“poetry”

others desires joy & misery

1/17 1/16

fulfilling others don't stop

is so draining don't stop
I am depleted don't stop
exhausted don't stop
so don't stop
fucking don't stop
empty don't stop
& don't stop
obsolete don't stop
don't stop
what am I? don't stop
if not don't stop
an object STOP!
of fulfilling
someone
else's desire

is mine, really
to fulfill theirs?
am I really, so
selfless and dumb

others using me
to be fulfilled
can go
fuck
themselves
to oblivion
 “poetry”

my crazy wrath I am convinced

12/29 I cannot control
my menace,
step right up loss of reason;
enjoy the show emotional state
my crazy wrath at the wheel
will knock
your socks off so hold on tight
try not to vomit
keep at bay as you bear witness
a perimeter to the world's
of as far most despicable
as you creature
can go
the coffee mug
for hell hath 12/24
no fury like
my crazy wrath I spin you 'round
coffee stains to white
I lash out prestigious & unblemished
bite heads off no one can see
say I'm sorry the mess I've made
then tear of you/me
another limb

meds
don't
sedate
enough
enough
enough

perhaps it's
a cop out,
a fate I've
resigned to

but
 “poetry”

Before I unravel it out

12/22 with
so much
just tell me fucking
what to do Spotify
before I unravel
but I hope
don't control me they're DJs
just tell me cafe owners
what to do aspiring
musicians
before my mind and not
unwinds like yarn sad, lost
and I scare you away 30-year old
teachers
daughters
Spotify Wrapped sisters
12/20 cousins
cry babies
I wonder like me
if the other
top 10%
of Spotify
listeners
also
drown out
their crying
by playing
songs
so loudly
on repeat

it's not
a brag
or cool
to cry
as much
as this
or drown
 “poetry”

Crying Noise Complaint The man who became a black hole

12/16 9/6

I wish she'd knock A black hole is a region of spacetime where gravity is so strong that nothing—no
and get me to stop particles or even electromagnetic radiation such as light—can escape from it.
worse than loud music -Wikipedia
and screaming battles
an involuntary witness You had many names I squeezed onto your birthday cake
to my heaving A duality with childhood art signed by another version
You said you didn't want your life to turn gray again
sobriety from Instead you became a black hole, a void; swallowing me
men
booze emails
the # on the scale Skype messages
texts
drunk instead on phone calls
having to grapple with voicemails
how fucked up gone
I've been,
I've allowed, Into your abyss
to be treated
What happened to the man
To be loved Who said he loved me
is foreign, And I'd always be his person
a language Warned me when I danced
too late Too close to the television
to learn
What happened to the boy
Who stood in the back
For summer camp photos
Proudly grasping my palms
Walking your city campus

We had many lives ahead of us, like an Egyptian sphinx

Nine lives plus an eternity immortalized in limestone
Commemorating our mountain trips, secret language,
late-night ice cream runs, your favorite coffee shop
 “poetry”

Now Stuck in a pit

you're 8/29
a
black I'm stuck in a pit
hole a deep, dark pit

Cold, destructive, undetected "What helps you

I swim at your perimeter when you're
Weak by your current depressed?"

Did I exhaust your internal thermonuclear fuels? I'm stuck in a

Your core became unstable, you collapsed inward? fucking pit
Or are you still fading, pretending you're not there
Or burning bright to someone else's gravitational pull No ropes
or picks
And then me just me
Who still wanders and my
Too close frail,
To the point weak
Of no return TIRED
body
I miss you.
Tired of
being in
a pit

Tired of
being me

Wanting to crawl
out of my own skin
because maybe the
version inside is
stronger, can scale
mountains
 “poetry”

Maybe I'm tired People have ropes

of being me And answers
and just want I'm not always
a little break strong enough
to hang on
I didn't see or willing to grab
the pit the dancing string
I just fell, (sometimes, too thin)
and kept
falling But when the version inside
Alice Is rested, clear-headed, ready
in She propels me upward and --
Wonderland the earth shakes, the pit raises
style I don't know if it's me or tectonic
plates but I'm somehow lifted
The worst part
(one of, anyways) spared
is that no one
knows I'm here until I stumble
into
They can't see the next
the fucking pit pit

