I started smoking again just to prove how over you I am.
I found 5 pointed stars in my bed,
Tore my sheets and poked microscopic holes in my mattress.
A dip in the terrain for every night you’ve spent.
I sleep over 3D maps and contemplate earthquakes now.
The mountains you created make knots in my back,
My lows don’t feel so low anymore;
While the highs,
Hurt a hell of a lot more
Than the lows
I wish my jeans were smaller
that I would speak less about things I don’t know about.
Even with my size
I feel I carry such heavyweight;
In my words
or my expressions.
I walk with my head down
and I have a nice curve down my spine.
I’m always carrying a backpack
and my shoes are too tight.
I crash into strangers
because I think I take up too much space.
I went to an estate sale.
A woman was selling a baby blue guitar.
“It’s yours — I’m moving to Aruba.”
And off I went with baby blue in hand.
As Blue as an Aries,
was the name of the band.
There was a boy in navy blue swim trunks playing in a South Jersey blue hole.
I blushed at the site of him — pink.
I put down my guitar and started to paint my hair shades of blue.
Streaky and soft,
like watercolor ink.
I found a man in orange,
offering me warm bearded kisses.
I didn’t want them but I was cold.
“This could be a good move for me,” I thought.
I went to the bathroom to wash the paint out,
but the whole room was blue.
Some people are the waves.
Some people are the ocean.
I’m the whole damn thing.
I missed the night.
I smoked passion flower,
left a water bottle open in my bag,
slept with lipstick and glitter
for 12 hours and it’s still not enough.
You were in my dream–
at least a part of you was.
My childhood fish friend decided to move in with me.
It’s always dark now,
in every dream,
Blue, Black, Grey silvers of light
form the non-existing moon bounce off of puddles and trees.
I want to hide.
I want to be seen.
I don’t know which one I want more.
I am surrounded by vomit,
When did everything I write become so dark?
I thought seeing you would make me feel better,
but now I feel worse.
As if I didn’t hate them already.
As if I needed another reason.
I would tell you if it was your fault,
but it’s really not.
I would speak the words
if they didn’t make me so sick.
I would say them loud
if I wasn’t already gagging.
Some people make you feel worse
while some make you feel better.
I lost my grandmother’s ring.
The one with the rose quartz
and silver wire wrap.
I’m kneeling on my carpet
looking for wet spots.
I’m always picking up and putting down
such odd flavors.
I wish someone would saw my insides out.
Hack me down like an old oak tree
Finally, let out
rotting in my gut.
I can’t eat.
I can’t sleep.
Zak told me to take everything with a grain of salt.
I told him I love the taste too much.
They sprinkled edible glitter on me.
How I wish I shined more,
How I wish someone would swallow me whole.
I threw out Temperance in a large white garbage bag.
The Hanged Man jumped in.
I held the flower flag of Death
and waited for them to be crushed,
but Temperance had other plans.
She slit open the bag from the inside
and all the trash spilled out with her.
Filthy, she ran into the woods.
The Hanged Man remained blissfully at rest
in his dirty tomb.
I was Death
and searched for skulls on the dirt road.