#spilledwords

Do you ever take yourself to bed
just to end the day
with the expectation that tomorrow
will be better
than today

You’re still the same you
no matter how early
you sleep

Nihilism 

sounds reasonable

when trains close their doors in front of you

seemingly

on purpose… 

in my dreams
he’s writing me a song…
he said he knew exactly
what he was going to get me
in Portland,
but I know he didn’t have a clue…
the only thing
that would help me
forgive him
is a song…

I had my last class today
which means that I’ve wasted 17 weeks

thinking about you
sprawled out on your bed

wanting you
to sing to me

kissing you
on your couch made for two people

waiting for you
to call me back when I don’t hear from you for days

and

letting your voice persuade me
when you inevitably don’t…

My sister thinks you’re a player.

I think she’s tired of me living in an eternal pity party

It doesn’t help 

that I only tell her the bad things,

It doesn’t help

that I waste my nights thinking of you,

and it doesn’t help

that the only thing I find relatable

to our relationship

are Morrissey lyrics. 

your room is blue

you tell me all the time that you’re going to paint it 

but you won’t.

It’s kind of like 

when you promise me 

that you’ll call…

“he raises his voice

higher than he would his hands

and for that I guess

I should be

grateful”

- d.c.

“the lows burry me beneath the rubble of hell but the highs no drug in the world can parallel” - d.c.

“I find I exist most authentically

somewhere between

cursive and chicken scratch—

that is to say

in written word,

not lens,

for photography fails and deceives

in so far as it tries

to contain me

in an immortalized image

whereby the eye defines me

a perceived singularity.” - d.c.

“we were two silhouettes

on a cobblestone path

wading through the orange blood of lamplight

our liquor-laden limbs

lassoed around each other

our fingertips

sizzling with sin”

- d.c.

I open up to my mother
she listens begrudgingly
but physically
cold shoulder

I point out her body language
she says I’m on the attack
I just want peace
but a cold war is still a war

He coughs all day to numb the pain
releasing it in clouds around him
every sound has a weight on my heart
and it never ends

I want to escape
but I’m frozen in place
and I’m not interested in playing pretend
Maybe ignorance is bliss and this
is suffering needlessly

I can’t escape
paralysis
except when I’m asleep

demons used to chase me
in the worlds inside my dreams
one day, i touched the bottom
surfaced from beneath the waters
woke but couldn’t move

at the end of my bed
a demon waited
so i sent waves of energy in its direction
and freed myself

even the most fearsome monsters
respond to these vibrations
is that how they see me?
certainly I’m no exception

how many rapes jokes does it take
to be funny?
he knows the answer is none.
no one had to tell Amnon
the sin in taking Tamar,
nor was Duryodhana confused
when he patted his thigh
mocking Draupadi,
nor Dusshasana dumb
when attempting to disrobe her.
yet you chant
men need to understand,
to read and watch
our unending torment
to understand evil.

-he knows, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

directionally challenged
athens is the only city
her feet knows,
she wanders down alleyways
undiscovered
but familiar
and sits beneath an orange tree.
she takes one plump
sunset shaded fruit,
peels back thick skin,
juice gushes down her arm.
yet she smells cypress trees,
olive oil offerings, and cinnamon.
she whispers prayer,
nimble fingers pressing
a golden owl.

-for Athena, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

overcast
you sit
suck on mango skin
the juice on your chin
drips on
basil leaves,
your hands already wet
before the rain
we watch the yellow mountains
spring back to life
verdant, almost emerald
green foliage tender at the end of summer,
nourished by the dead roots
beneath softened soil.

-end of summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee