untitled

if you lie in a poem, it's propaganda.

So you better be so honest, so sure

so critical, so humble, that nothing ever gets done.

where am i

I am on an empty floor
I am in a wooden city
I am in a dead zone
If I fall asleep here I will not wake up in real life
If I dream here
Without the proper fear of injury or death,
I will become my own story.

Its 11am and it's sunny and I am indoors and I put up the hood of my hoodie.
Listen. It's a luxury, to protect yourself when you feel vulnerable,
Instead of having the fingers of some monster pry you open
Until the world can count  your vertibre and call you spineless.
Whatever it means to be right and wrong to a child who doesn't sleep
Is reflected in the eyes of the people I have loved
and hated the most.
This is a hostage situation and we are in hell and I am full of love in the only place in the world where that is more pitiful than beautiful.

I am desperate to speak with you

 I am not the first person to get older while the world is dying.
We do it everyday together and somehow get nothing from it.
You- reader you're my teammate now. I've recruited you
to feel this with me
Helpless in parallel
Hopeful in perpendicular
Of those eight letters, which ones are meaningful to you.
Quickly.
This is a test for both of us.

On the back cover of the akoshic record
You will find the name
Of the publishing company.
I tried to make that a haiku, but if I have to cut out one more syllabyl
My teeth will fall out like a dream.

A love letter to your hometown:

There is no greater heartbreak than leaving you in the hands of my near-murderers.
I fled the land my grandfather farmed and gave to my father as a wedding present
And my love for you is to know that owning you is wrong.
To them you are a million fistfuls of fertile soil and less-acid-than-average rain
A title transferred.
But I became a monster in your woods. I loved your night over your day.
I almost chose to stay and die instead of run for my life
Because I loved the curve and the color of the sun setting over the hill by my house in the direction opposite town
So much more than I loved myself.

compersion haiku

Me watching my loves
fuck each other: "they should have
sent a poet... wait..."

Someone who loves you

 It's trying so hard to get warm
that you clutch a burning coal
and watch it burn a hole in your fist
while your toes freeze
And you are immobilized by the pain, of course
But also struck to the core by this visceral understanding of a word like "contradiction"
A true dissolution of you health and safety between two impossible extremes
And someone who loves you asks
"Are you cold?"

Urban ghost hunting

I'm haunted by: bridges I almost jumped off of

Streets named after pedophiles 

Numbness where there should be feeling

Fire damaged flower boxes where nothing will ever grow again

The stubbornness that kept me alive once now just keeps me awake

But I dont mind because now I'm afraid to sleep.

I'm the most afraid of how boring it was to hurt me. All it did was teach me

To lie to myself

About what hurts. So the smoke of my own burning body doesnt scare me like it should.

The threat of a stranger's confusion

a childhood friend's dirty secret

a new lover's fragile ego

of an empty stomach, of an overloaded nervous system, of a closed throat or a spinning head or an obliterated ribcage

Mean nothing to me anymore.

And that scares the people who love me

They tell me it shoulder matter

And I feel their distress, but I sincerely wonder 

Why I should start to care now.