage, and I flip it between my fingers to imitate faith. I feel their disappointment in me. A distance growing beyond ligation, and I linger in this pain. I am a stranger in the home I was once welcomed. Paranoid of relatives who refract my demented reflection back onto me. We join in prayer that I recite with empty rhythm. Behind my words, I longingly beg that I can somehow be embraced again.    

Amen

again

i am a fool for second chances

helplessly hypnotized by rose tinted glances 

twirled around by your manipulative dances

only to spin out of your grasp nauseous

dry heaving your betrayal onto cement

left wasted again by your lament 

you try again

scavenge up what love you can amend

pry open the door to my heart with the appeal of being friends

i am naive enough to welcome in a stranger

dumb enough to not bat an eye at danger 

redirected love feels better than anger 

there is nothing to gain

in the word again

i count my losses and scrub out your stains

i mourn the lost time 

and stitch up the holes you carved inside

a plant i watered just to watch curl up and die 

again, you come back to me 

begging on your knees 

prodding my heart, pleading please

second chance, you expect a third?

repeating patterns i never deserved 

again, i will never return

kiwi

bird in search of sky

your wingspan consumes clouds

blinded when too high 

instincts intertwined with greed

grasping at the infinite 

until failure bleeds 

prison is perspective 

incarcerated inside a dome

birds eye view, two feet land alone

nesting into Neverland 

 cracked speckled-sparrow shells

hatched a new hell 

dangerous heights

humbling arrogant wings 

into a faithless flight 

wind resistance whips while

high altitude wipes the oxygen 

from expansive lips

crash landing

friction suffocated by soil 

heaven spoiled: grounded by gravity

bird in search of a cage 

where safety is ensured 

and rage is contained 

you crave control 

in the comforting ways 

lying in your limited domain

collapse of your wings

aids in the aversion

of harmful things 

rested in human palm

impossible to differentiate between desires

when you are finally wanted 

you traded your wings 

for the gravity of belonging

to earthly beings 

behind metal ribs

you peak through the bars

beak pecking between the chasm of choice 

an illusion of noise

where entropy expands 

born with wings not hands

unable to grasp

the mystical

mist of wet winds

you chose this simplicity

you chose to observe 

you chose to be a flightless bird

entropy

entropy engulfs me 

bending and distorting my soul into its smallest conformation 

it’s more stable this way 

more favorable inscribed in my notebook

can chaos be controlled?

taunted by variables and formulas 

all meaning is exiled 

when graphite strikes an x= 

i plug in neat numbers

and am fed functions of pi

and words are worse than numbers

they too have error between syllables 

between the synapse of neurons 

unable to connect my precise meaning 

substituting numbers with letters into a more complex equation 

my identity is indivisible
an unrestricted domain I find myself making brackets for

explaining my words 

across different worlds

never to be truly understood or heard 

 i knelt to the thesaurus as my theology

only to stand up an atheist

lost in translation 

screaming empty words with frustration

the limit of language similarly approaching zero 

i am left defining the non differentiable

staring blankly at a page

saturated with numbers only a calculator can compute 

etched into a world of binary code

i refuse to simplify into zeros and ones  

        diabolical dialect

my neck constricting in a noose of ill-fitting idioms

i fail to pronounce my feelings

with the formula to flick my tongue correctly

complexities are left gnawing inside of me 

though they are mute, their teeth still bite  

inside this vessel i suffocate 

grasping at grammar

sinking my teeth into solutions 

i am unable to derive 

entropy expands, i am left boiling inside 

rings

she washes her hands with her rings on

collecting green and blue hues

between her bruised knuckles

with logic she seems to refuse 

but i can't help but admire

how the tarnishing metal 

mirrors the seafoam green

that laps the shores of her dilated pupils

my fingers lie naked, unadorned

due to the strangling sensation 

of unwanted stimulation worn

cracked calluses accumulate 

between my webbed fingers like warnings 

she entertains herself by twiddling her thumbs 

rolling each ring off

placing it on a new numb

between rounds of exchange 

she spares the generosity of some change    

her horseshoe gallops around 

the neck of my middle finger

sterling silver that mocks my gold

i hold and twirl her around 

letting our differences linger       

while the faucet splashes and sings 

i baptize my own fingers 

decorated with her rings  

i am reminded how her lack of logic 

births beautiful things

spit

i love licking envelopes 

and your lips are no different 

all to achieve the bliss

of tasting my own spit 

my morning breath 

reads blank to my blind nose

I can only taste myself 

when my eyes are closed  

when your convex breasts

connect with my chest’s concavity

your tongue in my mouth 

digging for cavities  

when we pull away 

with wet lips 

i am left with the tangy

aftertaste of my own spit 

i savor this saliva 

that you sweetened with your own 

my tastebuds pulse at the thought 

of feeling known 

as the spit settles 

matting down to your soft skin 

i inhale us together 

letting my true self in

limerence

its 2am and she is watching me

i sleep naked in my bed 

while she combs through my metaphors 

and hoovers above my head

all of this attention 

from a girl i never met 

i can't call her crazy

without admitting

i've made myself go mad

narcissist live symptomless 

while the rest of us hold 

the emotions they never had

it wasn't enough to rip apart my heart

so she watches me bleed

feeding upon the paranoia 

that consumes my entire being

writing was once my release

now the words she stalks strangles me   

i understand why he hates you

why his mother warned me

of your manipulation 

why his friends cringed at your name

because you will forever play the victim 

of the crimes caused by your own pain 

admire me

desire me 

conspire against me

and i will watch you embarrassed 

not by my own pride

but by the limerence of your obsession

you can't manage to hide

trick or treat

baby it's halloween and you can be anything  

this year like all of the rest

i am a glorified whore

what costume could induce more horror?

than the tight stockings suffocating my thighs

while strangers salivate over my sweet disguise

gluttonous hands grasp elbow deep in my bowl

taking seconds and thirds until

their stomach are swollen and full 

there are razor blades 

spliced between chocolate kisses 

slicing the gullible tongues

of those fooled by my impersonation of love

i once cosplayed as your bride

your mistress

your secret drenched in pride 

all to have my costumes torn to shreds

while you sought out my true identity

lying naked in your childhood bed. 

and when my all wasn't good enough

i went back to playing pretend 

baby you say,

you can be anything, except

the styles that give you meaning

so put a bag over your beautiful face

and scream 

the script I wrote to control you

as my whorish play thing

(happy halloween :3)

