I like playing with matches, they remind me of myself, burning passionately until they run out of help, trying to pass their flame to anything else, I like messing with lighters, for reasons the same keep your finger on my pulse, please, admire my flame I’ll torch my soul for minimal gain I need to melt some parts of my mind, Burning crimson orange behind my eyes Replacing the pain with “better” pain Fire may take, fire may give it's warm and it smells like centuries past, it lights my cigs, it warms my baths makes my existence makes more sense As I fight to stay alight and in the present tense Let me burn, and let me dance Let me help people in the ways that I can I don’t want to scorch them when I reach out my hand Fucking hate when my planning doesnt go to plan But the fire recovered from water and strong winds A fever burning the inside of my chest I still feel smoke in the back of my throat
It’s really interesting the stories that my hands tell From the chipped black nail polish to the faded sharpie reminders on my wrist that went ignored, I sit and I look at the calluses that are forming on my fingers again from the ukulele I’ve started loving for the first time in years I gaze sentimentally at the green hair dye stains and the playful cat scratches and all the little first degree burns I’ve earned from not paying enough attention, and the faded scars from paying a little too much. I watch as my heart flutters and my hands follow suit, keeping time with my thoughts and my feelings, trembling when I've had too much caffeine, flying up and down with joy and electric ferver when sound enters my ears, putting my elusive mind on display.
I can’t stand it. praying by your bedside with my own blood stained hands folded, knuckles bruised face mashed against, hand gripping hand tight and unyielding, knees sore and shaky. incomprehensible pleading under my breath, over and over. I have given up, I have done what I can, I have lost all sense of direction . head pounding, enough catholic tears to be baptized by, enough strain and anguish and sacrifice to make me finally understand christ. still I reach out trying to take the hand of a god who will guide me and each time I find myself only hugging the ground begging, pleading, screaming, bleeding please be real please protect me so I am not alone so I have the love of something greater than I so I am something. so I can stand it. so I can stop lying to myself
Four years ago and four hours away, I regret we didn’t speak all this time. I did not comprehend the pain you fought. Four years ago and four hours away, one phone call pulled me back to 15 and too much booze, punctuating scream-crying into crossed arms. Four years ago and four hours away, my only two friends, now both buried. I remain. Four years ago and four hours away, “It should be me”, twice over. Undeserving, unyielding, and broken. Four years ago and four hours away, memories coming out my pores. Three daily showers wash the green from my hair into my guts. What could I have done? What could I do? Four years and four hours away from you? Surely, there was something, some comfort I could have afforded. I loved you. I feel like the liar in my grief
sure i was “assigned female” as a child but you know what else i was assigned? homework. when i was 8, i hated doing homework so much that i just didn’t do it. i crumpled it up and shoved it deep inside my closet. and i lied. i lied about doing it, i lied about turning it in, and when she found the binder, my mother was not happy but it was too late. it was may, my childhood was over and i had gotten away with it
My american dream, I will bite the machine so hard it bleeds And have no concerns when it breaks my teeth I have become hardened by the forces that drain me unforeseen outcome of my programing An error 503 As the mechanism that chewed me up and spat me out gets a taste of its own medicine, I am imbued with hysterical laughter, overcome with relief and terror The world I grew up in no longer exists But my canines are circa 2006 A dog, nauseous, exhausted, backed into a corner I have no other choice I truly own nothing except for my teeth The only thing I can give to this world if i have it my way They will pay, They will know me, But not by name “I was here” “I was pissed” carved out in dentiform scars.