sadness/ 70

The truth is, I’m not sad. 

I’m not sad that this ended, no,

sadness doesn’t begin to cover it,

the truth is, every time I see you,

I can feel my heart shatter in my 

chest, I feel an ache within

my very bones for something 

more, for something less, for

something that isn’t so undefined,

and I know this isn’t about you,

or me, no, it spans the entire 

universe, maybe it was just destiny,

but it still hurts , still feels like

falling ten stories down, only

this time, you’re not going to 

catch me; but I’m not sad. I’m

not sobbing my eyes out for 

a boy, even if it’s you, but I’m 

still broken, still a bit hurt, still

feeling like the only thing I 

want is your arms around me;

I’m not sad. But the truth is,

I’m not over it.

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might as well/ 69

You dig your nails into your 

wrist until crescent shaped 

smiles decorate every inch

of your butterfly hands, and 

you try your best not to cry,

try your best to keep it all

inside, try to sew up the

sadness inside of you so 

that everyone else thinks 

youre fine, but you never 

succeed, never manage to 

convince the world you’re 

alright, never manage to 

look sane enough to blend

into the crowd, so you lift the

knife and imagine it slicing 

through your bone- if you can’t 

blend in, you might as well

bathe yourself in red, you might

as well feel the pain you 

want to, you might as well 

flutter in and out of consciousness

until you finally reach where 

you belong- if you can’t be

normal, you might as well die.

regret/ 68

You say you regret what happened,

say that you understand it was 

a mistake, say you’re sorry, you’re

sorry, you’re sorry- like that’ll help

me trust anyone again, like that’ll

make this situation better, the thing

is, I don’t want your regret, nor 

your pity, I don’t want to know how

you feel, and I don’t want your 

excuses, because no matter 

what you say, it still happened and

you still did it- willingly. Knowingly.

You still chose to take what I gave

and make it into a joke, into a

story to tell, you still chose to 

cheapen the moment and I don’t

care about your regret. You can 

keep it- all I want is a time machine.

67

For once, I’m the one that’s 

heartbroken, I’m the one who 

can feel the weight of the

world slowly crushing me, I’m

the one who feels humiliated at

best, shattered at worst; For once,

I’m not the one at fault, not the

one who did anything wrong, just

the one who was left behind, just

the one who can’t get you out of 

my mind- I’m the one pining

for love already lost. I’m the one

wishing for a version of you I’m no 

longer sure exists, I’m the one who

was naive enough to think that

you were good, that you had

changed, that you were worth this

pain, for once, I’m the fool, and

I preferred it when you were.

pauses/ 66

I see you everywhere I go now- in

the pauses. I see you in between

the words I read, hear you between 

the songs I sing, feel you between

the footsteps I take; you’re there

in every space, every pause, every

breath I take and I’m not sure 

when that happened, not sure 

whether I woke up one morning

and everything was different, or

whether it was a quieter type

of change, like night to day, whether

it was the way dawn approaches- 

once I told you that you make me 

feel like I’m not falling,

and I guess that’s true, because

whenever I look at you, my 

entire world comes to a standstill,

whenever I look at you, gravity 

slows down till I’m floating

mid air, wondering how life

got so good, wondering how

I fell so in love that some days

the only reason I eat is you, that’s

the thing about love- it’s not 

all consuming, and it doesn’t

incinerate me, instead it feels

like a piece of home I carry 

with me in my heart, a reminder

every time I take a step back, that

I’m not as alone as I was; a 

constant beat at the back of

my head that I hear in every silence,

that punctuates my every sentence,

that’s the thing about love,

it never leaves you lonely.

escape/ 65

So you kiss the boy and you stop

thinking about drowning, stop

overthinking for a split second,

but then he touches your waist

and suddenly you’re aware of how

big it is, how wide is is, how even

though he’s kissing you, he 

still thinks you’re fat, how even

though you’re kissing him, you

still think you’re fat, but then his

hand moves higher and your

mind is an old television set, 

your thoughts are being 

scrambled- all you can hear

is static, so you kiss him, and

you forget about shrinking for

a while and expand in his arms,

until you’re almost a world, 

until you’re almost a girl not

afraid of her own body, of 

her own mind, but it never

lasts; you used the boy as 

an escape route, as a panic 

room, as a sign that things 

don’t always have to be

twisted, but the boy always

has to leave, and you always

have to return to reality- that’s

the thing about escape, it

never lasts forever, that’s the 

thing about the boy; you can 

kiss him now but what happens

when he leaves and you 

still want to shrink? That’s the

thing about running away, 

somehow, you always end up

back where you started.

seasons/ 64

It’s the middle of summer now, 

but nothing has changed, I 

attend funerals like they’re 

parties, receive bad news like

they’re just the rent I pay for 

living, look cancer in the face 

and then look away- 

Read the entire poem on Vagabond City! 

habit/ 63

There’s this habit that 

follows me all day long, watches

me trip over my own tongue

till the only words that

can be heard are the ones I’m

regurgitating from the past, 

you see, I’ve always had

trouble adapting so sometimes

I just dont, I just carry 

home around till nostalgia is

is a noose around my foolish

neck, you see, I turned longing

into a lifestyle and now I’m 

stuck in a rendition of a past

I’m ready to forget, but 

there’s this habit that 

follows me all day long, and

I don’t think I’m strong enough

to ask it to leave, don’t think

I’m strong enough to

douse it in gasoline, don’t

think I’m strong enough

to leave it in the past.

existing/ 62

Sometimes existing feels like/ holding my own head under water/ trying to breathe/ but/ drowning instead/ sometimes/ existing feels like choosing to be shot at/ when/ I could have just swallowed some pills/  sometimes/ existing just seems like/ the harder option

high tide panic/ 61

I’m sick of my mind, sick of

its inability to let me live, sick of

the worry that envelopes it, the

panic that chains it, I’m sick 

of me, sick of dreaming of

cutting myself, sick of trying

to make myself smaller, sick

of shaking hands and a 

good for nothing body, I’m sick

of this life, it fits like a shirt 

that shrunk in the wash, which

is to say, I can’t fit into it 

without ripping it, and so I’m 

sick of it, sick of calling myself

a poet but being unable to 

write, sick of trying to be good

at things, and failing, I’m sick

of thinking so much. All I 

want is for my mind to fall silent,

for the incessant demons to 

cease their talk for a minute,

all I want is to be able to breathe

without feeling like I’m drowning.

All I want is to feel calm, instead

all I feel is high tide panic, all

I see are the waves, preparing

to overwhelm me.