thief

my compulsions compel me

though i lie, cheat and steal of my own will 

my thieving hands are guided by an act of God

or some higher power that I cannot control

little things i never needed

find their way between my fingertips

where i relocate them into my possession

picked and praised by my obsession

they won't be missed 

perhaps I am saving them

from dust and neglect

with me they are worshiped and better kept

maybe i want what I can't have 

the elusive control of loss

i can't thieve from convenient stores

or ripped tags in shopping malls

something was stolen from me

a brother whose blood i shared

perhaps in my grief i reach for him

desperately thieving for a breath of fresh air

though i am left suffocating with guilt

in a pile of pointless things 

my hands dripping in red

waiting to be caught and punished again

black opium

i bask underneath the diffusion of black opium 

the perfume particles drift down 

cascading from the dusty origin of light

it smells like my eldest sister’s red hair

somehow straddling the multitudes

of bitter almond and pink pepper  

i genuflect beneath Saint Laurent 

with full faith and taste of licorice lingering  

tickling my olfactory senses

while tricking the nose blind

seduced by the fragrant top notes

where underneath my true odor lies

managing to mask the stench

of my rotting insides

churning with the cannibalistic urge

of self destruction and neglect  

whose ravenous gurgles and growls  

are drowned out with the distraction of compliments

i feel a fraud

strangers breathing beneath my neck

intoxicated by the scent laced between intricate threads

of my perfect facade I have deliciously dressed  

and they would eat me too 

if I had anything real left

ugly duckling

born scrawnier and runtier 

than the rest

lowest of her pecking order

her head hung

arching below her neck

ugly duckling

obscure strange thing

she survived off of crumbs

transforming into something

supposedly worthy of love

beautiful swan

strangers swoon over her slender neck

carved from starvation 

and time spent

enduring clipped wings that flew fine

the pond ripples around her signature  

while she peacefully floats 

pretending she is plastic 

so that others may stay

and praise her porcelain pain

the murky mosaic of water

shines back her silhouette

there is no recognition of reflection 

behind the eyes of the deformed duckling

whose flesh filled out with beauty before her

she can taste what she cannot believe 

in her svelte seduction 

though she is hungry

for truth she wasn't raised

to perceive  

benadryl haze

I have lost track of the daze

I simply float throughout the weak

Cleaning up the mess I maid

I am making myself sick

I don't know any other way. 

I traded my last five cents for cough suppressants

Sweat pores from my sticky skin

Begging me to heel before beginning again

I know nothing but numb

kneading my temple between pointer finger and thumb

I stare at the white, board out of my mind

Imagining the birds that flu over 

Leaving me behind

Nothing is fair

Apart from my ghostly complexion I hide

Half past and I still haven't eight

my declining body weights, for a site of substance 

To fill my stomach whole 

Serial breakfasts bleed into the afternoon dull 

When the knight comes

I hear the creek flowing through the door

I beg for a bedtime story to be red

Praying to escape once more

He feeds me another spoon of tarte cherry dye

And while I sleep, I am momentarily released 

from the suffocating anguish of being alive. 

red

I lay on my shaggy floor, collapsed.
My selfish uterus sheds,
and my bloodless heart begs,
while my mind defends
the urge to relapse and call you again.

In this fetal position, I find
that rose tinted thoughts of you plague my mind.
The sticky red between my thighs
reminds me of our unborn kids—
never to be alive.

The blood never scared you;
you wore my red on your lips,
coming up to kiss me
with metallic spit—
after drinking my lifeforce.
A part of me died when you split.

A sharp tool of nature
carves me apart,
taking away all that I know
and leaving me in the dark.
A cycle each month I manage to forget,
though I am left with its remembering marks
in a pool of ruby regret.

Womanhood: a cyclical wound
of ripping myself apart
before healing can ensue.
And with every ounce of blood,
I cannot help but reach for you.

I am engulfed, dripping in red—
a lesion praying for leisure,
for this tortuous cycle to end,
though no man can possibly amend
this infinite wound:
bound open again.

denim

you cursed me with your closet

Of denim demons

that fit me like a glove 

and the ghostly whisper 

of what could have been love

your jeans are tailored to my hips 

I know because when your pelvis

pressed against mine

they shared the same width 

the length of your legs equal to mine 

I know because of how perfectly 

Our exhausted limbs intertwined 

After you finished and rested inside

I keep you in my pitiful pockets 

Collecting stranger’s complements 

Of how these jeans were meant for me

I bury this hope and lock it. 

You weave through the belt loops

Of my tortured mind 

Shame of letting myself stoop

So low. To taste your frayed forbidden fruit.  

The zipper is stuck

And I try everything to pull myself up

From dwelling in your denim 

But I still wear them out, 

Saying I dont give a fuck. 

Though I do. 

reminding myself of the truth:

that I wear them better than you  

knight

my noble knight,

your armor is cold 

and it’s pleated folds 

nick my skin 

what will it take, 

for you to let me in? 

as i dubbed thee

from shoulder to shoulder 

i gazed down from my throne 

and saw the heartache you harbor 

with me, you are not alone 

you swore a sacred oath

kneeling before my pelvis 

praying to protect me 

until death with your service 

yet i beg thee to live for us both 

the metal of your cocoon clinks

and behind that helmet 

i am imagining what you think 

if it is your wish to die, 

let me rest your head on the warm 

silence of my thigh

let my delicate mortal flesh 

penetrate your shield 

and allow yourself to undress

from this nakedness you will yield

the softness necessary to heal

all I ask, is that 

you devour me

as your final meal. 

