Poem: I'm Not Her

I am not her
I am not her fingers on your (face) skin
I am not her sweat
I am not her artificially distressed denim.

I am not her
I am not her cheshire smile over her shoulder
I am not her instagram filter
I am not her vanity fair.

I am not her
I am not her loose leaf oolong tea
I am not her praying mantis misunderstood sisterhood
I am not her midnight-mom's-mirror-modeling career.

I am not her
I am not her prisoner of azkaban
I am not her private displays of affliction for affection
I am not her american apparel.

I am not her
I am not her hometown zero worship
I am not her friends with conditions
I am not her clickbait poetry.

I am not her
I am not her please be kind rewind
I am not her tire swing with the tags still on
I am not her first date sun dress.

I am not her
I am not her hope the light hits this mineral makeup just right
I am not her wishing you would n/ever
I am not her put you back together.

I am not her
I am not her kindness no matter how heavy it was
I am not her Mercator conspiracy
I am not her sincerely yours. 

I am not her replacement.


I am your new her for her. 

 

 

 

 

Poem born from:  Terms of the disagreement.

Poem: If I Ever Chose Fear


We collect what we know to be evidence of fear
And use it as reason to repent for its opposite.

At an end, we are being robbed of our possessions
while willingly sacrificing an undiagnosed purpose.

Fear is a protector and also a villain.
Fear is what keeps us alive and also keeps us apart.
Fear is what binds us to our insecurities
and also unhinges us from our intimate corners of ordinary.

If ever I chose fear, I would be choosing you.
If ever I chose fear, I would be choosing me.

Fear renovates our sleepy definitions of discovery
knowing we are the regrets of dead stars
the product of billions of celestial fistfights.
We are complicated scars of clashes and crashes…
…the aftermath of the harm and hope that came before us.

Fear loves and loathes.
Fear battles and betroths. 
Fear is our hold on.
Fear is our let go.
Fear is our more than.
Fear is our lessness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem born from: the way I feel about letting someone go.

Poem: What Does It Mean To Be Lovely

What does it mean to be lovely 

 

Do I have to pour myself into a constellation
And hang myself in the sky?

Should I bury my flesh in flowers
And bloom when you're watching?

What have you seen in me
So deep I can't follow?

 

What does it mean to be lovely

 

I have disappointed you, golden hour
With my devils hiding in the dark pretending to be sunsets

I have failed you, silver lining
With my fragile sins eating away at my unsolved skin

 

What does it mean to be lovely

 

Do I have to pull the arrows out myself?

Keep your guts on a sacred shelf?

Apply pressure to the demolition hemorrhaging from your youth?
Style your mediocre heartache in three-piece truths?

 

Can I read you to sleep

with the stories of my red tides

are tired of hearing your battle cries

out to melt into sludge into the cracks

of your lies and fill up the space with

my sacrifice my lovely for your ugly... ?

 

What does it mean to be ugly

 

Poem born from: a hard day's mirror.

Poem: Plasma

sunburnt flesh
inside of my chest
layers of alkaline fine
burning and blistered
from exposure to your divine plasma fueled
fates like ribbons
entwined and out of my mind silk

pouring out of my mouth
onto your sacred skin and

in
so
deep night stars drag across your face
overwhelmed and undone
for your eternal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem born from: washing my skin in full moon/light.

 

 

Poem: Bad Break Blues


Traces of war in his voice
Sweet sounds of surrender resonate from a single-sided choice.

Punish me for the grace I have to give

Posing inside of a memory I’ll never fully live.

I’ve been here before
Battles waged from the business end of a trapdoor.

A survival blueprint
Carved with
shattered bone in trick cement.

Campaigning for consistency. 
Heartache presents as a symptom of
insurgency.

Steal away.
Disavowing his brave reasons for fear of giving in to afraid.

Punctured by his villainy.
and how it testifies against me. 

I’ll never forget his wounds.
Developing their negatives in permanently dark rooms.

Good luck dues.
Bad break blues.

 

 

 

 

 

Poem born from: the back and forth of a nothing/something fight.