there’s poetry etched in her silly mind
he poured something
sweetly nauseating
on his hands, soaking
through his jeans into
his flesh
but it never burned like
I once did in our
home town
throwing knives at
trees in my backyard,
following old trails that
led far beyond the
property line, praying to
God and asking for a
rebound
a rebirth
crimson on my fingertips
I bow my head and
cover my sins in
cosmic teenage love, drenching
my body in the
world’s bruised symphony
tonight I screamed
so loud over the cars
and the trucks, hoping that maybe
I’d shatter the atmosphere
break the barrier
oh, honey
holding your hand in a darkened
room is worse than
launching my awkward
humanity over a
bridge, hurdling towards death
but I hit the ground running and
my angel wings have returned
I live,
I live,
I live a little
too much, too hard
come up from the ocean waves
feeling a little too happy, I raise my
eyebrows in suspicion
concerned that maybe the sun
had burned my mind by reading
the local news and
thinking that another human
could fill my lungs with
fire and pretty words
when in reality I am plagued by
my apparent existence
tonight I screamed
so quietly in an empty parking lot
where not even the asphalt
beneath my sneakers could
feel my knees tremble in the
presence of God
I live,
I live,
I live in my own divine nightmare
melancholy-prone girls will learn how to
burn secrets in their youth
from the youngest age they are able, their mother’s teach them to
pluck the feathers from heartstrings
and leave the rest where you found it
the typical conveyers of the world
are the ones who like to tear you apart and dispose of your
goodness, happiness, smiles, flowers morals
they turn us into bigger things
which sounds good, yes
it rolls off our honeysuckle tongues
in an inherently lovely, seductive manner
and that’s where the dangers lies
because biggest must equal
better, right?
isn’t that the way the world works
these days?
southern gothic
churches line the
landscape of this town
in such an
orderly manner that I am afraid
to ask if it was
the hand of God that placed them
this way
railroads tracks that lack arms
the ones that let you know
when a train
is due before you step out
in front
and catch your death
sweet boys in
country grocery stores
that say things
like “hey, brown eyes”
and when you look out
into the woods
behind your house
a haunting image of
moonlight can
be seen through
the trees
and you wonder,
wonder, wonder,
if you went to bed
with soaking wet hair
the world might like you a little
better tomorrow
and maybe,
maybe, maybe,
if you drank your sister’s
perfume at 3 am
he’d kiss you
a little bit softer
whiskey breathing travel guides
and unkempt hair resembling
bird’s nests
hit the pavement in order to
cure your bloody nose
burn the pictures of dead
memories // grow flowers that look
like happy people
combat your growing sense of
terror and pretend that
you’re okay for now
she doesn’t show her
teeth when she smiles; I bet she
thinks she’s a model
she doesn’t let the grounded
patrons and cynical friends
hear her whimpers / for she fears
these sobs might shatter earth’s
atmospheric hangover
dull of having ached out
the exhaustion and poured her mind
into scholarly sources / searching her mother’s
drawers for six-winged angels and
blue eyeshadow, crying out to
God and hoping He might fix
her messy disposition
but what you don’t know yet is the way
you might sway back and forth
between pursuing cemetery memorials
and the revolutionary act of
carrying a torch long enough
to see yourself become an
ornate nightmare
you’ve never met surrealism if you haven’t stood in the middle of a country road, your prom dress falling just above your bruised ankles, feeling pure sunshine radiate and reach far beyond your fingertips
you won’t understand the feeling until you’ve noticed the hazy, yellow-ish street lamps that illuminate the length of unbridled striped concrete stretching far beyond where you stand. your mind turns towards thoughts of how you were throwing your body around the dance floor; glittery bones and cramped feet, tears streaming down your mascara-stained cheeks as you realize how you are finally breathing again. that was only an hour ago.
this is the part where your existence disengages. you remember forgotten ideas and you’re coughing up the bricks lodged in your throat after years of silence. have you ever lived so hard your soul bled and your ribs ached? I’m sure all the pretty girls have. blue eyeshadow stains minds like memories scrawled on a suburban middle-school bathroom wall.
staccato armor
like a medieval machine
a song full of sorrows,
doubts and tears
where is your sword?
have you traded it for victory?
or did you use it to puncture
your arrogance?
sliced it in two
burnt green
in the sunshine
of your father’s planet
at the hand of his lineage
destined to hate
ample time to disentangle
never to hear
what I said about your mind
because you and I
shook our fists at the gods
and in the face of melancholy
and hoped that tomorrow
we might rise once more
flammable armor
perpendicular machine
this world full of familiar joy
feels like laughing
and sobbing so hard
your ribs bleed
women with freckled complexions
honey stirring in the pools of
their own eyes
like the countless mothers before them
with their torn and frayed offspring
resembling dead gardens
full of absinthe greenery
that still exhibit thorns
a synthetic, pearly reality
turns melancholy forth to funerals
with rabbit-hearted children
America resembles gold
delve deep into
the murky pits of your
childhood memories,
dreams, and feelings
recall the songs that made you
dance and laugh
cry and distort emotions
behold the hell-bent night
and ask yourself
if you continually exist
I won’t lie; there are parts of you that I miss
messy, unkempt
altogether lovely and brimming with toxicity
when I think of your face and those eyes
I see confusion, I feel contortion
what should be beautiful and perfectly incandescent
is instead shrouded by your inability to love
the love I gave you was pure
and clean
and kind
you loved me to an extent
shortened by your disability
to feel whole
to be grounded
tonight I’m thinking about last summer
and how it was ours
bleeding hearts, sobbing fits
throwing myself at the concrete abyss,
bouncing back from the force
sleepless nights
tear-stained thoughts
and the songs you gave me
I tried my best to decipher their meanings
all I got from that was a jumbled mess
the puzzle pieces had been shredded by my teeth
my own personal touch
I gifted you my soul and bones
I expected nothing in return, so don’t twist these words
in order to fit your pitiful narrative
I’ll probably see you next month
and you’ll be different
not likely better than before
and as for me, I’m something new
you won’t be able to recognize my heart,
for it resembles a blade
sad boy with the green eyes and pretty future,
feel the earth tremble beneath your feet
the girl in which you attempted to burn
has returned in a uniquely complex form
warrior, joan of arc
I’ll plant nightmares within you
I’ll paint ghosts in your thoughts
