depression in e minor

have you watched yourself sink?

have you felt the fog surround you

for years and years on end

watched your art wither and crumple

and blow away in the wind?

and have you painted the past in a rose-pink hue

everything soft, and kind

and beautiful

and god, i want her courage

i want her pride

in a bottle

i want her desperate state of mind

’cause i have ground my dreams up like coal

i have given up before i’ve tried

played depression in e minor

to c major

to d

and all it’s given me is calloused fingers

and sleepless nights

i mine my cheeks

for silver and gold

but there’s nothing left to find

and begged silently

for a kiss, or a hug

or even a brush of your hand

but most of all for you to tell me,

tell me i wasn’t born this way

tell me imagination is endless

tell me there’s the slightest chance of escape

tell me these hands around my throat are gonna get bored eventually

tell me it’s not too late

even though all i did today

was sit in the corner

and drift through a haze

and if the world doesn’t make sense, what does it matter anyway?

i’ve got my back to the wall

and my hands against the glass

i play depression from e minor

to c major

to d

i don’t cry, i don’t laugh

and i don’t feel much of anything

spiderweb

content warning: plant based body horror

there’s dirt on my skin, there always is. the flowers on my desk have died and gone to heaven. and i don’t think i’m going with them, no matter how much i yearn for escape. cause and there’s a spiderweb inside me, and it’s growing by the day, it’s got me all tangled up now, like a butterfly daydream. or a codling moth. i’ve got chips in both my shoulders, dirt under my nails, aorta dying back. but i can’t fix it up, can’t make myself give a shit. i’ve got mud on my knees, and my veins show a bit. sometimes touching my body is enough to make me feel sick. i can’t feel my ribs, ’cause i think i cut those back. and the ivy’s taken over for good this time. so i’ve got willow branches for hair, i’ve got daisies in my eyes. dandelions on my belly. gotta pull them out before they go to seed. gotta wipe this out, gotta get it all clean, drown it out in salt and vinegar. something strong enough to knock the gods off their feet.


So, I have absolutely no idea what this piece means–but I came up with it a few days ago, and I really love plant-based body horror. It might just be because I spend a lot of time thinking about plants, so it comes naturally to me, I’m not sure–and I love writing more metaphorical, slightly creepy pieces like this.

lull

there’s fog along the highway / and the lights carry me home / and it’s raining in august / warm on my skin, clay bones / so why don’t you hold me / why don’t you tell me you miss me too / cause no one’s ever told me that before / and god knows, i miss you / and there’s lights up in the sky / there’s a monster in my home / he lives under the bed / eats dust bunnies for lunch, and cries all night long / ’cause he misses how he used to be / all the little moth-holes gnawed into his memory / he is lonely and scared, and there’s a pit in his gut every time they ask what he’s gonna do / a thousand platitudes to kiss him off to sleep / you know how it goes / you know how you postpone, and make yourself those empty promises / you’ll forget about next morning / when you wake up exhausted / listen to ads on spotify as you root through rotten drawers in your mind / searching for something new / but all you’ll find is worn our t-shirts from 2017 / day-old tea / and dust settled on the pages / you swore you’d make anew

sob story (3)

it hasn’t been like this for a year / or maybe it was two, beats me / cause time is a blur in my head / and the past few years feel like some kind of daze / like sleeping under plastic sheets / condensation dripping down my lips / and i’m not sure when i’ll wake up / but when i do / it’s gonna be fucking brilliant / okay? / i’m gonna spark like a supernova / gonna burn it all to ash / except… maybe i won’t, you know? / cause we’ve gotta keep our metaphors realistic / so maybe i’ll just kinda feel groggy / and i will go and make some coffee / burn my tongue and spill the milk / heat up a burrito and call it a day / and i will walk along the asphalt until my knees ache / and my jaw cracks open / and life’s gonna go on, i suppose / i’ll put off anything remotely challenging / and avoid new opportunities like the plague / cause everything i want feels a thousand miles away / and i’m wilting, slowly / and in the wallpaper silence / i can’t help but wonder if this is it / glass ceiling shattered pieces / digging into my shoulders / as the smoke alarm blares / and i won’t make it out in time / we both know that / but i’m still but as the fire closes in / i’m running for the exit


Yay, another addition to this suite of poems! An update on that poetry book: I’ve been actually writing it, it’s growing very slowly in my Google Docs. So we’ll see where that goes. 🙂

Lorna

ode to a burning home

we’ll say it’s clouded over

sweater weather come early

we will lift up the boxes of times long gone

and fall down the stairs

we will swim against the current

and gulp down the seawater

even if it scratches our throats

let the waves rock us back and forth

and dull the aching pain

dock slivers and rope

we will duct tape over the holes in the ceiling

and tell ourselves not to breathe in the smoke

as heat ripples off the highway

and the mirage will whisper promises of caramel and hope

so we’ll kiss and watch the sunset

and i’ll get used to it, slowly

’cause it only gets worse from here on out

cause help has been on its way for years now

cause i am gasping and out of breath

gasoline and bloodshed dripping down my nose

i am bitter and prideful

united in my hatred and alone in my fury

i’m not ready

to go to bed

so please don’t turn off the lights already


So, as I write this it’s the start of wildfire season, which is always really depressing–and to just add to the fun, we’re having another heatwave, and I was feeling contemplative and very ominous and dramatic. It’s been one of those days, I guess. I don’t mean to be, like, too nihilistic or depressing–but I don’t know, to be honest, it’s hard not to feel that way most days.