spring

2/4 of a suite of seasonal poems

he’s wearing skirts of white lace

with blossoms tucked in his hair

he’s soft fingers and sweet

willow branches blooming from his throat

he’s soaked in rain

snapped willow branches and a sore throat

he watches as you go

and he’s still kind, you know?

still soft, and trying

still pulsing with feelings

that will never be returned

he’s a fighter

he howls with the wind

washes dead leaves down gutters

spits out hail like fury

means every word of what he said

even as the river bleeds into the city

he’s got flowers of gossamer

and branches of velvet and chiffon

he’s everything at once

he’s never enough, not really

but he’s got sticky sweet kisses

apple blossoms and rosewater

he tastes like forgiveness

he tastes like relief


The second in a series of seasonal poems! I’ll be posting autumn next week, I believe. 🙂

stratosphere

i. i don’t know how to not write poems / like they’re stories / and i don’t know how to stop seeing the world from a first person point of view / cause i have been drifting for so long / charting up pathways and possibilities, and now i think it’s time to figure out what the hell i’m gonna do / when i can’t feel the gravity in my stomach / or snap out of a daze before midafternoon / i don’t know how to write poems unless i’m exhausted / the words slipping from my mouth like a death rattle / a trickle in a drought / a long walk home / cause i’ve been drifting for long / and they cheered me on, told me anything was possible / and then they sat me down / and told me vague ideas can’t make money / and they were right, of course / their love dripping down my throat like honey

ii. i let my muscles get sore / bones grow brittle like they’re breaking / i sit alone with my thoughts / but only if i’m watching tv / i look out at the skyline, and wish it could be me / let the rain come down and wash away the city / i don’t remember my dreams / or think for too long about how the world used to be / hold my breath, and bathe in secondhand smoke / cast myself in stainless steel, and plastic / hold myself kind, and slow / cast-iron fingers cold to the touch / i wash the dishes ’til they’re try / and i turn on the blender ’til it’s hollow / i let the drone of it all consume me / i don’t take off my headphones for anybody

blackberry roads

it smells just like blackberries on the highway

smoke and daydreams

mental breakdowns in the backseat

staring out the window

you watch the world go by until you start to get dizzy

you watch the world go by until you don’t know what you’re doing

yeah you’re fifteen, and you’re confused

so you’re reading all the books you can find

pray to god you can pay off the overdue fines

you stand there, and you watch from the sidelines

work on your note-taking skills

you are cynical and dreaming

black-eyed and bruised

and sometimes you cry like a baby

when you lose your keys

or check the news

i write my poems in second person

‘cause i can’t stand to see myself in you


I’ve been getting a lot better at guitar, and I can totally imagine this as a spoken word track–with some guitar in the background, and an old-timey vintage feel to it? I don’t know–I wanted to write a piece that encapsulated my summer, and this ended up being it.

Lorna

an incomprehensive guide to coping

  1. stop scrolling through your phone first thing in the morning. delete all the apps on your phone. (it won’t last, and you know this. do it anyway.)
  2. try to breathe, in and out until it fades to muscle memory. stitch your pieces into order. slowly.
  3. when you stab yourself with the needle, force yourself not to bleed on the fabric. get up, and go to the medicine cabinet. wash the blood off your hands.
  4. take your brain in for repairs, like a shitty computer, constantly needing to be taken in for repairs. you tighten the screws, you reset the hard drive, you bang the dust out of the keyboard, and know you’ll come back here next week.
  5. have a drink of water, ‘cause you can’t drown out this weight in your belly, but you sure can try. (dizzy on the tennis court, sick in the sunrise.)
  6. sometimes, depression feels like drowning slowly. sometimes, there are good days, and you gasp for air and you think you’re all right, until the next wave hits me from behind. but all this time, you’ve been floating in the sea. and there’s no land in sight.
  7. so try not to feel sorry for yourself. even when your life feels like a sob story in a youtube comments section. even when you’re drifting, and you’re screaming out, and no one comes to help you. 
  8. go to sleep. tell yourself you’ll wake up early. save it for another night. ‘cause when you can barely breathe, you’ve got other things on your mind. and yeah, it sucks. but in the big scheme of things, it’ll turn out all right.
  9. call your friend. zone out. stare into blue light. take a bath and iron that twisty feeling out of your stomach. lie on the floor, exhausted and breathing.
  10. fashion a raft out of kelp and driftwood. it’s shitty, and haphazard, and it’ll only last a week. but it’s something.

shooting stars and bad dreams

when the fridge stops working, and the dishwasher floods the kitchen

when the drywall cracks beneath the weight

of childhood portraits anchored into its abyss

yeah, when the city crumbles, when the lights turn off

when the big one comes

and the asteroid wipes out half the human race

when we stumble through the blacked-out city, 12am, dizzy and numb

looking up at the stars

asking which one we’ll become

say that you’ll find me

in the fault lines, and used glass bottles

in stifled screams

bite your hand until it bleeds

spin around in circles, and wash the fuse go

in flashlight tag

in melting icicles and broken teeth

i’m gonna fix it

i’m gonna hold your hand, and take a deep breath

and make a to-do list

rip out the floors, scavenge for scraps among the wreckage

of things that used to be

hang the paintings on a stud line

frame the pictures new again

fix the wires

and make a cup of tea

when the walls start to shake

and the sky wraps it’s spindly fingers right around my throat

when my fingers are numb to the touch

and the world fades out to grey

and we’ll make the best of a bad deal

we’ll laugh and sit in awkward silence

we’ll hold hands, and i’ll think

that you’re worth a couple stars

and that’s nothing new