Poems

Angels and Demons I. Angels Light bleeds in through the windowson the worst days,shining through the darkest timeslike a sign of something you can’t name. A coldness fills the empty roombut a comforting warmth moves through it,something watchingin both joy and gloom. When the pain wraps tight and shadows falland everything seems lost in haze,when […]

Another Ending My head is crammed with thoughts,overwhelmed and lost.I can’t quite grasp who I am,who I’ve become here.Each day feels like teeteringon the edge of a chasm,uncertain of what the next step will reveal. I need foresight.Some fresh perspective.I feel myself sinkingin the mire of my own mind.Dreams twist and turn like quicksand, consuming

You’re Not Broken, You’re Just Tired As Fuck You drag yourself through the door like you just fought a war nobody sawShoes in one hand, keys in the otherbreathing in short clipped bursts, Drop your bagstare at the wall for a full minutethen whisper “I think something is wrong with me” You list every task

2 SecondsTwo seconds when your lover’s eyes lock onto yours for real—Two seconds when the door swings wide and you can’t hide the feel.Two seconds when the condom breaks and panic grips your chest.Two seconds when your throat locks up and swallowing’s a test. It’s the moment that the bullet pierces skin and changes fate.The

Alone With My Thoughts What is wrong with me, they ask,as if wrong has a shape you can hold,as if a moonless night offends someoneenough to file a complaint. I just want to be here.Staring at my ceiling. Wondering.Thinking about random, trivial thingsthat matter to no one but me. Is the air really water?Why do

Your Trauma Is Not My Foreplay You mention your ex with that hungry light in your eyesnot sad, but the curious kind that makes my skin crawlYou ask for the worst thing that ever happened to melike we’re trading horror stories against the wallEvery time I flinch, you lean closer, say “no reallyI want to

You’re Allowed To Say No To Me You stand in the doorway chewing on your lipphone in your hand like it bit you first and refuses to let goI ask if you want to hang tonight, watch something dumbmaybe order wings and ice cream and let the whole week slowYou look at me with that

Your Face Looks Better Between My Problems My inbox looks like a crime scene, red flags everywherebills stacked high enough to block the sunI’ve got five voicemails from numbers I pretend I do not know and a brain replaying every bad decision I have ever runThe sink is full, the fridge is emptythe bed is

Your Trauma Is Not A Party Trick You are halfway through a drink in some loud living room when the conversation turns toward worst childhood stories for laughsPeople start tossing out light scars like graffitistrict parents, bad haircutsone trip to the ER on old photographsYou feel that familiar itch in your tonguethe urge to drop

Your Body Is Not A Productivity Tool You wake up and check your phone before your brain even bootsscrolling through everybody’s highlight reels like a punishment routineCompare their gym selfies, promotion postsspotless kitchensand sunrise runs to the way you are half tangled in sheets that have not seen a washer in weeks and smell like