a few words from each poem ive posted to this blog

Picking up handfuls of fragmented
Love, bleeding by the palms of their 
Hands, disregarding the pain.

a condom or a shoelace hole or
the sticky bottom of the pan i left dirty.

Thirsty for the wine we never shared,
Feeling fatigued by the weight of the planets,
I want to, need to fall asleep

 Through rocks and plants, a pirouette,
I squeeze him tight like a tourniquet

a fly
Cavorting at the sweet smell of the pierced skin.

He peeled me grapefruits.
He would eat the bruised half, and I would pile
Tablespoons of sugar on mine. 

Someone is dead.
Even the trees know it.
All things please the soul,
When the water boils I get
Shells & seaweed,
A cup of tea.

you are ignominious, 
A wretched woman unworthy of
Forgiveness.

I am not a wicked, shameless woman, I am not a 
Slut, I fuck and I fuck and I fly and I fall, and I will beseech the lord to 
Let me live

 if i take an edible with my mom it might
turn our relationship from transactional into
familial

without my nails or my bones
without my head or my toes
with my back and my groin

, poems about my brother and poems
about the professor who just gave me a b-.

shut the fuck
up about your recent paper

i
keep getting the seventh note wrong but i 
will play it again and again, wrong and wronger

Poe loved haunted houses.
At least there's nothing under my floorboards.

you could
even make yourself seem a
little bit more poetic than you are


the boy i pretended to have
a crush on in sixth grade who
played along with our bogus 
romance and then came
out in high school

The blood from my hand spilt
Onto my sweater, the one I wore to my 
High school graduation and great uncles
Funeral.

I call
Her a reminicantagonist, a futurephiliac

research
controversial performance art for a half
hour instead of doing your bob dylan 
album listening homework response

my fingers need mittens! 

my friends hate it lots
but they all use word
which is pussy shit for pussies
and used by only nerds
my friends hate it lots
but they all use word
which is pussy shit for pussies
and used by only nerds

 for a split second i'm suicidal.

when all the food is gone,
what are we supposed to eat? should we try to revive the
old food, or should we sow new seeds?

i have so much DIRT under my 
fingernails. im always bleeding from somewhere

a lot of chipped nail polish and coins i like to jingle to the beat of my music

not the wheels, not my chewing, not creating, not glueing

i need to write music! i need to make art! i need to clean under my bed!

She thought it touched the memory
Center, because she finally remembered the songs
her dad used to sing to her

And when you kiss me my stomach brain lips toes curl.

They're taking my money and giving it to someone else.

Just like Jesus, I was born in a stable.

Dust bunnies make friends with my belly button lint

I'll park the boat right on the dock,
Tighten my anchor, chain, and lock.
Ill step off the edge, onto the shore,
I'll trip over a tiny rock.

The room
Held me like one of its own.

i miss her i love her i love her i love you

None of us will travel further than Nevada 
Even though we planned a trip to Berlin
Where we would try MDMA in Berghain.

two poets walk into a bar,
one with a basket of flowers in her arm,
the other with a bowl of meatballs and spaghetti.

you read your first book at nineteen
and wrote your first at nineteen and a half
because you knew you could do it better.

your friendship means a lot to me and i don’t want to do anything that could hurt it. 

Orange cheeks and pink noses, sunburnt shoulders and 
Potentially the remnants of fish gills.

If only your tongue was a lime,
Then kissing you wouldn’t be so sweet.

"rowuarurhuhghuh?"

But the 
Dragonfly causes the water to ripple
And scares the fish away.

i don’t think ill stop smoking until i know
whether theyre black and blue yet.

i wish i could blog in my own voice
instead of sounding like an 
abandoned rupi kaur napkin

ill pile stevia into my coffee
and wrap my sandwich in plastic
rewatch shows on my giant tv
and glue glitter to my eyelids.

because now my anger falls where it is supposed to, where it hasn’t since my hair was halfway down my back.

landing in the under painting of a new england landscape—
the type frost would write about, not dickinson. 

 the stems split between my fingers,
the milk of the weed sputters out, 
and the fragile, flying seeds stick to it like
feathers to glue.