words are the most dangerous weapons i know they don’t cut how pictures do because at least with pictures or moving pictures you can...

i could’ve sworn i’d been here before and i’d say do better when you know better but that’s to say you are better and that’s to say a lot

there was a time where i could have said okay to your surprise gerberas though of wrong hue to you, the kid i’ve known who has known me...

how did one (or two) conversation(s) and jumbled rabbit poetry remind yourself this view now, this isn’t (but you liked when i’ve done...

to write of love of maple tree make-believe intimacies to want so much you don’t know why you want so much is often to forget moments as...

the shutters are heavy with sleep a slight hum tiptoes in and sometimes, an icky after taste but then you know you are awake

admitting things, especially to yourself, is scary, but it isn’t something you cannot do you are a magical realist, and that is the best...

i have nothing and everything today

i am all and i am none of the pieces made of me i am a floating entity

this is an open letter to hopeless romantics (and not just the love involving sex) i have a way of romanticizing even the worst of things...

how do we forgive ourselves for all we did not become some boring love stories ten wasted undones then go rummaging for answers sipping...

it’s 6am you still haven’t slept and the day was a literal battlefield your grip tightens on the slingshot that is your heart and one eye...

there isn’t an inch of my mind not fingerprinted by (and this is the worst part) a variated copy i want to say that things will be real...

the keyboard feels like scrabble life is a box and my heater clicks i wake up five minutes before two hours after and she mimics she sits...

i am leftover sleep in my eyes 2:30 cheese sticks and the google translates of my mother tongue i am the girl who never finished first...

i want to write and fully stretch this waltz inside my head but sit until the cosmic yolk waves just to wave to bed a 4 in 4 by 4...

tiptoeing tips twist invitations and deep blue yellow smiling round the tenderest things the sways and swing of first night outs show me...

i have tried to explain my hurt and still got hurt, so i choose silence yet try you tried you tried, you tried and now you try to really...

dumb plastic flesh thick paper thin always wins the grins fake grins yet grins and still we give in so easily because the green or pink...

when people ask about my dad i would say that i am him, but i would need a bob and stache and as admirable as he would be still, i’d...

You arrived at a very strange time in my life. I was on the verge of throwing my whole world away, and by my whole world, I meant all...

The theatrical movement Realism is said to allow its audience to encounter moments where it is possible to forget that what is being...

but if tomorrow i am no more, what will be missed of me a honeysuckle kiss hello, still won't you be more free caught by rim rounds slum...

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