(3/365 poems)

(3/365 poems)

(2/365 poems) 

(2/365 poems) 

(1/365 poems)
A short poem about my experiences as a genderqueer person. 

(1/365 poems)

A short poem about my experiences as a genderqueer person. 

Tags: poetry

insomnia in three parts

insomnia in three parts

Tags: poetry

Inspired by A Valentine by Edgar Allen Poe.

Inspired by A Valentine by Edgar Allen Poe.

Tags: poetry

Breathe in,

     breathe out.

  Wash, rinse, repeat.

It’s strange that such a simple

  cycle can make such a difference

in the survival of an organism.

Inhale,

        exhale.

It’s always the same.

The speed may     shift,

the steady flow of

oxygen may become

          syncopated

or shattered.

But it always returns

to its systematic

rhythm or

                                             stops.

62% Accuracy

How quickly visual memory deteriorates.
I thought I knew your face so well,
Better than I knew my own.
I did, but that’s not the point.
I don’t remember what color your eyes are.
I could have determined the shade and tone of your irises,
Had I taken the opportunity.
I could have cataloged the gradation of color
As it spread outward from your pupils,
Had I decided it was worth the trouble.
Of course, I seem to have realized the
Importance of that knowledge,
Now that I can’t see them save
In the grainy image of you I keep in my head.
We both know it’s not an accurate one.
Well, you would if you were here.
Which you’re not.
You aren’t when I need you,
But it’s not your fault:
You’re never here.
You don’t belong here;
and neither do I.

So You Wanted to Know the Inside of My Mind

Warning: Mentions of suicide, depression, and bullying.

Arsenic and turpentine,

Our oil-paint minds are serpentine.

We’re a spilling cocktail of pill-poppers

On an empty stage of showstoppers.

Our meretricious co-dependencies

Evince in suicidal tendencies

That lack conviction

And infliction,

But still exist

And seem to consist

Of faceless rage

And wars to wage. 

We’ve written words that we’ll never speak,

But paper decays and ink will streak.

And we feel we can’t talk to our last bit of light

For fear of turning it from comfort to spite.

Though it’s our last chance,

We won’t choose to dance

With the small piece of hope

That’s not the end of a rope.

We work so hard to make everything worse

Every word we say we have rehearsed.

It’s the end of the line now for all of us.

So jump on the tracks or in front of a bus.

They’ve told us to do it our entire lives –

Their words hurt us more than punches or knives.

Their saccharine attentions

Are soured by conventions

That profess to preach

And promise to teach

That intolerance is tolerated

If those you hate don’t deserve to be hated.

Goodbye, Morgan

I wrote this in honor of a dear friend’s older sister, who has since left this life. I hope that she will rest in peace.

I never knew you.

I never saw a picture of you.

I never heard your voice,

and I only heard your name once or twice.

But you were important to her.

I don’t know what kind of music you listened to,

or if you liked your hair long or short.

I don’t know what you liked to eat

or what you liked to wear.

But you were important to her.

I know she loved you.

I know you made her smile.

I know that she’ll miss you,

and because of that, so will I.

I’m sad that I’ll never know you,

Because you were important to her.