Poetry
What if there’s nothing wrong with being a bit of a bitch? Who demands the wounded to sew up their own stitch? What if the real problem lies not within but without? The failing lies not in feeling, but having none to talk about pain. Bottled up it causes
Poetry
I can feel all the things that used to paralyze me banging at my door. I am not answering. My back bows and threatens to break under the weight of their ceaseless—relentless—banging. Their voices are garbled, like ripped throats gesticulating sound pushed from lungs wrapped in barbed wire.
Poetry
She wears a necklace with a sparkly red heart He chooses a fitting silver knife Both chains made of steel Truth in the spark He stabs his necklace Straight through her art
Poetry
My grandmother is an elf. Beautiful books collect dust on the shelf. Her lessons echo from deep down the well, yet kindness can no longer ring her bell. My grandmother acts out in pointless cruelty. Comes across to others a fiend begging release, but broken down inside, she’s really
Poetry
There is something to the silence. I shut my eyes Close my ears Detach from my skin Inside there is fear. Beyond Void lack of noise Perception is destroyed. What is safety without risk? The point where we exist, Polarized dichotomies, Endless philosophies, Excess of western ideologies. Balance lies to
Poetry
No buzzing No eyes No daggers No lies Cold sheets Warm blankets Birds caw Heavy eyelids Heartbeat slows Feelings wane Gentle glow Demons tame I can see why the ordinary never break out What could be wrong when you don’t hear a sound? I don’t know what to
Poetry
No me dejarías volver a la guerra un viejo mundo gira sálvame la vida manten me en tu mira The only closed circuit is my life. There’s no permanent damage in touching the knife. Death is coming to have and to hold me. Everything else is impermanent. I’m
Poetry
I’m sorry I didn’t listen I’m sorry I didn’t come clean I’m sorry I didn’t fall apart I’m sorry I let you go unseen
Poetry
I categorically reject the notion that the people you love are allowed to routinely make your life harder.
Poetry
Healing process go away I don’t wanna feel sad today. You have had 12 hours to say whatever you need so fuck off, ey?
Poetry
You were never a monster, but a seagull instead. Yet the trash you scattered, fills me with dread. So I learn to recycle, Breaking this cycle, Neither of us need pretend. I found the end of this bend.
Poetry
Love is an action, not a concentration spell. My love is for me. It continually sets me free. Love fills my cup spills over. Would it be okay for me to shower you with the excess? My tired heart needs a rest from keeping quiet. Your light, it starts a