6.27.2017

When I opened my eyes, the walls were purple

And I was not hungry any longer

The arrows were pointing me in the same direction, but had lost their meaning

To-do lists faded to lines of gray

 

I pray that one day, I will fight this head on

For victory or defeat

Because purgatory is no place for rest

And I am so tired

 

Purple fades to blue, fades to white

6.21.2017

The taste for sweetness lost on burnt tongues

Looking for reasons to scorch fertile earth

 

Familiar shames boil to the surface, and then are reconstituted

All in the blink of an eye

Before they can be skimmed off to salvage the rest

 

Eyeing true growth has me searching for a name for what we have

(I hunger for understanding but no longer wish to be troubled by it)

6.17.2017 pt.2

I need some time alone

To think

Not apart from you, but in the absence of you

 

My periphery is more lively than my foreground, and I know I must refocus

Not for the sake of the story, but in the interest of clarity

Reignite the fire that once nearly consumed me

 

But I can’t stop thinking about you in my childhood home

6.17.2017

I will wear this vulnerability if you ask me to

I am not concerned about finding traces of it beneath my eyes in the morning

And days later

 

I’m not yet sure of how I want to grow

Which objective I want to direct my elongating stem and unfurling leaves towards

Can a flower bloom in a pressurized environment?

Does it enjoy the sunlight if it does?

 

I spent so much time wishing away the cold, but am finding the heat to be equally unbearable

I do not wish to plot my retreat

But I would like its facilitation

 

I still daydream about how it might feel to be ash

6.16.2017

I feel darkness creeping into me

The lines on your face are more defined when the lights are off

And I can sense the quarter century you own on the surface of your skin

 

I am not sure how instrumental I want you to be in the functions of my life

Windows and opportunity clouded by aesthetic, struggle, and momentary satisfaction

All of which are not my own

 

When did you begin looking at me with a critical eye?

And getting this drunk

Panicking when the flask is empty — the word “need” perched on the tip of your tongue

(Like an addict)

 

I want your warmth and softness without the sharpness of your glances

Or half-promises

Or indifferent kisses

 

Can you at least pretend that I’m still magic

Please touch me

I still melt beneath your fingertips

5.30.2017

With you, my mask feels like an encumbrance

Except in moments that the bitterness in my thoughts can be tasted on my tongue

 

Blue lights flicker in one eye but not the other

Biding time in the space between content and restless

Periphery

 

Gravel fills my shoes

Reminding me that in this world, there exists stone, steady and sure, on which to plant my feet

If only I would allow my skin to touch it

4.19.2017

This is not ego-driven

 

My waistline does not say vanity

It says you can experience the sweetness as long as it is the leftovers

Don’t indulge, but hold on to the goodness so that it is there

When you think you deserve it

Set constraints for your hunger cues – as if hunger is a battle, or a game to be won

 

And when you feel unsure

When your body is a shapeshifting mirage, projection of anxiety and dysphoria

Find your measuring tape

But don’t write anything down

Research scales, but do not buy them

 

You are recovered

 

Even when shrinking feels more like preservation than self-sacrifice

Even when you’re not sure of the difference