You Buy Me A SodaYou've got the friction in your shoulder blades to start a forest fire,and a lot of things can be divine sometimes."Get off your skin," she said. "You never liked coffee anyway."
Is it like today?Pulling out the kind of nature that only your ankles can touch,you guess God's name and tell me how similar we look without any skin."Hush, darling," you said. "We don't have to share the same universe today."
We are far too young and clever.I am of other suns than you,and in the light all I can see are your shadows. He asks, "What's gotten into you lately?"and she says, "Obviously not you."
The face you make is priceless.I've got wrists like empty pockets,and a spine I made out of your weekly pay.You crack open my bones, and scour for the loose change.
Swallow My AstronomyHe had a black hole for a mouth,and eyes like the dying stars that I would never collide with."Speak me the universe," I told him.He laughed, and swallowed my galaxy.
Cheap Talk"My body is a language," she said. "Can't you read?"
I'm not listening anyhow.Make them believe thatAll the people in the world areSomething beautifulThat only you and I canUnderstand when we close our eyes andRun so far away with our thoughts like aBuzz in the back of our brains becauseAnatomy is something that we still haven'tThought too much aboutIn the dark behind our eyelids that willOnly visit us whenNo one else is around.
Soy Sauce for the Closed MindYou've got hips like an avalanche,and a body made of fortune cookie philosophy.She says, "Take your head off when you're talking to me. inbedinbedinbed."
I won't tell anyone.Mouths made of masturbation, and eyes like dying stars,you aim for something short of profanity.
stardust. (you're beautiful)he'sout of orbit -interstellar spacedust in hisveins rise andfall witheach word thatdrips and poolsbeneath hishoneyed tongue;silenceis betweenhis knuckle-bones,sharp anddefined like theribcage of ababy bird, hismazarine eyeswere not made forthis earth butfor the stars.andsome days hefades in andout of reality likehe never reallywanted to be thereat all.on those daysi just thinkmy god, you really don'trealise how amazing you are.
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyesMonsters, destruction, and sweet butterfliesHopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screamsBeautiful dresses now torn at the seamsCrayons and paintbrushes, villains and grinsYoung, gladsome innocence, hatred and sinsLittle red houses on roads left to fadeGorgeous moonlight shining off of the bladeBlood pouring out as she cries her own nameKnowing she's forced to take each bit of blameShe could have stopped it and left it behindAll of these things in her troubled young mindShe could have saved them if she dared to tryRather, though, she left herself there to die.Now, others watch as she sits on the groundKeeping their distance and letting her drownIn her own worries and things she won't tellWaiting for her mind to kill her as well.
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t findthe god inside of yourself anymore, thatyou think that you are finallytoo much honeycomb and not enough humanbecause lately everything has been slippingthrough your fingers, and you don’t know how you cankeep holding yourself together anymore.if today is the day that you lookat the stars and you no longerfeel their burn beneath your bones,i will show you the blanket i tried to makewhen i was eight, and i will tell you all i knowabout the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,but i do know the basics,and that’s that everything in the universeis composed of strings that somehowloop onto each other infinitely.so whenever you feel like you’rewalking a tightrope without a safetynet below you, know that you arethousands of tightropes strung together,and one fall will not kill you.i have never told you about the wayi can feel my pulse skitter to a stopin my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dearDepression isn’t real.It’s just a silly tragedyYou’ve forced yourself to feel.Anxiety is fake, my friendYou wonder why it’s there.But others have it worse than you!Stop forming false despair.Cutting is dramatic, love,It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.Why not just get over it?Is the attention fun?Suicide is stupid, dear,And selfish, if I may.Get over yourself, darling,Can you hear these things I say?Why aren’t you replying, love?Oh, where could you have gone?I never meant to hurt you, love,Did I say something wrong?Why aren’t you replying, dear?Depression isn’t true!…Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...Just maybe not for you.
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:I did not ask to be birthedInto a cycle of stagnation.I did not ask to be told,That my dreams are achievable;Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.I did not ask for a failing system,Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.Nodding eagerly at one another,As they wait for an inevitable death.This I did not ask for,And I am certain that most of you did not either.But it is for that reason,And for that reason alone, I say:That it is up to us,We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,To create a system that is better,Than the bitter shackles of the past.Justice is what I long for.Justice for MY people.
An Angel's Promise'Thou art mine,And so thou shall remain.'I will not let you have any other before me, Nor can there be any after.For it is your soul that I have shared And it is your soul that I do take.Your worship is the blood that flows through me.Your praise is the heart that pumps life into my veins.I have accepted that which is torn;And if you are not whole before me,Then by my will and word,You shall be made whole.So fear not this frigid world,Though its cold bites deeply into your flesh.I shall take that which has been torn from youAnd weep life into it,Until only warmth remains.For thou art already mine,And so thou shall remain.
To the Struggling ChristiansMy cross broke the other day,snapped off of the chain,and nearly rolled away.I caught it in my hands,though it nearly slipped throughmy fingerslike tiny grains of sandI'm a college student.I attend a public school,Nine hours away from homeand my faith too.There's no emphasis on Catholicism,no morning prayers through the Saints.No “Our Father” to guide me,no Mary to keep me through the day.In fact it's the opposite,grace comes in the form of drugs.The new morning prayersare deadly smoke to lungs.I've never had a problem with Sexuality,you know me.You can tell this by looking through my old poetry.Though what I cannot standis when you feel the need,to invalidate one's Christianitybecause of your sexuality.They're giving me reasons not to believe,in long list like shopping recipes.Telling me what I already know,begging me to tell God to go.It's not easy to keep your faith,when people are giving you reasonsto throw it away.Though I'm lucky I sup
it's okay to not be okaysometimes it’s okayto sit on the floor of the bathroom stalland let your feelings gather- it’s okayto let them pool like a lachrymose lagoonas the inside of your stomach does summersaults;I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,let them pour out of you like tidal waves-release the tsunami from within you and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beadscathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;but remember how even the cloudsmay cry tempestuously today,only to make roomfor much brighter daysso I promise you, darling it’s going to be okay.
Through The FlameThrough The Flame:Can you feel it in the winds?The chilling cries of blood-lust that sing through the air...May your people weep at the destruction that is to come;While you mortals cower behind your wards of flesh and steel!How does it feel I wonder,This question I askTo those who have spent their entire existenceAmassing power over their fellows...Know now that your paltry gestures;Your pseudo-might is but dust,Cast into the violent wind of a whirling typhoon!Now, tremble within your hovels of concrete and steel,For I am rage incarnate and I have come to ensure,That your world will burn...
We never stop being adjacent.We shiver and shake,and you have nothing else that isn't mine.