Poetry

I. When Ur Heart Is Sweating In The Sun

today i bought a fan and now I’m laying here

naked n getting fanned n eating grapes like a greek fucking goddess

like Aphrodite or some shit but no, 

that’s too obvious, maybe Rhea, the mother of all Goddesses but

i have never mothered anything, better go with Selene

the personification of the moon itself

 

the moon incarnate a mixture of molten silver and gold and light on a dark night bcuz  

really that’s all i want to be for the world, to give it light

n i know that scientifically speaking the moon doesn’t create it’s own light but i’m

not a scientist so just go with me on this one

 

in the breeze of the fan i’m 

considering changing my name to Selene

but i hate Selena Gomez and i’ve already changed my name once, so, 

maybe thats enough

 

 

II. Girls With Crystal Ball Emojis In Their Twitter Profiles

i don’t understand this version of myself 

a girl who smells like cold concrete 

a thing so sure 

and unsure 

in your hand less flesh every time you reach for me 

your mouth meets each rung of my ribs 

the back of your teeth, a chisel 

the hollow of my throat smooth like a stone 

hoop earrings, chapped lips 

from holding them pressed together 

distant, but nice

nothing that you said i was.

everything that you said i was.

 

 

III. Horoscopes Are Ruining My Life

the ocean is bigger than anything i feel for you

even as i'm red-faced screaming

are u telling other bitches to go look at the moon yes or no

i feel ugly when my heart contorts in front of you

but then i remember the whole world is ugly too n

even demons catch feelings for the night sky w/ its dead stars 

still shining like no one has told them yet to R.I.P.

no peace for aries, taurus, gemini, cancer

even death cant fuck w/ my zodiac

i'll take ur ghost, ur corpse, whatever's left of u

just tell me, are our signs compatible in love?

 

 

IV. phoenix

i stopped reading my horoscope bc honestly

whatever the universe has in store for me today is none of my business

i never feel anything at all except everything

the endless drip of whatever I can find

into holes that can never be filled 

i am trying to picture who I would be if I wasn’t a phoenix

combustion, death, ashes, rebirth.

honestly everyone is bad at love but I’m still into it 

more than once I have burnt my whole world to the ground for it, and everyone in it

unfortunately, I don’t really know what it is.

no one knows what they are doing on earth, or even off it 

they say the universe will send you the same lesson

over and over until you learn it n that is how I know so far i

have learned very little

V. Scarab Is Just A Nice Word For Dung Beetle

there are things i do when left alone that i wouldn’t otherwise 

do like try not to kill my plants or touch myself while thinking

about the sky. it’s inanimate but if it came down 

to it i’d still try to fuck it i think you’re lying if you say

you don’t want the clouds inside of you.

they asked me what am i: a woman or a beetle? i still don’t

know the answer but shouldn’t a beetle have wings? and i’m

still walking so i guess i am a woman. Or is this a metaphor?

In that case I am a scarab, rolling words across the page

the way Ra rolls the sun across sky. I am a beetle

in that we are both lucky that God and our lovers are able to find

beauty in a life born out of shit and call it a Heavenly Cycle. 

when I die the only things left of me will be my bones and 

my twitter account. It isn’t much but I would leave it all to you.

Let’s say i remove my lower ribs and give them to you as an offering. 

Let’s say you wear them like designer. Let’s say

you give me your jawbone and I wear it as a crown

 It will be much more romantic than holding hands. Let’s say this is what true love looks like.

 

 

VI. untitled

what does it even mean to be a person i am tired of it

this is a poem with some answers to some questions

but they aren’t the questions you asked and they won’t be the answers you want

i get anxious when asked to describe myself

because what about me? every syllable i say falls like a brick

wall to block me from something else i could say instead and so i say nothing at all

i’ll just pluck blonde hairs from my head and sew my lips shut right there in front of you 

you will be disgusted but not shocked and in that moment we will both think about 

driving our cars straight into the median and flipping them like gymnasts until 

we rain down crystal dripping chandeliers onto the pavement 

but, like, without dying, you know? 

 

you’re such a child he says it smiling and i can’t decide

if it’s an insult or an admiration

but why must the desire for a) dessert & b) a higher power

be childish anyway?

this isn’t the question and this isn’t the answer either

can you tell i’m trying not to think too much about it?

honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if God greeted me in heaven

when i die like welcome home, bitch!!!! and that is probably 

the reason i don’t fit in at most bible studies 

there are two occasions where you are expected to dress like an adult

and i have been to one substantially more than the other

if you are still looking for your answer, there it is

 

 

VII. untitled

it won’t last forever but maybe it will 

like the night it rained on our bare skin 

water pooled around our shivering bodies 

as above so below 

 

as the water rolls down your cheek i think desperately

about how i could possibly catch it 

put it in a vase mark it holy water 

i want everything you try to wash away 

 

i am beautiful because you see me

or 

you make me beautiful when you look at me

all i know is my insides were still twisted & ugly 

until you combed your fingers through the knots

 

you are the only person i would let steal the side of my bed

on which i religiously sleep 

because i know it’s your side too and 

i would do anything for you and 

all i really want is you sleeping next to me

 

i am not so self important to think everything has led to this, but 

everything has led to this 

i want to know you like i know myself, sink into you

easily as the raindrops into the soft water around us

 

 

VIII. untitled

i mostly think about

killing myself

being famous

and whether God sees

God when God looks

at me

my therapist will tell me

a dead man doesn't belong in the living room

and we will both pretend to feel better for awhile

the important thing is

what i've said makes sense to me. 

 

 

IX. untitled

this is a ghost story

or, this is a story and you are a ghost

i used to be a ghost but i was born again today

mostly it feels the same, except now i can feel the earth under my feet

not the floor, but the earth

i can feel every breathing centimeter between my toes and the

other side of the world the way 

you can feel your mothers love when she puts a cool, soft

hand on your forehead when you're sick with a flu

and whispers you will not die from this

 

for five years straight they wouldn't stop dying

my heart shriveled and i tried to stop it from beating

but now it is an ocean inside of my chest and the sun rises and

sets on its horizons

do you see my skin?

i am not a ghost

i am the ocean and the sky

i am a vessel