If an artist created an extremely unique painting, they would work very hard not to sell it for any less than what they believed it was worth. Well, guess what? You are both the artist and the painting. Believe in your worth and do not sell yourself short.
i am escaping
into the night much like
the air from her mouth evaporates
into the wind as she says
goodbye.light no longer
reflects off of me:
i am absorbing so much
darkness,
she cannot find me
anymore.not being able to see
me means i’m already gone.
the only thing
she wraps her arms around anymore
is the darkness, and it is too cold,
i make her
shiver.
you say the whole
world looks a little
crooked.
my head is on
the wooden floor,
staring at the bowed leg of
a chair, and i guess
it is a little
twisted.i had a dream last night.
we were all vampires, living
in my apartment back at
school. when i woke up
everything was the same except
mom and dad didn’t want to
suck my blood.i guess the earth is a little
bit crooked, tilting
at twenty three point five
degrees on its axis.i’ve been dreaming about
death a lot recently. it’s funny
because when i’m asleep i am always
the one being killed, but
i know that what
we’re trying
to kill does not have its own heartbeat,
but rather has taken
over yours.sissy said something
the other day that made me want to cry:
that the life has drained from your
eyes. sometimes
it’s hard to look at the beautiful gold
they have become.
i hate that color.
i know what it means.i guess you’re
right.
the world is pretty warped.
i think you can see it better than i.
is it scary? is the world
a little straighter when
your eyes are golden
like that? does it look
a little brighter?
once you learn that the sting of rejection does not wound nearly as badly as the torment of regret, and that fear itself is more intimidating than what you are actually afraid of, you are invincible.
we are chiseled
from clouds to be
strong yet fragile. we must
weep, but we must
comfort those who are
weeping also. our lives
cannot be any
messier than the kitchen counter
before having guests over.
we must always make
a good impression.
we will be everything
so you don’t have to be,
and we will still be weak
in your eyes.
a hug is
not a luxury when all
one hundred and thirty five
of your family
members live in the
same city in the desert and
you’ve called your mom’s
best friend ‘aunty Ani’ since
before you knew
she didn’t share the same
blood.
we exchange a
currency of kisses in
this microcosm of handwoven hotplates.
fifty of your closest relatives
come over for Christmas, and yet
the house is much too quiet
without your uncle here this year.
love is not lacking
in this house. it is thrown
around like loose change.
it is in every crevice
between the kitchen tiles,
behind every child’s ear. it is
something you feel long
before you learn to define
it. it is
in every molecule of
air that engulfs us.
we’re pressing pause
with ocean water on our faces.
you’re pressing play
with syrup in your veins.
this ship is going down;
one by one
we throw you our life
jackets so you may stay afloat–
we’re already sinking anyways.large waves are hitting us now,
water blanketing the floor.
you throw your head back and laugh
and jump overboard.
all lifejackets with us, even
yours.
nothing we had could
save you.
the whole world’s
pulsing
at sixty two beats per minute.
you can feel it
in the rain. i’m not sure
if it’s a ticking time bomb
waiting to explode
or if something in the
gears are jammed.
i just wanted to
stop spinning
for a while.
dizzy from everything
in my head.
dizzy from everything
i should have said.
i burnt myself lighting a cigarette
that was
already dead.
now the flame’s gone
out, but
my lungs are still
red.
we’re drunk
and i ask if i can kiss you
even though i don’t
wait for an answer.
i feel your lips move with mine.
this is the first time
we’re dancing. your eyes
look different than they do
from far away.
have they always
had this much to say?
have they always been burning
holes in my heart?
Silenticel 