abigail

ode to Abigail, 

“my father’s joy”

your enduring faith 

makes you frail.

made be manhandled

as nothing more than a toy.

did you feel special?

when he birthed you 

to be his jester?

wrapping your pinkies 

in suffocating puppet strings-

your beauty as a dancing distraction 

from all painful things.

and yet you still smile 

praying for it’s contagious nature 

to make your worth while. 

though no joy could replace 

the empty pit  

resting behind your pale face.

that craves to be cradled 

and to cry selfish tears 

detached from your father’s fears.

hair

a tickle beneath my tongue,
not a taste but a texture.
A long tether between my teeth;
I reach for its origin,
but only trace saliva and torture,
for an itch I cannot reach.

I unhinge my jaw,
my mandibles parting
with the movement of Moses,
and the fleshy Red Sea of my swallows
is revealed to the foreign touch
of my blind fingertips,
feeling for the strange, invisible string
that strangles me.

But there is no bite
from the bait that taunts me.
Its elusive body is woven
within the womb of my gums,
burrowing into wisdom tooth sockets—
a secret known to nobody,
not even me.

My tonsils tease
by sending stimuli
for an itch I cannot scratch.
And for what I cannot grasp,
I have learned to release
all of the torturous strands
that form a noose around me.

In the pool of vomit,
brunette curls swim in spirals,
braiding themselves into bunches
like a bouquet of bile,
reminding me of my own twine,
dead once departing
from the scalp, though
never degraded over time.

slow burn

my hand rests beneath my nose 

i can smell cigarette smoke 

lodged beneath my press on nails

and i think of you 

i let my fingers drift down my cupids bow 

and I crave you more 

i waited for you to kiss me, but you handed me a cigarette instead.

a tender gesture 

more romantic than touch-

I never knew nicotine 

to be as enchanting as lust

forget the cigarette

the lighter and the buzz

and share your exhale with mine.

addiction on my lips

let our breaths intertwine

feel our ribs bump 

while I inhale you inside 

let me comfort your coughs

and warm your lungs 

with laughter and love 

as i flicked out my second cigarette 

clarity found me 

approaching the bud  

that I cannot continue 

an addiction 

under the fantasy of love 

what didn’t last in the past 

was as quick to light 

as it was to throw away, 

i thank you under my breath

i think i prefer this slow burn anyway.

naked

i go out looking for love 

naked and alone.

looking for someone to 

lull the comfort 

of my breaking bones. 

perhaps that is why 

it is so easy to leave me

they grow tired of my entirety

my soft 

flesh 

my gentle 

soul 

my fertile

mind

they feel fragmented 

while witnessing me full 

a shame they feel 

and force 

for which 

I do not care for 

but

time will pass 

and new people will love me

i will regain my novelty.

To the naked eye 

i am clothed 

and all of my curious doors 

are closed.

if i must remain a mystery 

to be loved without misery

Then I pull down my sleeves 

and hide the heart 

that humiliates me. 

adjacent lover

all of the woman who are poisoned by your print 

declare their love for me

with sapphic intent 

i feel their charged eyes 

pausing on me like prey 

prepared to pick me apart 

and place their pain

paranoia consumes me, 

but i am flattered in a way? 

that she imagine your touch 

being contagious with gold:

though her lust of me is 

from our shared stains

and strings that you pulled 

she imagines me writing poems and crying alone 

puzzled by my processing 

enchanted to crack my skull open as if there is something she doesn’t quite know 

Ode to my adjacent lover,

we can cut the man 

out of the middle 

and i could suck his venom

from your lips 

little by little 

but that is an old taste 

my pallet has outgrown 

i spit out our last kiss 

licking the envelope before sending you home

no saliva remains to entertain 

all of the demented derivatives 

of women possessing your pain