Shower – November 3rd, 2017 – 10:30 PM

You’re running out of lines, cat.

Name me whatever you want: siren, phoenix, demon. Any made up thing you want.

Anything but this broken woman operating in devil’s skin because that has been the world’s gift to me

And I’d gladly trade my human parts, my human heart for ugly legs and a gruesome beak just to fly away because I asked God to take you from me and He fell silent. Twice.

So here I am Medusa. No. Not snakes. Here I am a mortal bird. Not a phoenix. These are my fragile feathers and you didn’t take my wings but you aren’t tall enough to give them back to me.

So here’s the match and the gasoline. Here’s us together. That’s us. The match is gone. The gasoline has left a ring of black emptiness. And the bird is dead and God remains not just mute, but deaf.

You have one line left.

November 3rd, 2017 – pieces

My heart is a torture chamber.

Is your machine out of submission

Everything is stained glass
Everything is stained
Everything is glass
Everything is multicolored and sharp.
Everything is broken. I am cutting my hands, feet, and face with everything broken. Through layers and layers of skin both thin and thick and hands pinned and hair wet and feet naked.

He took my magic, but you killed it.
I can’t levitate out of this or extend my neck or arch my back or shrink into something so tiny I can fake a disappearance.
And I parade in my monster skin with a fake
reflection, a funhouse mirror you made held for me.

My birthday – 2017 – 11:48 PM

This is my city. And you want me
to open my mouth, light the match
so in your flight your eyes will glow
with the flames of beauty and
Its destruction

You are the smoke in my lungs, the shadows
in my reflection. You are the match to the
hellfire gaining height in my chest.

How will I rise if you take my funeral pyre, if you are my funeral pyre. If you take my ashes and swallow them then I will be nothing but burn scars, hidden in your throat.

Push me to expiration. Push me past it. Into it. Into fire.

October 8th, 2017 – 6:37 PM

Definition of cave:

A hollow place in the ground specifically a natural underground space large enough for a human to enter.

Form naturally by the weathering of rock and often extend deep underground.


Poem start:

This place will stay empty
Not like something was taken from,a cave
But like when the cave was made by weathering winds. And meant to stay empty yet,still be big enough for a man to enter.

So fill it with flowers and animals and books of poems and folklore. Friendly cryptids and ghosts that stay not out of anger but because it’s too beautiful and heaven is too far away

Not words that have wings made of distance. Not tools to break things that shouldn’t have existed. Not you not him and not a hundred days made up of nooses and quiet bullets.

The voice of someone you love, thunder
I don’t think you even tried at all; please stop trying



I fell away from humanity today, like dead skin from her face.

I am not the same
I have changed

I am Mars
He is too.
but this type of gravity will never let us meet (touch).

He is not part of the war;
he is the war. ARES.  And I m in love

with his rawness, how he cannot be tamed (now he cannot be tamed?).

And I hide from the violence (the violence that is only mine).

I am Helen of Troy but all inside – that is war.