So I start screaming
Pleading for help
Trying to figure out
How I got here

New meds?
Thyroid?
Vitamin levels?
Quality of sleep?
Seasonal changes?
Work starting up?
Recovering from
a manic trip?
A head on collision
of all of the above?
 “poetry”

Online Romance
8/13

I'm not ready to date again

Because I'm scared of rejection
I can't handle not liking you
It makes me feel bad

I'm not ready to date again

I need time to myself
But I can't bare the loneliness
So I'll flirt with you anyway

I'm not ready to date again

Because my ex fucked me up
I have so much ‘trauma’
That I don’t want to deal with
I'm not ready to date again
Please respect that
I don't know what I'm doing
But I do like you
Plant Love & Death
7/27
Your aloe outlived our love
Love? Do you know the word?
His bouquet bloomed long
But it was still a bouquet

I tore each spiky, green branch

Like severing the limbs of a child
Crying, because how painful
His bouquet, though, bloomed

Today I refreshed the water

Picking out dying flowers
Reflecting on how some love
Is meant to last differently

Your aloe outlived its welcome

(We stayed together too long)
I may not be able to keep it alive
But the bouquet is more beautiful
 “poetry”

Dear Dad I wish I didn't care

7/19 What you all think
And could be honest
Everybody's parents fucked them up. Rich kids' parents gave them too much. Poor But I don't feel I can
kids, not enough. You know, too much attention, not enough attention. They either
left them or they stuck around and taught them the wrong things. So for now, I'll try to get by
-Before Sunrise (1995) Minimizing the damage
Already done to your
I know you love me dramatic
I know you tried emotional
But the real me exaggerating
Has been buried inside American
daughter
The stress from the shop
And late night Turkish coffee P.S. This is how
Were recipes for disaster I really feel
As you lashed out unfairly

You would do anything for us

(except accept us as we are)
Are you bitter from the sacrifices?
(we never asked for nor needed)

We are okay and want you to be too

This pattern of overworking & lying
To cover up where we are, what we did
Is there shame in being who you are too?

I'm not sorry about Victor

And wish everyone would get over it
When he hurt and didn't accept me
Maybe you could bond over that too?

We both were complicit

In this weird attachment
Excessive phone calls
And I'm tired, I'm done
 “poetry”
I did a bad thing
7/5
I started with good intentions, but to hell with them
Like anxiously plucking my eyebrows as a teenager,
your thick, full leaves detached too easily (like him)
I meant to relieve you of your weight, from toppling over
Instead, you’re reduced to your four smallest tendrils
Four middle fingers shooting straight up at me
Dodi said to drain your medicinal goo into a mason jar-
so I did, but your other thick, full leaves reduced
to hardly a quarter of the small, glass jar in the fridge
the rest spread on my bruised, blemished legs and feet
stained on my bright kitchen island, first yellow now red
I sliced open each full branch like a surgeon, except crying
Imagine if instead of a love plant you were a love pet, or child
Severed limbs? Begrudgingly nurturing, watching them grow?
Like the white goldfish and Beta I killed, whose eyes bulged out
(I still have nightmares of your helpless, pleading, beady-eyes)
You were right: I’d be an awful mother & should never have kids
or fish
or plants
then why
leave me
with this
fucking
aloe
Coin operator
7/2
Quarters are weird, too large and proud
Begrudgingly entering thin, rigid slits
Exchanged for temp tatts & bubble gum
Relief for lonely, bitter girls to feel better
The silver coin enters, turns, breathes life
Into the plastic, elastic coin-operated boy
Saying that he loves me, is thinking of me
Straight to the point; automatic joy
The problem with real boys -- real-life men
Is their real feelings that can be really fucked
Even the one you cherish & want to protect
Like clockwork, an explosion of hurt & guilt
Each night, the anticipation builds like rust
Until you finally take a wrong turn, desperately
Try coming to a screeching halt but hit concrete
These car crash nightmares: recurring & fatal
But then-
the vib-
ra-
tion
jump-
starts
(my)
weary
heart
The coin turns between sore shoulder blades
The rust loses the battle against his strength
And I'm turned on, alive, saved by his grace
The plastic melts away and takes form into me
 “poetry”

