Poems

Kitchen Table Orbit Verse 1 Coffee rings map out the week on the woodTable is crowded and not very good. Mismatched chairs that we pulled from the streetFighting for room for the knees and the feet. Chargers are snaking all over the floorHeadphones are coiled by the pantry door. Three loversa meta in thick wool […]

Kiss Me While The House Is On Fire Smoke alarm screaming in the hallwaypot on the stove boiling down to a charcoal messWindows fogged, email pinginglaundry mountain mocking my stressYou walk in juggling plastic bags, keys in teethsee the disaster and just grin, Turn off the burnerwave a towel, and pull me out of the

Kiss My Beautiful Chaos I used to write apologies in my head for every sharp edgeevery mood swingevery too-loud laugh that filled the room like a bombUsed to fold myself down so small I could feel my own pulse ticking “be goodbe quiet, stay calm” Then I got tired of standing in the corner of

King Of Nothing I act like I’m above all of themlike the party is lucky I turned up at allI lean in doorways, arms crossedcritiquing every joke like I was paid to judge their fallNo one asked me to be the jurybut I crowned myself anyway in the silence between their laughsI pick their flaws

Kiss Me Where It Smells Like Regret Your car smells like old fries, cheap cologneand three bad decisions trapped under the seatsSticky coins and a seatbelt digging into my neck while the engine overheatsWe shouldn’t find this sexyparked behind a grocery store that never sleepsWindows fogging while the air tastes like late-night secrets we play

I’m Proud Of You You Stubborn Shit You roll your eyes when they call you strongsay they only see the highlightsnot the nights you nearly tapped outPoint at the laundry pile, the unanswered textsthe panic, the pills, the days you barely crawl aboutYou say “I don’t deserve praise for survivingI just kept waking up ’cause

Joyride In A Junkyard We stole the keys to a rusted out sedan that should have retired when flip phones were still a miracle and gas was not a heavy habitPaint peeled like old sunburn, windows stuck half downradio hanging by a wirebut the engine coughed awake like some old dog that still wanted inThe

I’ll Get to It Never “I will do it later” is carved into my skull like a promise I broke in the doorI stack deadlines to myself like junk mail, unreadpiling higher on the floor, Learn six-stringclean the house, call that friend, fix your lifewrite that album you swear is in your bonesInstead I stare

I’ll Hold Your Hair And Your History You are on the bathroom floor again with your cheek near the tileknees pulled inone hand holding the rim like it’s the only thing that staysYou mumble an apology to nobody in certain, half to mehalf to some old ghost that still lives in your blood and never

Invisible Until It Smashes You did not see me when I was quiet. Polite. Hands folded. Eyes low. You walked right through meStraight through my chestLike I was air with a shirt onLike I was built to be passed.I held every sharp edge inward so you would not bleedTucked nails into palmsBit my tongue till