I’ll stop talking about it when I’m dead
and even then expect something related engraved as my epitaph

and yet I’ve remained blissfully unconscious too many moments in the night where I should have woken up sweating and breathy and pensive

I will stop approaching your front door
with the…



the two of us stood shouldered
facing our graffitied cement barricade
“you’re worthless and I’m worth less”
each silently trying to decipher
who was who


sylvia plath was beautiful and blonde
and a picture of her exists in white
on a beach, shiny hair, widened smile, and ten years from that moment
she would barricade herself in the kitchen
and stick her head in an oven.

off the top of my head there are two
things that make me cringe upon…


I give much too much credit to anyone I’ve ever taken the time to write about
I pump their chests out with the words I imagine them holding back in modesty, I pump their whole existence with collagen

I’ll hoist up the pointed striped tent, I’ll waltz around the ring
invite audiences to watch…

constantly torn between wanting to sprint across the world 45 times or surrender to a nervous breakdown


i’d like to be the kind of writer accredited enough to
splay her work onto forearms and kneecaps
inner thighs and shoulder blades
a collection of project strangers assigned a single word from the work’s entirety to display
in dark ink, line them all together
regurgitate a coherent story

but i’m not
and an english degree savored sweet until i lost a muse and the ridges of my palate hid the after taste
metaphors aren’t metaphors if
it never mattered to begin with

instead it’s 1:51am late august early fall
i’m scrolling the names of people curled away in their homes, stringing quotations around the bile in your stomach and citing the way your poison drinks like nectar in their throats

i’ll study the brain
stifle the part that keeps me up
rouse the part that keeps me applauding


and you’re always asking ‘why me’
and the forethought to that statement could be anything you want, anything that polishes the silver lining of your otherwise foolproof playbook

talk to god like he’ll answer
and you probably know this but i’ve been up at night watching the docu-series ‘cosmos’
thinking about the ceaseless expanse of the universe; the big bang imploded from a pinpoint smaller than an atom

there are universes existing in black holes and within those universes there are more black holes, the hole cannot be dug deep enough
don’t tell me the blood rushing to your head could induce any sort of pain
(everything—smaller than an atom)

do you understand that
do you understand that everything we know came from something smaller than what comprises us and yet we are somehow smaller
do you understand that there is no feasible end to everything we know
and we know nothing
so what even is measure
what even is anything

so you can’t tell me the taste of stagnant acid in my mouth should be something revered whenever the world tilts too far on the axis
and you can’t say my chest’s been desensitized by the alterations in the air, why does everything shut down in the dark and why
does winter come so soon

but i’ll shut down netflix and wait for your phone call
and together we can laugh at anyone who’s convinced they’re comparable to a pixel on the map of


my ambiguity is no longer an allure
I was once told my best line involved turning distortion into mural
I floated on that for weeks
and haven’t said anything like it since

when I was fourteen I said
“placidity in water is unattainable above the surface”
my best friend had written it on her wall my creative writing teacher nodded at the yellow lined paper
to this day I still agree with its validity but can’t credit it to anything more than an introductory line
in a fourteen year old’s short story

there are a multitude of things dusting my existence that I’m sure are poetic
my grandmother drinks mugs of hot water because decades ago a hypnotist told her it would help her sleep

a boy I know regularly goes into his backyard pool and forces his head underwater
convinced one day his brain will shut down but his lungs will be so trained as to persist and survive
that he’ll float comfortably in comatose
for at least a few minutes
just under the edge

the old neighbor next door keeps on an antique lamp all night
should be ominous as it shines through the sole window in the attic but
I can’t help but want to trace the intricate shards and beads under my shaking fingertips

I feel incredibly distant when things take a unexpected turn and I’m left trying to clear the air, choking on my own tongue,
heavier than ever and I can’t
get the
breaking a sweat running in place

it’s my noose saying “hang in there!”
it’s my guillotine telling me to
keep my chin up


careful now,
looking back is looking directly into the sun at high noon
and they advise to take protective measures against the harm it’ll do for the eyes and skin
vital things that allow you to see
and then everything that protects the interior from there on out
because prevention with a capital ‘p’ is the ballad of the summer
& that’s just what you do

careful now,
looking back is looking directly into oncoming headlights at night
and they advise to glance at the curb furthest from the approacher
to protect against the harm it’ll do for the eyes and the other passengers of your two-thousand-pound-bullet
vital things that allow you to see
and then everything that protects the interior from there on out
because ‘precious cargo’ is now a household term
& that’s just what you do

careful now,
looking back is looking directly into the orb and watching it bloom towards you even when you’re sure your eyes aren’t even open
and they tell you to release peacefully
to protect against the harm waking up could induce on a wilting body
vital things that have been rendered useless and then everything that should have protected it from there on out
because Take My Life and Let It Be is a church hymn crooned by many
& that’s just what you do

careful now,
just because everything curls against the light
holding up a hand as if there were the power to stop it
looking back would mean having to look directly into you
and my eyes are weak as it is.


my mom drove all around the state
tonight just to have dinner
with a woman she once considered to
be her second mother,
the actual mother of her best friend
who died when they’d been young

it’s this kind of frantic determination
that’s unsettling for me to see in her
I’ve never known her to be eager to
catch darting fragments of the past in
any deadfall trap
to then poke and prod at whatever lies still underneath

I’ve never wanted her to be anything more than she already is
and I want to know everything that eroded her to be exactly that
she tells me she wants everything but for me to follow in the footsteps she took until turning thirty
she wants involvement, inner peace, smoke-free lungs and a college education on the side
and I came to this conclusion while getting a late-night high on a friend’s back porch
certainly feeling a very inward calm

she went to school for two years
following a four year stint smoking and skating and watching her own mother keep a threadbare household from letting anything slip entirely through the seams
she’s known a certain breed of loss
that little should have to understand
and has never been able to express any of that to those who ask
and by ‘those’, habitually being myself

I’m not about polite indifference
it’s difficult for me to conjure privacy boundaries when I want to know everything about everyone, not for personal gain but
I just can’t find a single other concept
that connects the spinning world
other than what goes inside the minds of those who keep it spinning
sprinting, walking, limping, crawling

dad can’t hold a conversation without gaining increasing interest in whatever’s floating in the ceiling corner
and the same friend can’t stop picking her nails and tapping her phone screen
when the high slowly fades
I can’t seem to tell the woman driving beside me, gently tapping her thumbs to a hall & oats cd
there’s so much I don’t know
and there’s so much I want to

because I don’t know why we shouldn’t
the amount of breaths I take will never correlate with the number of those taken around me, which means that at some point,
one of us will be even more ignorant than the other
and I don’t see another reason to keep this spinning rock moving
if we can’t sprint together.