Swallowing a butterfly My accordion face

6/28 Scrunches at flashbacks
Unable to process
The fluttery creature grazes my parted lips Everything internalized
Gracefully flapping its wings against them As rejection, validation
As if retreating back to its cocoon state
Mistaking my iron hot cheeks for safety That I don't belong anywhere
So I retreat to my bed
It soars past my long, sun-burned nose Scalding hot baths
Grazing my nostrils anointing my forehead No longer hyper-aware
Floating back up into the sky like a balloon Of how to look normal
Let loose like a birthday party wish into the sky
Lately, I cry wildly
Allowing my emotions
3rd rock from the moon To flood and tremble
6/24 Hurling my body
Back to outer space
Dancing with my siblings
to the 3rd Rock theme song
(I'm not much for TV)
The concept has resonated
over the decrepit years

Feeling like an alien

Eagerly observing
How to be human
On my 30th rotation
Without much success

I stare too intensely

Trying to figure out
What to do with my face
Perpetually uncomfortable
Socially awkward, inhuman
 “poetry”
Hydroxyzine
6/23
Like a bandaid on a broken arm
Tylenol before amputating a leg
I suppose you beat nothing
25 milligrams of a placebo effect
It's a giant miracle I've gone this long
Without major, mind-altering drugs
A testament to how well I can stifle
My authentic, truly unruly self
It makes me really sad, to admit
The unadulterated me is fatally flawed
Unlike a diabetic's faulty pancreas
The issue is me, fundamentally
Irregular blood sugar has no benefits
Nor does untreated cancer sans chemo
But what if I like my emotional intensity?
Not just the highs, but crying in the car too
I guess the decision lies in whether
the zombified version of me is enough
stays thin
gets sore from smiling so big
is moved by a painting or nostalgic melody
has emotional hangovers
followed by radiant clarity
is really
still
me
Bipolar Coaster
6/23
My first roller coaster was called "Great Bear"
Not as garish as the monster in my head
The quick ups & downs were such a thrill
I was addicted to the roller coaster feeling
Of being out of control, scared & exhilarated
The windy track in my head is infinite
No signs of stopping or slowing down
The rapid cycling gets too intense
And I don't want to ride by myself anymore
I latch on to the nearest spectator
Lured with my black widow charm
Just wanting someone beside me
On this never ending, cursed ride
The chemicals (or lack thereof) lay more track
I've stopped liking roller coasters years ago
(wondering if the meds re-wired my desires)
but am stuck on this infinite loop of drops
racing backwards unexpectedly
going through dark, desolate tunnels
clutching my sides wishing it was someone else
until my passenger is thrown overboard
victim to my cerebral nightmare
I have no control of the speed or stopping
until they're sick from vertigo
jump track
and stare as I continue to whirl by
grateful that they've dodged
a bullet
 “poetry”

Looking for an Amazon Gift Card I don't feel good

6/22 6/22

I have a drawer full of stuff I don't want to deal with I don't feel good
that I periodically empty out and sort through, I don't feel good
even change its location, attempt to organize the chaos I don't feel good
my life has somehow become, a reflection of my own mess I don't feel good
Even if I might,
Toll violations, bike pedal recall, car warranty I can't tell is real in the future
I should probably, definitely deal with sooner, but -- I don't deserve it
The sun wants to race, a book wants to cuddle, I don't feel good
my stove demands to be splattered & painted with frantic color I don't feel good
I don't feel good
I want to buy something sentimental with someone new I don't feel good
Emptying my drawer contents yet again, hoping to strike Even if I do,
malleable, cardboard enclosed plastic tattooed in digits it's not real
instead, finding your letter -- the one I only read once I don't feel good

I somehow missed what you said, muttering ‘bullshit'

involuntarily upon my quick, frenzied glossing over
I wonder what Hiroshima (so cliche) was like

the day
the bomb
dropped,
is that how you felt
with me?

