cognitive flame

ceiling

inside.

reach.

my grandmother spent years of her life dying,
and on her wall was a cross stitch which read,
“reach up as far as you can,
and god will reach down the rest of the way.”

------ ------ ------

dear mr. omnipotence,
i'm sitting in a midnight dormroom
with my fingers soldered to the alphabet,
mechanically composing a letter of regret.

i regret to inform you that i am not a christian.
those 40 days of lenten promises,
those candles around the advent wreath,
those communions taken with heavy heart...
it has all faded.

i regret to inform you that i am not an engineer.
i am not a performer.
i will never understand parties.
and i think most people are mistletoe.

i regret to inform you that i am alone,
and i always have been,
and maybe i always will be.

but most of all,
i regret to inform you that,
for now at least,
you do not exist.

letter to no one
/end

side.eye

hazy world
with dreams absurd
came tumblin down
upon my head;
and then
i said,
alright.

confusion

toss&turn in nightmares.

biting flesh, ripping flesh,
melthing flesh,
molting.
shedding this outer shell
and revealing frail core.

shatter,
scatting pieces of self between walls
in whispers of negligence
and beauty.

becoming more than you are
and less than yourself,
writhing in pain
as daylight fades to nightmare.
toss&turn.
burn.

molt.

tug.

tug-o-war between

mother

and father

between mother

and father

between mother and father
mother and father
mother and father

between mother and father
mother and father
and mother and
father and mother and father
andmotherandfatherandmotherandfatherandm
otherandfatherandmotherandfatheran
dmotherandfatherandmotherandfatherandmot
herandfatherandmotherandfatherandmothera
ndfatherandmotherandfatherandmotherandfa
therandmotherandfatherand

me.

emancipate

something to get me started.

(i haven't written in nearly two months... and now... i'm going to.  maybe it is illogical, but it is a start.)

i've been looking for myself in all the wrong places.
i've been eating a lot of spaghetti.  a lot of zitti.  a lot of elbow macaroni.
and granola cereal with silk.
i've been cold, and crazy,
and divisible by two, 9, the square root of 9, and two times the square root of 9.
i've been looking at my breath in the air and wondering
when winter will creep up behind me,
slithering,
its forked tongue hissing like these wind gusts that slice through crosswalks.
i've been waiting for winter,
waiting for him to freeze my heart and soul and daydreams solid,
waiting for him to suffocate the warmth of my toes and hopes.
yes, i've been perching on my window sill,
dripping from a morning shower,
looking up at the clouds and praying for popsicle weather,
longing for early sunsets and the howl of blizzard winds to wake me from this nightmare.
am i dreaming?
or am i truly here,
frozen & motionless,
another chapter in a life waiting to happen...
i've been looking for myself in all the wrong places.
i am eighteen,
there is no right answer.