Poems

Laughing at MyselfI have made a comfortable careerout of laughing at myself,taking every failure and the whole embarrassed shelf,serving it up to strangers like a gift they didn’t ask for,watching them laugh, watching them exhale. The things I find most shamefulare always the funniest in the room,the things I tried to hide the longestare the […]

Laughter Behind the Locked Door There’s a door at the end of the hallwith no sign,no number, no label,no “visiting time.”The knob’s rusted overlike it’s never been touched,but the laughter from behind itis just too much. It starts soft–like a giggle caught in prayer,then rises like steamfrom electric air.They say it’s just pipes,just vents, just

Irony as a LifestyleI adopted irony as a lifestyle in my early twenties,held everything at arm’s length for the next several twenties,of months and then of years, maintaining careful detachment,until irony became the only available attachment. The ironic man is funny at a party,good at cocktails,good at saying the thing that makes the other person

Knowing You By HeartI know you in the specific waythat only time will build—the way that only yearsof showing up has slowly filledmy understanding of the full specific youthat’s there. The you that’s in the tired shapeand the shape when the day has been too long.The shape when you’re happyand the shape with the songin

In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised They said I was stable.They said I was calm.They stopped countinghow long I stared at my palm.I ate my food, I took the meds,I didn’t scream when I saw red. I told them what they wanted to hear,even smiled when they walked too near.I learned to mimic peace

In the Quiet After Lying here,the world fades out of view,your heartbeat a rhythm,steady and true.With you still in me,the moment softly lingers,in the silence,love whispers through our fingers. Your chest, my rest,your breath, my peace,in this stillness,all of life’s chaos finds cease.Your hands map paths on my skin,a tender trace,as if I might vanish,leave

I Wasn’t Sick Until They Told Me I Was I was fine until the clipboard came,until they wrote my thoughtsin someone else’s name.I was just a kid who heard too much,who flinched at noiseand shrank from touch. They measured me against a chartI’d never seen,said the way I thinkfalls somewhere in between.Between what’s normaland what’s

I Was Never Cleared to Leave The nurse smiled like she meant itwhen she said, “You’re good to go,”handed me a manila folderwith everything they think they know.They packed my meds in a paper bagand called me stable now,but the wind hit differentwhen I crossed that final threshold somehow. The sky looked wrong,like it had

I Was the Favorite Until I Broke They used to smile when they said my name,held their clipboards highlike I’d won the prize.“Making progress,” “bright-eyed,” “stable and strong”–I was their favoriteuntil I proved them wrong. I learned how to answer in balanced tones,how to cry just right but never moan.I gave them breakthroughs dressed in

I Told the Walls Too Much It started with whisperswhen I couldn’t sleep,confessing to plasterthings too heavy to keep.The ceiling heard everything–every ugly admission,every fear I dressed upas a casual decision. I told the walls about her,about the night I didn’t stop it,about the pills I countedand the drawer I almost popped it.I told them