i cannot lose youyou are already falling throughMore Like This
the crevices of my hands
and i am slipping, bare foot and
running like a child with
i do not know how to keep
you beside me, i do not know
how to write myself into your
skin like braille
and i am aching for your touch
"i miss you," i say
and you reply, "i know"
and that is how i know -
every kingdom must falter and
die and it's only been eleven
months but these walls are already
crumbling; i am chaining myself
to trees and towers and screaming
from the top of my lungs
tornadoes and earthquakes are unfurling
at your heels
and you turn to me and
you speak so quietly:
"we are collapsing."
nephologyi'll be six feet underMore Like This
- the stars, and you will
be right beside me
hand clasped, fingers through
laced right up like a corset
and you are everywhere,
like you've melted yourself into
my clouds and you've got yourself
stuck and i'll never be able to let go
you are vapour, rain, puddle, vapour
you are cycling through brain tissue
and you don't stop
and i will tell you this, i will say:
even when our little planet has been
burnt to a crisp, or smashed into
ten trillion pieces, has been frozen over
like the skin on my neck,
even then: i will still love you
because you'll still be in my clouds,
even if you've been flung in
countless directions all across the
expanse of this stellar nursery,
you will still exist.
we're made up of atoms upon atoms
upon more atoms than you could ever dream
and we will refuse to be destroyed
a meaningful poem about nothing.this is a poem about how fixing peopleMore Like This
is not romantic.
we’re not meant to be somebody’s answer,
we’re not meant to make someone feel alive again.
this is a poem about why you shouldn’t kiss him
because he’s broken
because you want to save him.
save yourself first.
kiss him because he holds a place in your heart, not
because he's the only thing making it pump.
kiss him because he’s in your life, not because
he is your life.
hold him, but don’t hold onto him because you believe
(get to dry land first.)
this is a poem about how i find poetry in everything.
breakups. my dad telling me i mattered.
nightmares. my neighbor’s insomnia.
how it drove him crazy.
how he swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to fix it.
my neighbor’s funeral.
this is a poem about the split-apart theory.
the idea was that when humanity became arrogant
toward the gods, we were split in two
and were doomed to spend our live
dichotomy.i.More Like This
there’s a monster inside of my head.
it moved in four years ago, but they say it’s always been there. my daddy has one. so does his mom.
they say that’s where i got it. dad says grammy’s monster made her beat him until he was seven. dad says his monster made him drink until he blacked out, for twenty years.
they all say, “don’t let it in.” they all say, “it’ll control you, because you are weak.”
(actually, they say “vulnerable.”)
they tell me its name, so i can paint it on my wrists, on my forehead, along the curves of my ears. keep out. no BIPOLAR DISORDER allowed. they say it notices loud things. capital letters, for one. or crying children. or hatred. or fear.
they do not tell me what it’s like to see it. they do not tell me what’s it like, to feel it burrowing under your skin.
when it came to me, i pleaded with it. i said, “please go away,” and it didn’t listen.
today is a new day andi am growing up out of myMore Like This
bones and out of this skin and
this skin is growing roots down into
the core, the core of me
and myself and this skin
- oh, this skin
this skin is thicker than you will ever believe.
if you told me that you had sunflowers
sprouting from the corners of your
eyes then i'd have no choice but
to believe you. you are a child of the sun,
you have wheat growing under your
shoulder blades, you have been flecked
with a ginger paintbrush dipped in solar
rays, you are soft-lipped and you,
you are warm
i might be sunburnt but this organ is over
seventy kilometres deep and i can't feel
the touch of your uv arms underneath all
i don't want solace dripped over me like
tanning oil, not if i'm like this,
not if i'm different to how i was before
tell a liei. rivers are stronger than oceans despite their sizeMore Like This
they tumble through sharp mountains
but they never, ever stop
ii. i can rush and pick up sediments
and disperse them where i wish
iii. i'm lying -
i knew you saw it anyway,
there's seaweed in my fingernails
and salt on my breath
the endcredits are rollingMore Like This
and the space on the sofa between us feels
like the length of the golden gate bridge
and it's just as heavy
i've burnt it all up
your fingers look like they're covered in bleach
i'd drink them straight down and
i hate myself for it.
i'd still drown myself for you,
and does that really make sense, i ask myself
as i pull tangled sheets from my torso,
does it really make sense to sacrifice
a human life
for an enigmatic thing that doesn't exist?
i never understood dream talk
MusicI'm addicted to musicMore Like This
I'm high off the sound
I'm getting drunk off the beat
'Cause the rhythms all around
Listen to my body
Cause the music's going through
Shut off all your senses
Maybe then you'll feel it too
A Fluffy CatA fluffy cat there wasMore Like This
he was sitting on the floor because
A fluffy cat there was
To shoreI think back to pulling your hairMore Like This
from your face,
sticky strands in nut brown,
your lips like the frothy head
in a pint glass,
You cried in bed, neck twisted
like a giraffe looking
for the opposite side of a baobab tree,
and I told you that you were beautiful
even though no one
thought so, anymore.
It didn't matter then whether
I was holding your
greasy heart in my hands,
or my own,
they were the same fragments,
wracked with guilt and
weak sutures in their stems.
We lay in your bed for five minutes
before you choked
on your own salt water seasoning,
blew your nose into the white
like it was tissue and you
really couldn't be bothered to care.
And I remember thinking that
my whole world was a sea,
and I, a boat,