Happy fucking Prime Day

 “poetry”

Physical activity Half-ideas

6/20 6/18

The endorphins missing I've always liked 'Fixing a Hole'

In my fractured skull but am really not handy with mine
Can't be compensated I record half-thoughts, strokes of
By physical activity supposed brilliance, hoping they
might capture what I mean and
sex how I feel, fix the hole I guess
biking
blading 'You broke my art' on 6/3
running but I'm not much of an artist
are good Maybe 'you broke my fantasy of us,' or-
distractions 'You shattered it with a sledgehammer
and stole the important remnants'
But can't inflate -instead
Can't fill the
Cerebral gaps 'Unquenchable Thirst' on 5/30
Of my balloon Commemorating my bout with dry throat
Brain Feeling hot and bothered (and guilty)
Over someone new
Everyone laughs [...]
When I say
I want to get strong And finally, 'Bank Pens' on 6/18
To intimidate guys (and the stuff I wanted to add about
Who think I'm frail cicadas: 'one glorious day in the sun,'
And can break my heart ‘teach us patience, carpe diem' crap)
My dad steals them & has a collection,
I want to slice through as if they owe him something each visit
Their charming disguise
With my teal in-line skates The staccato rain floods my better senses
Bike the miles in tears Drowning out thought with coffee currents
I've poured over nobodies The cracks are racing at earthquake speeds
Run fast so my past Rippling through each crevice of my brain
Can't catch up with me Fixing a hole or glorifying an avalanche
I/they don't belong anywhere
 “poetry”

Bipolar squared This poem is called bipolar squared

6/17 because of my mom sharing a room
with her trembling, ‘do-you-smoke?’ sister
You don't know I'm sensitive
About whether I'm bad and daughter, the biggest faker
That my emotions are so fucked she keeps convincing herself
I'll make anyone feel good is (has always been) fine
To not feel as bad as me and is doing
so
I'll let them: fucking
give me a black eye well
call me names that make
my face scrunch The smutty glow of my cell phone,
upon recall brightness all the way down
Claudia's incessant, late night calls
do what they want I joked about blaming her
then call me a For my illness
worthless But I kinda do
lying
unfaithful
slut

What kind of mother would I be?

Could my son even meet my gaze?
How do my dad and nephew?

Cigarette burns up my left arm

Like the crack in the Liberty Bell
I crack, but I don't represent anything
except-
pain
remorse
regret
worthlessness
 “poetry”

Wasabi Strobe light sky

6/15 6/14

My brother-in-law's father The sky is begging to be seen

Eats more wasabi than sushi Illuminating the darkness with
Citing the latter as the vehicle Its bright, strobing lights
To get that pasty green stuck Pitter pattering rain like a
Between his teeth Post-apocalyptic drum

My teacher mentee's students The sky is eager to keep up my

Wrote me detailed directions Insomniac streak, whites pressing
Bordered with blue fishes Against my eyelids, putting on an
(even though they are goldfish) Anti-sleep show fit for Independence Day
I wonder if white made you weak Silently screaming, "Look at me"

My mom ("Go take your anxiety pill")
Says not to worry, goldfish are sturdy
She did not see your lifeless, helpless
White, gold speckled mass lie still
So I moved you to my blue dutch oven
The sky is constant, dependable
For only a fraction of mankind's time
Its gasses conducive to life, despite
The history of darkness and destruction
And future of darkness and destruction

Maybe the same color as the directions Tonight,

Will envelope and revive you, or it demands
Maybe I'll come home to a clearly dead fish our attention
For now, I'm not sure, but I am so very sorry To remind us:
You had to serve as the evidence of how we are small
we are at its mercy
I we are subject
shouldn't to its whim
be we are lonely
a we are safe
mother we are loved
 “poetry”

Coin Collector ???

