it was last night in my sleep that i found my knees bruised. with these knees i sprint down the long line of green and rose bushes straight into your freckled arms. you rub a hard boiled egg back and forth rhythmically across my tender purple skin, softly holding my gaze while the blood beneath moves

i dip my feet in the swimming pool. it is cold but the running lights in the reflection glow like bonfire. all night i have been sucking on this last cherry pit. slowly, suddenly, it slides and lodges itself in my throat… now my veins are thick with blue; face the whiter shade of pale. The very thought of u


everything this morning is fusing into a cloud of nice things. mama ended the night with a story about grandpa, and in between the drag i took between the last half-sentence and now, the sky has gone from dusk-blue to dawn-dawn. spotify is (at my bidding) singing tunes from my 14 and all the nice things come to mind; the birthday i’d been gifted five tall cans of Pringles, the time mama rang the police on a cloudy day up eleven storeys high because i was wailing, the clever trick she used to play where snickers bars would magically appear in the middle section of the refrigerator if u would just shut your eyes and count to 8. the time grandma fetched me to the highly competitive sandwich making competition and i’d convinced her that copious amounts of mini m&ms belonged in there with lettuce and tomatos to which she had lovingly said ‘yes’. an unrequited crush i don’t regret, the stubborn lingering smell of excessively sanitised dying people in the hospice too close to the light and too close to my heart. u can wish those things into a cloud and they fall like soft rain (very lovely)

the world spins madly on. yet in the pertinent words of the Goo Goo Dolls: i’ll become what u became to me

soft jelly in a brine

i haven’t been honest in a while; my body takes me to convenient places, my body tries to forget. i’ve feigned amnesia when passing through places i’ve been many times before. i blast songs like they’re melodies when they are affectively memories. the brutality of being honest shakes my tiny heart, and it is more than i can take. i will wake in the morning with the same old disease like it’s ever been before and thus will my tiny body ever try to forget


it has been two days since i’ve come home. after a stubborn bout of laundry, i clumsily knock over 3 trays of crayons (to which mama responds in her sleep and assaults me with an indistinct sound spelling annoyance, and it would take rearing too ugly a head for me to say: I forgive u, mama.. but i do. u likely did not mean to, as with all the other things u did not mean to do. watching ur sleeping body now, i have a lot of love for u), and properly pieced them back together in the unforgiving dim of daybreak

I can now sleep

These are the pieces of my youth, The small secrets and not-so-great expectations that defined my coming of age

Two paths diverged in a wood and you can laugh at mine but i am going to sleep on yours. You laugh like a flower, teeth like teacups, eyes like –– ––, pure as the middle of a cucumber. I leave out every thing that actually happened and has been said. Two handfuls of soil joined by a mighty spit! Please laugh at mine but i am going to sleep on yours.