Tag: original poetry

the best time to write is when
i’m sorry or sleepy because
the words flow unapologetically–
they do not try so hard to sound good.

there is a drum in the front of my brain,
and I don’t know if it’s
because of the rain or the way
the dentist drilled my gums today.

it is empty in the house, but too loud
with my mother’s anxieties,
and the air is heavy with tears
that are shed once the lights go out– 
shed like room for growth and
thicker walls– 
shed like hair, like skin,
to make room for
something new and healthy and strong.

what do we shed with our tears?
our weakness? our pain?

what do we shed with our tears? // a.s.m

WEARY TRAVELER FINDS REST
WITHIN THE HEART OF A CHILD:
we are 
a miracle the world chortled
at thinking existed, a dream 
within a dream.
too far beyond
the imagination, a
hallucination of the heavens.

hallucination of the heavens // a.s.m

follow me to the end
of the world. 
i want to hear ‘i love you’
echoing off a canyon’s edge; 
your laughter, never ending
in the darkness.
your hand in mine, 
double helixes of fingers
two plants intertwined, 
seeking the same sun.

we have grown into each other // a.s.m

familiar stranger
new friend
tell me of the time we crossed
once before
under the wisteria.
i’ll meet you there– halfway
between the poppies
and forever.
your voice a nocturne,
notes i’ve never fallen asleep
to before: i cannot
quite tell where it is
within me that you dwell.
do you sing a song of this
universe, or one of
dreams?

magis quam ante // a.s.m

THINGS YOU DON’T SEE IN THOSE ‘THINSPO’ PHOTOS: self-hatred that weighs far more than any number on a scale. vomit stains on your favorite crop top. hating food but being able to think of nothing else. taking four hours to go grocery shopping because you have to read every goddamn label. your partner fearing their fingertips will break you. running in the park but being so focused on your heart rate monitor that you don’t admire the way the leaves are changing. hunger. HUNGER. HUNGER so deep it hurts. nausea. fainting when you stand up to give a presentation in class. always keeping Altoids in your purse. storing laxatives in the kitchen cabinet because you can’t go without them anymore. emptying your stomach to ignore the emptiness elsewhere. numbers. numbers. you never even liked math but now everything is numbers. everyone is numbers. getting high just so you can eat food and not feel guilty. feeling guilty anyway. hating yourself. self-hatred like boulders in your backpack. self-hatred that weighs far more than any number on a scale.

things you don’t see in “thinspo” photos // a.s.m

i want
my fingers to tell
the story of how the
freckles on your collarbones
burst into stars under
my lips. you are an
entire galaxy beneath me
and i have
fallen hopelessly into you.
i am not quite sure
i could find my way
out if i wanted to.

i’ve fallen into a galaxy // a.s.m

first,
they are soft: a feather
grazing the inside of my
wrist. then they dance
with mine, two bodies pressed
closely together,
swaying in synchronization.
then,
they are a blanket: light
but warm, hugging
me close, keeping me safe,
blowing air into my
lungs, singing quietly
of an adoration i can
feel. a nibble
of a desire to taste
my entire being.
i savor
the way your hunger feels
on my tongue.

when you kiss me // a.s.m