6/13 6/12

Disrupting cash flow, removing coins from rotation
You admire, gush over old, used up currency
Thin, circular cuts of metal taking new meaning
Like a fleet of mini, flattened flying saucers
Ready to take flight, for the invasion from your garage
Reddit, where nerds and lovers converge
Another desperate post, another dick pic
Michelle, when will you accept your loneliness?
Instead of retreating into keyboard warrior hands
Reluctant, you sell your best traits, worst self

Your fingers gently trace unappreciated textures

Overestimating their value, giving them renewed purpose Sick Hate Ahs
Objects of your appreciation, no longer exchanged for: 6/8
Bubble gum, tolls, temporary tattoos, coffee refills
Your coins proudly pile, relieved to no longer be used Every 17 years, not quite adults
You emerge, like chicken pox
The coin collector sits on an unimaginable fortune Tattooing the landscape
Unlike Donald Duck wading through his bills With your large, beady eyes
Your coins rest unassumingly, just waiting for moments What are you thinking?
For you to remember they’re there, their secret worth
For your steady gaze, your sturdy hands, sincerity They say you are dumb, blind
Without rudders or sails
You admire On your noisy, aimless bodies
Gush over Propelling you up, haphazardly
Fools gold We close our eyes and mouths
You somehow
Think are, Like Biblically feared locusts
Treat as Do you warn us of misdeeds?
Love like You thrash around, in your
Rare diamonds Winged straight jackets
Screeching a cacophony

How poetic, to live in darkness

And beat your winged drums
With hellish, warlike vengeance
You fall like soldiers, scattered
Like picked scabs on sidewalks
 “poetry”

Sleeping in Stripes
6/6

The city murmurs below,

Occasionally shouts
Exhaust pipes
Music I don't know

I sleep in rainbow stripes

Imprisoned by your charm
Like a psychedelic zebra
Trapped behind iron bars

Not belonging in a public park

Is the worst form of rejection
Proud, sweaty marathon runners
Families in their Sunday best
Anonymous Alcoholics in a circle

Over-sharing And me, searching for an outlet outdoors

6/7 Recording ideas for more dumb poems
‘Returning or exchanging’ former loves
I could never expect The stripes slowly peel, one by one
anyone, even my one In the backseat of my car
(if that exists)
to give
as much
as I do

it sounds conceited
but it's another fatal flaw
when you give
and you give
and you give

and are left alone

shattered, empty
javing overshared
 “poetry”

Riding Fast
5/30

Wearing out the small, rubber pads

On my new roller blades
Far too quickly, fear of falling
Losing to the exhilaration of speed
I should have learned by now
To slow down, protect myself

I even ordered matching,

mint green pads (far too large)
But the thrill of the air Eye Patch on Both Eyes
Rushing toward me 5/27
And life blurring on either side,
Knees and elbows cautiously nude I wish our face masks
Is too alluring Covered our eyes
Instead if our mouths
I thought I'd outgrown So the kids couldn't tell
This old past-time I cry on the way to work
But I'm rediscovering Sometimes
Former habits emerging
The nostalgia creeping in The intensity
Pushing down my messy past Of my eye contact
Trying not to fall or crash Would be subdued
The breaks burn down quickly My green holes
Applying them only makes it harder Wouldn't pierce
To stop I'd be harder
To see

I'm the highest functioning

Crazy person I know
I can trick almost anyone
Into thinking I'm okay

I think I like 7th grade

Because I'm still figuring out
Who I am too
my identity
 “poetry”

My Nephew's Eyes
5/26

Your big, brown, beautiful

Bright eyes gaze admiringly
Their hue matching our family's
More than my pale, green ones

You haven't met enough people

To realize I'm not worth your gaze
You don't know about my black eye
Or lonely stints in cold, gray wards

