poetry

honey

honey,

I say,

is the only food

that will never

spoil.

they watch me

with no comprehension

and the bee moves

gently

along his fingers

in the afternoon

sun.

they do not understand

why this matters;

he tries to hand

the bee to me

but I flinch from

his outstretched palm–

too many strikes

 

from palms

of glass and

empty promises,

holding false gifts

that glint in

faded light.

we continue on

but honey

will never spoil

and my memories

someday

will.

poetry

sorry.

“how’ve you been?”

i don’t really know.

sorry.

“are you doing okay?”

no.

sorry.

“what’ve you been up to?”

worrying, picking my skin,

wishing i were dead,

skipping meals.

sorry.

“are you good?”

not really;

i’m generally a

pretty shitty

person.

sorry.

sorry that i couldn’t be

fine

and that i’m an inconvenience

and a burden.

i just want to

be alright and

instead i’m shutting down.

don’t ask me how i am

because i can’t lie

right now.

poetry

weekend

today is saturday,

another in a chain

of saturdays stretching on,

linked, pulling, fragile–

today is saturday,

but I am tired of it.

each second passes,

each minute, each

hour changes me

and I am afraid of the

thousands

of saturdays

I have yet to live.

who will I be when I wake up

tomorrow?

my saturdays are finite

but yours are limited

and we’ve never really

been able to breathe

together.

poetry

#45

he says

“your body is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I’ll miss it

and stay silent.

he says

“your mind is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I won’t understand

and be quiet.

he says

“your life is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I won’t stand up

and fight.

he says that I am

broken, that I am

useless, that I am

nothing, that I am

unworthy, that I am

insignificant, that I am

stupid, that I am

annoying, that I am

nothing at all

to him.

he smothers my words

with small, sweaty hands

and spews nonsense

in its place.

he will not listen

as our world falls apart.

he will not listen

as I am denied love.

he will not listen

as children are shamed.

he will not listen

as lives are smothered.

he will not listen

to the words we scream

in the gaps between his

hatred,

and I am terrified

that so many

just

can’t

hear.