a joke without the punchline

But I can’t let it fucking go.
So I pace and catch the boomerang chunks of my heart.
What it means to be human
is to suffer
because it’s in our design.
To transcend
is as kind as it is cruel.
So I’m reading about how
it’s not about me and
instead means our lives weren’t
aligned right. So I’m
just reading how I need to let go.
I want to want to.
I need to want to.
I am fourteen steps forward
for every two, okay fine
three, steps back.
My watch counts it all the same.
I know better.
Know how I can’t tell anyone
how it still hurts.
How I honestly wouldn’t even know what to say
if even given the chance.
Except I’m sorry like it’s Sunday
morning and I forgot to kiss you
before I left. I was coming back
except you changed the locks.
Did you know what
that did to me?
Are you careless or just bloodthirsty?
I don’t know why it should matter.
Nothing changes.
Anyway, I’ve had a cough
for three weeks.
My throat is swallowing
anything trying to escape
and irony feels too warm
to not embrace it.


is your sky like mine?

Mental illness means nothing
noticeably different until
you know better. “Oh you mean
not everyone feels like this?”.
It means learning your perception
is less objective when it’s moving.
Gliding, so fucking smooth.
The earth’s rotating at 1,000 miles
an hour. Did you ever ask yourself
why you can’t feel it?
My mental illness
is my body and brain moving
at a constant speed but no one else
got that message. It takes red flags
and slamming brakes to pause. It needs the world to stop spinning before it hits and suddenly I
understand how people who don’t know ask “but couldn’t you tell?”.
The answer is no, not in the
beginning. My brain is sand filled motion.Shifting so slowly
I never even notice
till I know better.
Little pill meant to fix one thing,
fixes more than expected. Fixes
what I didn’t know was fragmented.
I thought that was just the design.
I can’t say what’s right for
anyone but me.
My brain is sand filled motion.
Sometimes slipping through my fingers
even if it’s a little less each time.


It’s happening
suddenly again.
The slight pang in my stomach.
An ache. A pretend thread
pulling gently. A doctor would
ask for more symptoms.
Tell me what other signs
to look for just to make sure
it’s nothing serious.
That I already know.
I was never anything serious.
As for signs, I try not to
be surprised anymore. Try
not to be startled at the
entwined pieces that
you’ll never know.

I’m still thinking of that painting that historians can only provide speculation.
I think art whispers to you
asking you to feel inside.
I try to visit even less.
That painting leaves me restless.
I want to know.
I want to know.

I hope I left you uneasy.
I’m tired of feeling foolish
that’s the honest truth.
But the body is a museum and there
will always be a spot for you.
You are the picture in the corner easily missed. The one
I found that day. Sometimes
we shadow the things
we can’t face directly.

if you feel a pang
that feels like an ache
that feels the way dust looks
caught between swirling and
settling to the floor
know that it’s me.
Mirror I hope you are well.


I’m in love like honeymoon over and
baby being next to you is the best
best fucking part of my day
and yes my humming hymns are for you
and no I don’t know when I changed
but you say you want something and I think “me too”. I’m screaming inside
with love for you and no you won’t
hear it all the time. Something
about skin and lips and doors
that can’t open easily.
Peek under the door and know it’s
all for you. Put your ear to the floor,
baby it’s all fucking for you.


Reframing words around my tongue

like hands rolling glass back and forth.

Reframing in a way that does not sound

like I want to cry.

Awareness is the understanding

that there is a knot of different colors

evoking emotions that I need to untie

so I can understand.

What is an emotion

that has different voices?

maps of self

Under a layer of me
is another and another.
Look I don’t make the rules.
Blame the stars for making
me oh so fucking me. Looking
into birth charts, that agree
I hide too many things,
I don’t even fucking know why.
Let’s be honest that is a lie.
There’s power in knowing so
I’m always running towards it.
There’s power in saying things
out loud and it still scares the shit
out of me.


Two hands deep in ocean loose sand,
struggle harder, I wonder about the lessons
of nature. Why we try to be
anything other than what we are.
Always trying to transcend and be human
and then not. Can we blame
anything for how we are built?
Something about falling.
Something about staring at trees
that know how to speak back.
I am always listening for rooted
meanings. Something about beginnings
gets me every time.

left ear burn

What’s there left to say to you, except

what’s been caught in my throat since

sophomore year of college, or

something like that.

I still wonder

are you capable of loving anyone

besides yourself?

Awful and appealing at once.

It didn’t make sense

but now it does, by that I mean

it really doesn’t and that’s the core.

You never were a stop sign

just a dead end,

just that’s it,

just it’s exactly like

what it seems.