Your lashes are long, unadorned

They flutter at the sight of my ever-
​changing nail polish colors, gazing
Admiringly, like I'm somebody
When your mom asked who your best friend is
You chanted my undeserving, phony name
Not realizing or caring that I'm unlikable
Or damaged; you need to meet more people
A Poem With Longer Lines
5/25
My therapist told me that I always think that I've said too much
That I've internalized someone else's beliefs and made them my own
So poems with shorter lines, like blurry vision without my glasses
Feel safer, feel less; like I can't be seen as well either, a blur

I keep adding 211.04, your number, to mine -- even though you are gone
I continue to measure my progress by adding onto yours, onto ours
As if my independent mileage needs to be enhanced, isn't enough
Without your blue text & green eyes taunting me between the digits

Apparently 2-in-1 shampoo & conditioner is a red flag, a sign

To run away, yet I continue to use the industrial-size bottle
I bought proudly for you, preferring the convenience and smell
Not caring what it signifies, my exterior silently suffering

I slowly tread near my lonely kitchen island for 1 with 2 seats now
No longer in a hurry to find all the broken glass, sharp fragments
I used to eagerly and thoroughly sweep away before you entered
Into my messy, imperfect life; no longer pretending I'm not broken
 “poetry”

Cactus Kid Burn holes through

5/24 When I returned change
To impatient customers
As a child The coins slowly dropped
Physical contact Into floating palms
Was a repellent Of elevating hands

My mom says Like a cactus

I sat My invisible thorns
Perfectly content Would pierce
Smiling, Outstretched fingers
Observing My boiling blood
When held Would scald
I squirmed, Unsuspecting,
Grimaced Undeservedly
So I retracted
As a child
Physical contact I always thought
Was a repellent When I finally found
The right soil
On car rides That understood
I silently counted And accepted
The required kisses My dry, arid ways
Greeting and It wouldn't mind
Bidding farewell Or judge
And hold me anyway
A quick peck Like I'd been saving it all
For my mom's side For them
Two, sometimes three
For my dad's Even as an adult
Physical contact
I silently counted Still freaks me out
Anxiously calculating
The hot cheek contact The intensity
Sometimes the breath Discomfort
My sensitive smell I still squirm
And crimson face And grimace
Would pick up on When held
 “poetry”

My hydration fixation Unlike pets

And flirts with dirts And children
Have left House plants
​Me prickly Are acceptable
Gifts

Without eyes
A warm breath
And expensive food,
I guess?
It has just become
Okay
To gift
These living
Things
Beginning the race
To keep them
Alive

Love plants
House Plants
Are supposed to
5/23
Die
And fade
My mom says
With the relationship
I either have
...right?
A green thumb
A sort of indicator
Or good lighting
Of not nurturing
I personally credit
Nor caring for
The latter
The gift, the life
Your partner
My plants reach up
Often unwillingly
Manifesting
Gives you
Their approval
Of my move
My sister once commented
Upstairs
How pretty my things are
And practical his aloe was
Thick, full leaves torn
When I burnt myself cooking
 “poetry”

Roasted in the sun

In makeshift band aids
He'd fasten with rubber bands
Rubbing the translucent goo
Over my burnt, blushing skin

My love plant
IS A GIANT
I keep thinking
One day
It will topple over
From the weight
Of its size Riding on Empty
5/10
It is tall
And wide I used to think
And reaches far Pumping bike tires
Surpassing Was a "guy thing"
The perimeter I'd wait for my ex
Of my coffee table Or bike over
To a too-friendly shop
To be clear: Bat my eyes
I guess And feign dumb
This is a metaphor
For how I over-nurtured Even this,
Cared too much I did rarely
For this gift, our love
Our life Riding on empty
Runs the risk of a flat
And now Is dangerous
I am stuck Can get you hurt
With this giant And guarantees
Towering A shitty ride
Reminder
Persistently upright Yet for too long
Proud I feigned dumb
Display Not wanting to deal
Of green With my deflating
Tires