Angels & Constellations


There’s cracks in the bedroom ceiling. 

we looked up from our place on the ground as we slept on hard-wood floors

and claimed we could pin-point certain constellations

and we were dragging black crayons between the lines

because (for the first time) we wanted to prove something to ourselves.

We weren’t out of minds just yet.

we shifted the bed to the other side of the room

and moved the dresser in front of the window;

to block out memories of the outside and all the hurt we’d felt before.

we’d sweep up dust-angels and watch them follow our lungs down.

We weren’t ready to leave just yet.

incense would burn holes in our eyesight and fog our common sense

and we’d watch the smoke twist around our fingers all night long.

we were twirling and swirling and curling our toes

beneath the summer sun and glow of artificial light until we couldn’t feel a thing.

i don’t think we could support ourselves.

There’s cracks in the bedroom ceiling.

and you left behind a letter addressed to what you saw in me,

stained with howling winds and the wolves that hid in the shadows.

you said you missed the outside but you were lying and now you’re gone.

i threw stones at the door and cried all night;

now this is just another empty apartment.

i moved the bed again

but i still can’t stop waking up on the wrong side.

No refundsĀ 

take. take. take.

i’ll allow you to burrow holes into me,

if you need a place to feel safe and warm

but remember to give something back.

i don’t want to be left with nothing again.

because i don’t want to be nothing

again.

You’re much stronger than you thinkĀ 

I’ll be the first to tell you

scissors don’t need to be brought to a wrist

to cut deep

because cutting off your heart from you head,

or yourself from your dreams,

is also enough

to make you bleed

and there’s ink spilled all over these pages,

and at times it seems tears 

are cheaper than water from a spout:

these lines need diluted,

these blots are a dark, dark sea
and maybe I’m not too good at swimming,

even if it’s just through a pool of ink

but I’ve learned if you just keep paddling,
you’re much stronger than you think.

Spilled Ink

Use me

Like a pen uses ink 

Beautiful. Original. Interminable.

Write until your heart is spilled completely on the page for me to 

EXAMINE

Until there is no ink left 

To write with…

Write to me about love and tragedy and painfully gorgeous moments 

Hand in hand.

Flesh on flesh.

Mouth on mouth.

Love & sin.

Free

There’s been a film
Collecting on my bones

The way poetry seems to,

The way love condenses

And spills over;
Unnecessary. 
I’ve been learning to live alone,

Enveloping myself in the 

Emptiness like a moth-eaten quilt

At midnight.
It is safe here,

With the memories

Tucked away, but

I am done with this

Shrapnel,

I am not broken anymore

And I have no intention

Of pleasing you. 
You can break my bones before 

I’ll surrender,

‘Cause I know this ache

This tar of my bloodstream;

Molten flecks of my memories, 

The pieces of you 

I couldn’t stand to keep 

I know this sorrow and I reject it

And this is the monster you’ve been left with:

A girl who will not succumb

To sadness,

Who is no one’s but her own

And belongs to nothing

But her dreams.
And for the first time,

I feel invincible.

Break.

“but please don’t make me,not anymore.”

the faucet’s leaking out my soul tonight,

i think i’m drowning in old memories

that i forgot i had,

so do you think you could tell me

if my face has turned violet yet?

i’ve been weaving words into my skin,

but every time i sit down and let the nothingness

wash over me, it seems as if there’s too many words

in my head

for there to ever be anything left

to say.

my favorite color’s always been the opposite

of whoever’s sitting next to me,

and once i say “i’ll do it”

i can never bring myself to sit down,

think,

and actually see it through,

no matter how much i want to.

i’m not who i used to be, you see,

i was something too hard to comprehend, i overwhelmed.

parts of me don’t know who they are, but

you seem to keep me tied down

just enough

for me to fly without

flying away.
(awayawayaway.)

“come back now, please,”

i yell across the cushion clouds,

but you’re lost inside your own contradictions,

and i’m starting to wonder if there’s nothing i can do

to save you, anymore.

i’m afraid of causing

more trouble than i’m worth,

because i know that once i find a place where i can let go,

i never can pull myself back in and i always end up

making a mess on the floor of

black and blue and “i hate you”s,

and you’re too beautiful

for me.

say goodbye before hello,

it would be nice to stir things up.

and i’m afraid that because of where you come from,

you won’t ever be able to break

the padlock that’s been put on your soul, and be what i need.

(ineediwantiloveyou.)

i’ll show you everything, 

i’ll be there when you fly,

i’ll be the thing that rips away your petty chains and tells you to just go and go and go.

because it’s okay to hate yourself some times.