Poems · Stories · writing

Upended Voices

Really all I’d like to do right now is laugh.

Just laugh and laugh until I can’t remember what I was sad about anymore.

Sometimes I think if I laughed enough the whole sky could come down and I’d jump around in puddles of cloud, and the blue would be like an ocean that never boils any fish or bleaches any coral.

Once it was nighttime I’d be able to collect stars like little lightning bugs and put them in a jar, and I could swim through the inky universe and pretend I was just another galaxy floating by.

I would especially love to hang out with the moon, since she doesn’t give sunburns and always seems nice.

Anyway.

I hope it rains tomorrow.


Random prose?

Poems · writing

Anxiety

I am indifferent

I am closed off

I am jumping to conclusions

I am a wrinkled shirt at the bottom of the dryer

Forgotten in a frenzied morning filled with burnt coffee and runny eggs

I am a thunderclap sounding a second too late

I am a friendship bracelet frayed at the edges

I am a stomach filled with squirming snakes

I am a June night where you can’t get comfortable

No matter how many times pillows are flipped, sheep are counted, eyelids flutter. Still awake.

I am late acceptance letters

I am sleeping until noon

I am “all in your mind”

I am breaking into pieces as I shudder you apart

And as long as you let me, I will stay.

Poems · writing

Benign Morality

How can someone love a stunted bloom?

Same way the sun says goodnight to the moon,

Same way a dish can run away with a spoon

Differences are celebrated, but aren’t they often charged?

The moon was too shy to say hello to the sun,

And Dish often wondered whether it were Fork with which Spoon would rather run

Nuances in these “what if’s” are rather pointless, though the rate at which they’re indulged in have the potency to ruin a day, week, year.

The bloom will cry over her crooked stem, shed tears over her fallen petals but then,

What can she do?

All things grow, despite the rain,

The world finds a way to bounce back again

Every Saturday morning I see the moon in the sky, blushing sweetly at the sun as he waves her goodnight

Dish told Spoon every one of her fears, and last I heard they’ve been happy for years

The bloom is still stunted, and she smiles sadly, but last time I saw her, she looked a little taller, and her petals will come back gradually

Poems · writing

Do You Find It Alright?

How did I get here

How do I know

Which way is up

When will I…

I’m temperate I’ll have you believe.

You hack at me, start it off

One two three four

Who is knocking at my door

Temporal, always, yes.

Buried deep in my chest

Gently tugging,

Whispering

“Have we made it yet?”

Don’t do that here.

Five six seven eight

Resistance, entreat me. They can’t be late

Interesting, be too full.

Every feat, every way, every turn. Undeveloped.

In the morning I’m silver

You’re always light blue

Why do I move. Why do I move

Finish without me I can’t take the cost

Nine ten

Late again.

Shut me off


Been doing homework all day, so here’s one circa January 12, 2018 at 5:39pm. (I like knowing the time. Frames it better for some reason. Better guess at my mindset for weird shit like this)

Poems · writing

Feverish

The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door

What is it for?

Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound

You know I’ll always be around

Until I’m not.

Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got

Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you

Liquid malnourishment

Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet

Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense

Innocence lost lost lost in every note

Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,

I’m too late.

Poems · writing

Out Of Line

Frost bitten, love ridden

Cracked and bitter lips frame one of those smiles that keep you up at night sometimes

My coat does nothing to keep out the cold.

In this quiet kind of sadness,

I’m missing those warmer months.

A trapeze.


A shorter one from a couple months ago