To the Monster in My Mind:
let go.
I’ve already swallowed the sword
meant to kill me.
Your voice, soft and vibrating
reverberating through the mirror glass,
slicing me broken; I’m open
No, closed. I’m a book without its spine
my torn pages, hanging on by a
single
string. I can’t see you.
I don’t know what you look like.
But I’m desperate now, so I’ll say this:
Finish your tea,
pack up your things,
and get out of my mind.
Remember to close the door behind you.
And the key—
Please hand it over
before I lose
Everything.
Do Over
If we could do it over: You smuggle the whiskey, I’ll kill the lights, & we’ll both forget by the morning.
If we could do it over: Skimming the grass isn’t enough. This one requires all-in, feign wind. The sun’s locked in every blade.
If we could do it over: Sit by the fire and top our sins with marshmallows.
If we could do it over: You tell me then I’ll tell you and we’ll commiserate. Because it is, of course, over.
If we could do it over: Fill in the lines with a big black marker. They’ll all say we’re twisted and we’ll call it magenta.
If we could do it over: You know we can’t. I was just having fun on the page. No harm in playing the mystery card. We have yet to find the man on the moon.
Bones
My body of bones
has failed me.
That holy hourglass
Unreachable, but we try.
Inside, starvation.
With walls of calcium carbonate,
skin, a paper roof
over my heart,
blowing puffs of blood
that sidestep circulation
and disappear.
There is no blood here.
Always cold.
Always tired.
Never enough.
My eyes are two broken ships
on a hazy, damp night
the only lookout posts in this tower of feathers.
Feet floating like sticks
I’m spinning, sinking, but
Let me be.
I’ll resurface,
I promise.
There’s nothing left for me to do.
Follow My Beat
I keep thinking,
I’m meant to write poems.
But what if…?
Wait.
Stop.
You know what you’re doing.
You’re shutting it out.
Whatever it is.
Think of it this way:
It’s like a heartbeat, calling you.
Follow me follow me follow me.
It doesn’t fit. I can’t listen.
Firefly in the dark. Holding on to water.
You name it.
It’s elusive
Enticing?
Precisely.
But how do I get to…?
No worries. It never stops.
Follow me follow me follow me.
Entropy
No one told me
this life was dynamite.
No one said,
Karen—your mouth is bleeding
lies.
No wonder entropy comes slow;
it’s too late when we realize
there’s a grenade in the heart of the mine.
I’m burning my body,
lighting my fuse
but it’s slick,
silent,
and then it comes all at once—
I would have run for cover
but no one told me.