Sometimes I struggle
while out in the world
because all that I want to do
is run back home and hide

I have a hard time
looking into other’s eyes
because I don’t want anybody
to drink up my soul

I don’t want others
to steal away the color
that I hold onto so tightly

it’s hard for me to speak up
I’ve never enjoyed competition.
That’s not the flavor
that I choose
my life tastes better without it.

You see, sometimes,
I daydream about living alone
in the forest
up in the trees
listening to bird songs and
taking in a sweet floral breeze

This human chaos
makes my petals wilt
it waters down my once potent ink.

My soul.

I wish to remain intact
I don’t want to donate my skin to the bone, my magic, my mind–

I want to be free

shouldn’t we all?

Sun face

I paint faces
eyes that stare
and sparkle in the sun

I paint faces
each one its own
no two noses are the same

I paint faces
to somehow bring life
to feed what my time here lacks

I paint faces
because it fills a void
colorful circular bodies
smirk in the sun

I am never alone
and the silent moments
are a little more bearable

Messy vine

Don’t tell me to just get over it

or to move on

Don’t assume that I’m weak or that I’m not trying

Stop thinking that all humans operate the same way, or that my feelings are not justifiable

I am here because of my past, and how I cope with my surroundings carrying me but also biting me

Sometimes, I am as thin and fragile as ice on a late-spring lake. Soon the ice is no more and neither is my strength

Observe me if you’d like, but give me the space that I need to create the friction my energy requires to survive

You be you, and I’ll be me

If you don’t like how I do things, I don’t need to hear your bullshit wisdom

I am a messy vine, I grow on my own time


when the self is lost–transparent

when the roads have no meaning

when there is no purpose in eating–the food all tastes the same

when the past will not stop spilling into and spoiling my now–with its bitter reminders

when day and night cast the same dim light

when I set myself on fire almost every day

an attempt to start, change, do better, be the best version of me–destruction. when the idea of perfection is a disease.

the self is swallowed. lost.