My Words


And if we are not monsters, 
we are martyrs 
And if we are not martyrs, 
we are sadists. 
And if not sadists, 
then jellied invertebrates awaiting
 the imminent back-bend. 
And the inconsistencies and the varying the ricocheting
 all leaving souls dazed in a stupor
 of confusion and falsified placidity.  
How has loving another become nothing. 
but a deranged game  of seeing who
  can swing the widest between feebleness and power? 

I believe in souls. 
In the cataclysm of an afterlife  
where our souls are drawn to those destined for us by vibrations 
and fate. I believe in the rhythmic movement between spirits
  that brings us together and pulls us apart. 
I believe that the universe churns for us,  stirs for us, 
helping us move and flow to align with those designed for us. 
 I believe that our souls can find pairings in 
an infinite amount of others.  
That the attraction of souls relies on 
the fibers of past, present, and future lives. 
That the travels of our souls engrain in us a memory deeper 
than our human minds can fathom. 
And that the delicate balance of the cosmos’ chaos 
 faithfully works   
to help us find those meant for us. 



She'd been sifting through the air for years,
looking for molecules capable of being touched. 
Her fingers, well acquainted with emptiness,
had always understood that some things
are too transparent to ever be seen or felt, 
let alone held.
Grind my bones into
the finest sand. 
File me down to dust.
Pour the grains of my being
into the glass prison
of an hourglass.
Keep me
by a fragile shell,
where I can sink away
the minutes for you,
while you turn me
on and over
as you please.
Maybe then
I’ll finally be
the shape
that you
desire me.

open blossoms


Do not envy the light cast by stars, 
For their light is the last of their life, 
as they ended years before. 
And do not tolerate a man who prefers the 
deceased light of a star Than the light of the sun. 
For a star’s light only cuts narrowly through darkness, 
While the sun’s eliminates it completely. 
Do not tolerate a man who doesn’t see the difference. 
You cannot make him appreciate the 
Do not apologize for your wilting or your growth
you may bloom inconsistently,
but you are always
a blossom.
I think that when you’re thirsty,
when your soul is thirsty,
you will drink from any body of water
that you can find.
We will drink water that tastes bitter or sour.
Water that looks cloudy or foggy.
Water that is tepid and unboiled.
We will fill our canteens at the mouth of a river
that we do not trust,
because we are afraid 
we will never find another.



And how can we fly 
or freefall when we tie ourselves
everyday to
stationary things?
And maybe he did once, maybe he really did.
Maybe once he chose you, he needed you, he wanted you,
but you can’t live off of that.

You can’t feed yourself with the hope of that.
Stop devouring truths of the past.
Just because he once did 
and you hope that he might again.

Stop standing at the end
of a vacant dinner table
waiting to be fed.

You can’t sustain yourself
on something as unpredictable
as the whims and wants of a man. 
And that's the only truth you should be consuming.
If you’re not waking up everyday and
working on loving yourself
I promise you that whatever you are working on
is lacking.
I promise that it is hallow without you.
You can’t do anything authentically in this life
if it isn’t built with love for yourself.

Get your love right first.
We must stop shedding petals, 
just to make others
Darling, don't ever try to force anything.
You shouldn’t have to pry yourself to
fit neatly into any space.
You can’t cultivate love in vacancies.
And you can’t fabricate life in atrocities.
Whether it be a person or a place,
you don’t have to stay.
All I ask is that you not pick me.
For I have not spent all this time engulfing the soil with roots and
blooming into the air with color 
just to be snatched from the ground,
placed in a vase to drown.
For I refuse to become your living decoration,
silently fading.
I hope you know that you are magic; 
that you can cultivate magic, 
that your body holds magic, 
that it needs magic.
Stop treating your body like it's a curse. 
     You're that good magic and nothing else.
I had gotten to a point
where I had started mistaking
self-harm for self-help.
I was lacerating myself
over and over again
just to keep the thought of you fresh,
just to keep blood rushing to the surface.
I was fixated on remembering
through the means of self-destruction,
and was convinced that it was therapeutic.
Its funny how sure you can be. 
How steadfast in your independence you can be. 
How firm in your standards and how unwilling 
to settle for less you can be.
But in the essence of hope,
and the desires of loving,
and the needs of longing,
 how effortlessly you can ignore all
 you've learned and believed in before,
and can step willingly into the chaos of a relationship that you know you don’t deserve