“I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together”

i really wish i hadn’t charmed my therapist

maybe i wouldn’t be sitting in the position if i had

i wanted her approval just as much as anyone else’s

so i lied and cried at the right parts

reeling her in until-

snatch.

“this is not your fault”

but you see sarah,

it is.

all of it is.

but if i reveal my tactic of manipulation

my whole facade will come crumbling down

and you’ll begin to realize that i am not the victim of my own story

i’ve been pulling the right strings and moving the right pawns

but again, here i am

wishing i didn’t have to lie to you

because right now. i need you.

-sundayafternoonsedentary

he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday

after i had given all of myself

searching in other people what he didn’t give me

selling parts of my soul for short lived validation

but you’re proud of me dad?

all that is left of me is my heart in your hands

what i’ve become is great he says

but i look in the mirror

and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body

morsels to appreciate

but finally, he is satisfied

-sundayafternoonsedentary

was i created to lie here forever?

molded into a cancerous being

rotting from the inside out

i have been running from existence for so long

only to find out that i will never be able to escape my predetermined demise

so i will remain here

letting a once lovely creation rot

-sundayafternoonsedentary

something about falling snow is unsettling

peaceful to the eye

silencing the havoc throughout homes with a foot of soundproof encasing

sure the purity of the winter is breathtaking

but my lawn has been walked over time and time again

and the chaos is seeping out through the gaps of my snow boots

my screams echo with snow flakes hitting the ground

this chill in my bones is not serene

will you turn my brittle body into poetry

when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse

will you interpret the path i skipped along

writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind

or will i be forgotten?

just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface

scribbled lines in the once lively flesh

it was never pen ink that cherished me so

if my name has not been lost

and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book

run to my tombstone

letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing

recite to my grave lovely words

soothing my wandering soul

remove my past from the chain around my ankle

let my image seep into the setting sun

allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime

an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body

permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being

but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence

please oh please let me be poetry

- sundayafternoonsedentary

I should’ve jumped when the ball-point pen across the room started scribbling

scratching the surface of a worn down notepad

hovering over it, I saw my name

in bolded letters I read the word ALONE

how dare a mystery writer reach into my soul

ripping out my deepest feeling

addressing it like you would the day’s weather

I would’ve complained, if there were anyone to hear me speak

the invisible critic marked another word

AFRAID

my hand connected with the paper as an arrow pointed to my destroyed nail beds

I guess the analysis wasn’t wrong as I drew back my shaky hands

i’ve dreamed of death countless times

oh how i wish to not have woken up in the last moments before my demise

the sweet seconds before a forever peace are whispering to me

taunting me to stumble into deaths eternal embrace

how beautiful is it to be lonely

whenever the air you breathe has only been touched by your lungs

the emptiness in the echo behind your screams

thoughts to be sorted in the cavern of your cranium

how beautiful is it to be by yourself

love at dusk looks like 

fogged up windows in your car, 

like drawing faces on the glass

instead of pinching myself to prove 

i’m hereandso are youandthis is real, 

despite how the way a day ends 

looks like a dream only Van Gogh could paint. 

you laugh at what i left;

it’s no Starry Night, i will confess, 

after all, i’m just a poet with a fingertip 

and her lover’s breath.

- “love at dusk”

⚠️TW: domestic violence, intimate partner violence⚠️

they left you breathless,

and you swear it’s the kiss 

before the punch,

or the kiss on the bruise

that was left after one

that proves it’s love.

the butterflies have left,

exhaled in every breath 

you cannot catch,

but should chase after

with urgency.

i weep for the ones

still out of breath 

and unable to move;

they mourn for butterflies

as they choke for monsters 

that look like lovers 

they once knew. 

- “still out of breath”

we stood outside in the cold, 

away from the restaurant,

just to take a moment or two alone

to kiss and to sway and to hold hands,

like two people who know how to love,

but not how to dance.

and the thought crossed my mind

in between the kisses and hugs 

that made a crisp night cozy,

that this is love, backstage;

these are the moments others can’t see 

or resent or reduce to a play,

like devotion is only a thing 

that’s faked for accolades.

but the way i’d let myself 

ice over in March

just to melt in your arms 

on an empty sidewalk,

or a vacant parking lot,

must just be scenes they crop out

in films we use like soundtracks,

instead of movies to watch.

- “backstage love”

i sink in sadness

and often it is love

that pierces through

the fog, 

the dark, 

the dread,

like a lighthouse 

unveiling the shore,

like something to swim to,

like something to swim for. 

- “lighthouse”

may the ones i leave behind never lie in their journals, in their conversations, or to themselves and call me “too good for this world,” when the world and i have always been two of a kind. let it be known that not all unsuitable things are too perfect or too light to be ill-matched for the place you were born into; some of us are heavy, some of us are undoubtedly flawed. no, we were never ethereal, we were mere mortals straining to be. 

- “ethereal”

my past feels more like wreckage 

and despite how they commend the survivor, 

i feel more like remnants to scour. 

my past feels like a crash site 

and although it’s been years

since the most recent collision, 

i’m still writhing in the street 

waiting for paramedics to save me, 

but perhaps they couldn't 

and i am the ghost 

and the past is my grave, 

or perhaps it’s the ghoul 

feasting upon where i lay. 

but surely death isn’t like dying, 

again and again, day after day;

if i’m merely a corpse, 

where is the peace i am promised 

once i rest in a cemetery?

and if i’m still above ground

and the past is just that,

then, i hope i may rest 

in a bearable future, in a pleasant home, 

before my bed becomes a casket

and my headboard becomes a headstone

-“ a bearable future”

i couldn’t say their name if i tried,

when there once was a time

i spoke it like a body takes a breath;

i never forgot how to breathe

like i never forgot what a person can mean,

despite how i avoid them by crossing the street.

-“like a body takes a breath”

tw // sexual abuse

a kiss without consent 

is not a kiss you have to count 

when a friend asks if you recall your first 

and they ask how it felt. 

a kiss that left an aftertaste 

of shame and regret, like a scar, 

is not a kiss at all

if it feels like you’re marred.

i beg a God who i often resent

that you learn how to kiss clean lips 

without reproaching your own

for the time someone’s unwanted tongue 

slipped through your mouth,

like a thief slinks through a home,

despite how many times you said no, 

no, no, no.

-“a kiss without consent”

love has no fixed face, love has many. 

i taste love on the lips of my lover. 

i hear love amidst my family’s laughter. 

i rest my head on love, 

on the shoulders of my mother. 

i feel love in my arms and beneath my palms,

and sometimes it looks like a purring cat 

or a sleepy-eyed dog.

to truly appreciate the essence of love 

is to recognize that it can be as diverse 

as it is abundant—and then suddenly,

love is not merely somewhere.

it can be anywhere and everywhere.

-“Valentine’s Day”

you speak like a ballerina pirouettes

and the world listens like an audience 

perched at the edge of their seats.

you make me want to sing, 

but my tongue slides against my teeth

like a lush clings to a wall

once they forget how to use their feet.

the words tumble alongside my gums

and drop from my clumsy mouth

like an accident, like silverware

slipping through butter fingers.

and like a child gets bruised knees,

i get bruised cheeks,

but you’ll plant kisses where it’s blue 

until everything turns pink.

- “clumsy mouth”

i can’t find heaven on the map,

but i’m too scared to ask for directions

because everyone’s got horns or fangs 

or blood on their hands.

i saw wings on your back 

and i’m still not sure if they’re real

or just feathers and wax.

you could be Icarus

though i’m hardly the sun.

it’s always why he plummets

and never where he sinks;

i sobbed that i’m the ocean,

the aftermath, the burial pit

but you just laughed.

so even if your halo’s plastic,

i’d still wear it like a ring 

if you asked.

- “where Icarus sinks”

growing up feels like missing aspects of ages you left behind 

on playgrounds with bruised knees and scratches,

in front of TV screens that felt like windows to real worlds,

beneath Christmas trees clutching gifts that Santa left,

looking up to people in both height and expression,

reading comic books about heroes while vowing once you’re older, you’ll save the world too

because even as a child you know there’s good things to uphold and bad things to vanquish.

but growing older is walking past playgrounds 

and watching movies without expectations

and setting up Christmas trees because you’ve become Santa

and craning your neck less but understanding people more 

and still wanting to save the world, but you take on days one at a time instead.

-“growing older”

my troubled mind constantly reiterates 

that i do not deserve love and kindness, that i am nothing.

but my aspiration to heal  asserts that i do, 

i do, 

i do.

so the war wages on,  as i realize i am everything: 

the battleground,  the revolutionary and the enemy.

- “psychological warfare”

Cherry red tongue pressed against a lily pink tongue. Spinning in circular motions until our lips locked..

Locked inside of a beautiful hell

You tore my soul out of chest

My ribs could no longer protect it.

Will you ever come back and unlock me from this hell you trapped me in?

I can’t breathe.

What If

Thousands of years ago

The magic that lives inside of me

& inside of you

Lived within two different souls

That were soul mates

Yet one got taken away too soon

those two souls were never forever..

So every different generation that specific magic

In those two souls try to find each other

To die together & love each other for eternity

& maybe that is why we feel as though we’ve known each other forever

Our souls are familiar with one another

Too bad you and I no longer lay side by side

I wonder what souls this magic will possess next generation.

My cherry lips miss your cotton skin

My dark eyes miss your dimpled smile.

Your new girl smells like soil, but I , I smell like roses.

Do you miss how deep my soul is?

You traded me for a girl that is too scared to howl at the moon.

I reach out for you every night but she has locked you down.

You’re too far under ground to grab my hand in the sky.

Come join me with one last dance in the dark, under the millions of stars that we fell in love under.

Does your cotton skin miss my cherry lips?

I don’t think her lips are quite red enough for you

She will never know the things that I know about you

What we had was rare, but you decided you wanted common

If you ever decide to come back to me

Just think about my touch and remember my smile

Your heart will lead you back to mine

You may have left, but your heart once loved mine

And that doesn’t just end

I’ll be where we once looked up at stars and laughed

Howl at the moon my love

And I will be

Waiting for you

My heart will always love yours.

You buried our love six feet deep but I just laid our love to rest, because you made me.

Stay kind ✨

It sucks

Left her in shreds