Smoke

She sits outside; her back arched, 
back bones protruding through her olive skin.
Jet black hair falls sensually around her hips. 
She puffs away at the cigarette perched between her lips.
Marlboro dictates her life.
She watches the sky, the birds, the clouds which all mock her;
making her long for her freedom.
She lets out a gentle wisp of smoke, 
the tendrils of gray claw towards the sky, escaping.
She wishes she could do the same. 
Make like smoke and disappear, fading away into the air.

Washing Dishes

washing dishes

from here to the moon

sip stars in submarines with spoons

horizons red and pink and blue

eyes that linger, repenting in their pews

feathery touches and panes of glass

holding hands, running fast

shiny rocket ships that gleam like gold

years that fade, growing old

growing pains and poems i wrote

ships that sink and hearts that float

silk skies as far as the eye can see

that's how much you mean to me

black abysses

washing dishes

Christmas lights that twinkle yellow

Pink and purple galaxies and toasted marshmallows

teacups and mirrors and vampire queens

something that glistens and teenage dreams

fizzy grape soda and plastic water guns

biting my tongue, hurting for fun.

humming tunes and singing softly

i was lost but then you caught me

snowflakes melt on burning skin

blizzards come to freeze us in

deep sea trenches and something that itches

i'm still here, washing dishes

shooting stars that twinkle and die

big puffy clouds that float in the sky

drawing stars upon my skin

fountain pens and mermaid fins

white round pearls and a black dress that swishes

i'm still here, breaking dishes

blinking, thinking, stammering, long sighs

clockwork pieces, burgers with fries

chopsticks and Christmas and bubblegum and bruises

everyone loves and everyone loses

The Tragic Progression of a Teenage Insomniac

The tragic progression of a teenage insomniac

I've been awake for 18 hours now
The physical pain that clouds my skull and stomach

Will never grace the statuesque planes of my face
Matted in layers of oil and sweat
Brandishing a permanent two-thirds grimace

Hiding pale yellow teeth

Two vacant eyes rimmed with light gray shadows

Bits of smudged mascara

No one's waiting for me at home
Just the decision to either throw myself on my bed

Stare at the ceiling fan's constant churning of dust and dead air

Or ingest an ungodly combination of overly salted potato chips

And the biggest ice cream sundae you've ever seen

Poetic, aren't I?
Who am I to brand myself a poet
A lost soul
An old soul
My own mediocrity permeates

From every word I type

On my computer

While listening to my parents argue in the kitchen

And a playlist intentionally filled with moody songs

Me, a poet?
I can't imagine a laugh more bitter

Than the one my mind conjures

At thought of my own bandaged and bitten down fingers

Creating anything within a football field's reach of beauty

What fool dares to dream of birthing beauty

While constantly sinking deeper

An amalgam of self-loathing, selfishness, self-pity
Spite, sullenness, suffering
There is no beauty to behold
Just a shriveled snotty mess of a person

Trying to squeeze an ounce of purpose

A sad little girl screaming out to the world

Words so recycled
So reused
So repulsive
Whorish, whorish words

No matter how she picks and pulls them apart
She can't seem to find a single shimmering glint of originality or worth
Among the pounding torrential sea of mediocrity

That smashes her already crumbling body

Down against the sharp and blackened rocks

Jutting out just below the water's grey antagonistic surface
Day after day after day
She takes another step closer to the edge

A Love Poem You Won't Read

maybe, one day we’ll be together.

i can picture your blonde hair, beanie adorned

and fragments of light streaming through crooked overhead branches

weighted down with hundreds of lively green leaves,

outstretched to shelter us from the sun.

we’re sitting on a light wood picnic table,

your long fingers are tightly wrapped around mine.

i can only imagine how this feels,

and oh how many times i’ve imagined it.

they say first loves are forever,

they also say first loves never work out.

but that’s alright,

I can carry you around,

a weight on my chest,

for all eternity.

that darkened bruise on my heart,

where you first laid your grip upon me,

just makes me feel more,

we’re laughing, smiling, frozen in time.

my lips are blue from eating a blue raspberry popsicle

or maybe from when you kissed me and froze me solid.

a wild imagination and an undamaged heart are cruel things to possess.

the specks of color in your eyes are constellations, a whole new sky to discover,

star light glistening down on us lying side by side.

those tender notes you sing  pick at my skin

I’ve memorized them all and sung myself to sleep,

sending you love letters to an unknown address,

words so silly and in love I won’t read them aloud.

like a bruise, you’ve faded away but I still remember how it felt to press up against you.

It is something I hold close to my heart,

short of breath

Remembering Heart

Remembering Heart

Sitting in mathematics class

Twirling a strand of hair

I elect not to review for my exam

In favor of

Creeping around my lonely heart

It’s foreign territory

Despite us being acquainted for so long

I’ve hardly scratched the surface

Of the behemoth legend of love

That festoons itself about

The hollow muscular organ

Thumping in my chest

Ironic isn’t it

That our hearts are hollow

Wouldn’t love feel more at home

In the brain

Among the grey matter mess

Of synapses and hormones

That convinces me to memorize

Dozens of pointless facts about you

Create a playlist of songs that remind me of you

And cry myself to sleep over an unrequited love

But these are the mere vestiges

Of my naïve middle school ideals

Concerning the identity of love

Or so I thought

I thought I could train my heart to be wise

But I’ve led a life far too gentle

To conceive a hardened heart

All it took

Were your green eyes

And my resistance eroded

Without my knowledge

This foreign territory that I tread so carefully

You seem right at home here

Situated in the nooks and crannies of my heart

I can’t seem to chase you out

I’ve found that time is the only remedy

For a hollow heart made full