Category: Poetry

My soul collapsesand I can’t breatheso you hold my head underwateruntil I can swim (written some time in 2022)

i keep my wings clippedso that i cannot fly away i keep a hand over my mouthso that my words can’t be heard i keep a shadow in my brainto suffocate my thoughts and who has wrought these chainsthat keep me in my place? this is fear: that i will try and failand so i…

my dreams cower at the edges of my waking mindhaving rudely stormed my brain for another night i try to catch a glimpse of one, or another,shiniing my flashlight in the corner of the roombut they recoil and slither and shimmy maybe the light will bounce off one as it dodges awaybut all i see…

i’m maskingi’m asking youto help me quietthe voices inside my headthat tell methat i can’t this fearthis spherearound meis a poisonous cocoonits safety comesat the costof slow suffocation a part aparthas come togetherto gatherthe pieces of my selfand leave me pronealonefragileisolatedabandoned until there is no more youto pull me out ofthis suffocating fear 03.22.22

later that night,after the moon had hidden behind the clouds,i found myself on the sidewalkoutside your house i picked up a small rockand thought about throwing itagainst your windowto wake you up but i was afraid i would breakthe glass so instead i held the pebble in my handand thought of you 01.09.22

you told me i was brokenbecause i didn’t actthe way you wantedand i didn’t thinkthe way you wantedand i believed you i told myself to follow the rulesto color within the linesto keep the voices insideinsidewhere other people couldn’t hear them so people wouldn’t think i was brokenbecause i didn’t actthe way they wantedand i…

Don’t talk to me. Talking is too easy.Mouths flowing with empty words:How are you?The weather turned cold.Do you have any plans this weekend?What do you do for a living? You don’t really care what I say.These are just mortar to fill the empty spacesso the silence doesn’t strangle us. How are you?If I answer honestlywhen…

today’s the day i’ll wake upfeeling comfortable in my own skini’ll look in the mirror and see myself for who i amnot a freaknot an insecure messbut a person proud of their own identity today’s the day i’ll put on a skirt and a blouseand i’ll polish my nails and braid my hairand feel freedomand…

miss the phone and miss the starwaiting by the balcony this week seems anxious:any hint of something coming up outside? only for a minute carefully he had to seethrough the worst:everything means nothing and “i can’t be a madman asleep.” (Found on page 45 of “The Last Tycoon”) Clio 11.04.21

the worst poemis the poem left unwrittenheld so close to the chest that it suffocatesbefore it can whisper its truth the second worst poemis written from complianceits voice restricted by the demandsof someone else’s rules poems are butterfliespoems are demonspoems are the soul reaching outscreamingcooingdemandingrequestingexisting do not kill the butterfliesdo not silence the demonslet them…