The Watery Line

Where is the line,
The line that blurs the day.
My mind breaks today
And my tomorrow is already home.
Where I’ll be yesterday,
An ocean that can’t be cut.
She sees it in the koi pond,
Smelling the fishy odor and knowing
That sometimes ending at the finish line
Is to start again.


The Unperson

My breath swings like a ghostly door

Slamming shut to stop the fear

A wave that stays on shore

Because it knows the storm


The moon opens in my eyes

And I empty in the night

I tried to save the truth from lies

But it’s silent in the light


This pulseless silence falls inside the earth.

But I’m not there

I’m a roman fountain; masterfully spilt

Twisted by unyielding bodies.

I’m nauseous from the tilt


The finch keeps me awake

I’m not the girl reading the book anymore

I see the wind moan outside my window

And I think to myself

I could make it silent if I wanted to

But I think I’ll breathe instead and wait for rain.

Rain that cleans the dirt and wets snails

That die within a hollow of the birch. Image

I’m doing my life for me.

         I’ve decided I’m going to do life for me.  I’m going to congratulate myself for doing life.  I’m going to be selfish, kind, mean, lovely, sad, and I’m going to fuck up, but I deserve that extra brownie.  I deserve to drink another chunk-free smoothie at Robeks because life is hard, and I’m doing it.  I deserve to feel serenity and joy, even when others don’t approve of me or if I make a mistake.  

         I’m going to go to school and become more independent and be free, I’m just going to get it done my way in whatever way I am at the time.  If I really can’t do it now, I’ll do it after.  There’s no limit on the emotions of future nows, but I’ll do it after it ends or lessens enough. I’m going to live my own way, and feel my way through.  Sometimes I’ll walk barefoot in gravel, that’s ok, I’ll just sit down in between steps or crawls.  Sometimes I’ll run.

Nothing in this life is infinite, I have to remember. I’m just a brain and veins and cells and toes and oxygen.  I’m natural and I’m just one in six billion and I’m trivial but I’m so happy for that.  

The Stars Are Waiting

I’m too cold and it’s just good enough.

Do stars feel cold?

I’ve heard I am their dust

Do they decide to silver buttons

Or hide behind the cloak,

Whose fabric unravels from all the ways

The universe moves.

Some day decisions will decide for me,

Even if it’s yesterday.

But for this moment, and that is all

That will always breathe here,

I will rock under this weight so swiftly

That I leap over and

Fly far from this definite floor.

Time flies too.

Just not fast enough,


Scraping Towards a Better Under

It is therapeutic to scrub away green paint on a table with sandpaper, especially if it is with a good friend.  We sit on the sharp grass with worn faces and less worn clothes.

My sadness is sage green, and we rub it away.  The corners are much harder, they scoff at our efforts, and I get dirt under my fingernails and peeled skin.  The powder sits there, waiting for someone to blow it towards the moon…drifting farther and farther away from here. 

No Embellishments

I layed down and the world felt unreal.  It was strange but comforting, because I didn’t feel strong enough to live in a real world.  Objects were moving slightly, my dressers moved apart and changed shape and the ghosts on my doll moved, I was a little scared but intrigued also.  Fog seeped out of my lamp and inside it were little specks that looked like stars that spread out on my ceiling.  It was comforting to see that stars didn’t need a sky.  That was months ago.

I hate the fear.  I’m scared when I see angry faces and those moments when I think my cat might tell people how I’m feeling, or when I feel that I am being watched by inhuman things. It makes me tired.  It try to rock back and forth, it’s the repetition.  I felt a hand once on my head while I was on the couch, my old best friend was in the bathroom and no one else was home, it didn’t feel like a paw, but a giant hand squeezing tighter and tighter on my head.  It was very strong, I thought it would hurt me.  I wasn’t depressed. I didn’t look back because I was afraid of what I would see.

I was so sad that I could hardly breathe. It was such agony.  I needed to be unconscious because I didn’t think I could make it through the day, let alone the year.  Showering and brushing my hair felt impossible because I could see in my mind all of the showers that I would have to take and all of the knots I would have to untangle in my life and it was utterly exhausting.  I didn’t want to have to blink or breathe anymore.  I fell into a couch and my bed because sometimes I couldn’t stand.  It felt like the equivalent of being hit by a truck and lying there with mangled limbs and broken bones, and needing to not exist.

The moments were in this time or out of it, but they were always in my time, and my time will always be mine, even if I don’t always remember it. 😉  If the pain gets so bad again that I can’t walk across the room, I have to remember

…It’s just for now.  I’m glad that isn’t followed by a “, but”


I waited for nothing, but nothing never came.

I run away from gilded corners,

And the creature on my dresser.

I don’t want him to follow me,

So I run even faster.


I walk away from furrowed faces,

Whose wrinkles catch the rain.

And the cup that left me first,

despite its lack of legs.


I tread towards a hollow wood,

Exhausted  from the pain.

It is there that I find nothingness,

and I want to fall inside,

But I realized I was something,

and nothing doesn’t lie.


So I crawl back to the city,

To the sad phone calls, and shame,

And what I realized then,

Was that our something was the same.


I am so tired.

I find sleep on a dirty blanket

whose surface moves like waves

And when my head can breathe no more,

I let it float away.