i still think about you.

and i cannot seem to be able to write about the pain you caused, and i cannot blame you for leaving.

i keep the door cracked in case you change your mind and want to come back.

and, my pen lies useless because i don’t want to use you as another story or sonnet or broken poem that people will applaud for honesty and beauty.

i wanted our love poems to be the beginning of something new for me. because my happiness was so overwhelming i could write you love poems and nothing else.

but here i am.

and all i can write on the college ruled paper was, i loved you, why did you leave like that?


this song.


my life is not right
nor will it ever be
but all i need is this song
and drives to see
sunsets brimming on the skyline
and my life may not be right
but this beat is
and i think if i have enough money
i might drive with it on repeat until
i reach a place that makes me feel
like this

let me dance. let me sing. let me smile. 

i barely do anymore. 



it’s been a year

the summer sits uneasy in my stomach
we have never been friends
i cut my hair and look progress in the eyes
with my hands clutching the scissors
i sip chai tea and eat full meals
and draw flowers on my wrists where
scars lie dead in the snowy white flesh

it feels like a lifetime

fighting demons off in past timelines 





time doesn’t change anything.

at thirteen,
i was full of untamed anger
and i didn’t know why yet
i took my aggression out on unsuspecting
pages of my diary
boys were unattainable creatures
who gawked in the distance
i picked out movies
my mother told me not to watch

at sixteen,
i found myself dying
drowning in seas of emotions
the hands of fate
sweeping me away in an under toe
i can never escape
boys flirted and flirted back
i used language
my mother told me was unladylike

 at eighteen i find myself still in the hands of fate. 

and i clench my fists and write my poetry to control the anger. 

smoke inhalation.

have you ever seen the burning ashes of a home? once there’s a fire, the fire keeps burning, smoldering for days or weeks. the smoke sifts through the air, weaving in and out of the oxygen molecules. parents tell their children to stay away to keep them safe from smoke inhalation.

pain is somewhat like that.

cruel jokes.

i will be alright someday. she whispers that under the cloudy violet skies. her friends are dancing to the pop tracks and she’s desperately trying–she escapes to the bathroom–

finds her reflection and stares at her intently

she softly touches the glass wishing this was a dream.

reality is a cruel joke. 


i don’t like the way my nickname sounds on your lips

and maybe it’s because i haven’t forgiven you yet–

i’m bitter about what happened; i’m bitter about corruption

about white lies i was too young to decipher–

i think, you carry a little of my soul around with you

and, i can hear past memories being unraveled in my chest

when you say my name casually

and when you look at me across the room

the day will come where i can look at you and assuredly say i am unaffected by you