Friday, October 4, 2013

ID

Sorry, but I just don't buy that happiness
is something you feel, that it's real
if I'd only give up the one thing i could
tell you about me (I mean truthfully:

what is identity? you think I was faking
when I furrowed my brow
as if asking, "but how?" when you
told me to 'be myself.'
Do you know what my favourite song is?
Well, neither do I).

But I do know how to measure myself,
and that I don't measure up
because I ate a whole cup--not a fourth--
and I'm too large by three,
see,
I'm obsessed with A's

...you know what I mean.

When he asked me if I was an actress
and I said, "Yes" with a smile
I was answering an identical question

but not the one he was really asking.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013


Take my hand, 
baby, please
I just want to touch you
Why do you flinch, 
baby, why
do you look so afraid?
As if my skin left all those black scars 
I can see on your shoulders
As if the tips of my fingers burn right through your flesh with my sins
As if I’ve drowned you in waters
to laugh at the way that you sputter
As if it’s possible you haven’t wanted me 
for quite some time now
Sometimes the voice of my childhood
tells me I’ve hurt you
And sometimes the sound of my shame
makes me sob when you’re near
I’m not the angel that you once 
imagined would save you 
You’re starting to sense that you
ran out of dusk into darkness.

Monday, August 5, 2013

I am not real

but

boy, did I convince each and every one of you
that I'm the realest there ever was.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

You know I don't see you the way you see yourself?

You know I see something beautiful?

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Thursday, March 28, 2013

I cant do anything but sleep the day away.
Go ahead and laugh at your banal conversation and your vidya games while I merely waste away

I am killing myself in the most torturous way possible, and I hope it catches us all by surprise

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Bullshit in One Minute (a one-minute piece of Bullshit)


I’m smoking
and my fingers are slipping
but these are my thoughts

I think in rapid-fire
and so my words come
in unadulterated
unfiltered
streams

I don’t think much
and I think that might be why
he told me there is no soul in the things
that I say
But I don’t try
and I never will
and I think that I like myself best this way

You may think you know me
by the shit
that I spew
but I keep most things locked up…

So this is all you get.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Pasco


People always said that when
I thought of you
my eyes lit up like I'd seen god--
only better

You got me through some dark times,
though in the end it seemed
my idea of darkness was what others
would call "The Light"

I'm sorry I used your words as fuel.
I'm sorry you filled me up.

My inspiration was always a sick misunderstanding
of the issue at hand

I thrived on your deterioration.
I loved that you were dying.

I wanted to be in a place where I could hate myself
exactly as much you hated yourself,
exactly as much as I loved you.

Pasco.
Rose.
Ethereal.

The name will always make me shiver.

Saturday, March 2, 2013


my stomach is killing me
and so are you

it grumbles like I
grumble while I
sneak peeks at your ribs,
and
take mental measurements
of your wrists,
and
make mental note of that tone that you hit
when you giggle and say “stah-ahp”
(makes the boys go, “a-ahhh.”)

it gurgles like I
gurgle when I
choke on my words
as I
try to emulate your voice
and

channel your wit and your ability to command 
a goddamn room (all eyes on you now,
well,
aren’t you a champ, now?)

my stomach is killing me
because of you

but I care more about the concavity of yours
than taking care of my own, so
I guess maybe it’s just
jealous too.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

unrevised

You tell me
I am not sad.
You’re right.
In fact,
I have never known sadness.

I cannot grasp the idea
of intensity,
and my body reaches out
for passion,
emotion,
feelings…
for what makes you weep in the darkness of night
when you don’t know that i’m listening

I quivver and shake
like a dog
wagging its tail
at your cereal
at the breakfast table.
You say, “Dog, don’t you know
that you don’t eat these things?
Don’t you know that you weren’t meant
to experience the crunch
of a stale marshmallow heart
between your teeth?”

No, you’re right.
I’ve not known your sadness.
But like a hungry dog I wag my tail
at the foot of your table.