a little something different.

There are very few things that hurt more than revealing your true self and being deemed unworthy. Living without artifice is an act of masochism, and yet it is the only way. What is to be gained in leaving this, your only life, without risking it all, at least once? Without baring your soul to someone you know probably doesn’t deserve it? It doesn’t seem as if there are many out there that take our hearts seriously, but every once in awhile, someone does. Someone looks past their own brokenness and sees you for who you are, with all of the awkward ugliness that comes along with being human, and just loves you. Loves your heart, your soul, your scars, your deep, unhealed wounds. Loves you even though it scares the shit out of them because they have their own scars and wounds too.

You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, and if you have to convince someone that you’re worth the trouble, they aren’t. Being complicated and imperfect doesn’t make you unlovable, but refusing to love people as you demand to be loved does. There is nothing uglier than someone who is careless with the hearts of others. Who is imperfect but demands perfection. Who destroys something beautiful, just because they can.


in the beginning.

in the beginning
were the words.
my words in the dark
creating something out of nothing
weaving chaos into the tapestry
of wasted life.
my words loved the possibility
of you.

and now my words are full of ghosts:
the girl i was
the girl i believed myself to be
the girl you think i am–
the Trinity of bad decisions,
moral compromise,
and existential decay.
i am nothing
remotely close to who i could have been.

lost in the dark
with these ghosts
and all the empty words
promises made
and broken
lies we tell ourselves
to justify an empty heart
my life reduced to words unspoken
and potential unfulfilled.

the brutality of existence
on display.
this is it
my one life
and i’ve squandered

your turn.

I haven’t forgotten
The way you casually destroyed me
And stayed for the duration
To watch me die.

That was fun.
Let’s do it again sometime
Only with you

I’m tired of it always
Being me.


here are the empty chambers
of my heart.
she filled them up
as children do
and then what would be
became what might have been
and now i’ve nothing.
the empty is worse
for having known the depth
and breadth
of fullness.
of being in love for the very first time.

i had not known heartbreak
until she left me.
not the first death–
the only.


throughout the countless lives
i have lived
i’ve looked for you
and who i know you to be.
for i know who i am not.
and the women i’ve been
deserve the pain they’ve reaped
for they have sown
nothing but chaos
and regret.
i am comfortable here
in this half-light
of a dying sun
watching a world i despise
eat itself.
i miss you today
and what we could have been
but tomorrow will come
and interminable life will erase
the ache.
in the end there is no us
only silence.


if you wanted me to leave
carved out
hollow inside
you have won.
if you wanted me to fade out to echo
i was almost there
until i found myself again.

i don’t know what you wanted
but it wasn’t me.

dead planets.

don’t lie to me again.
i can’t fucking take it.
finally i have excised the hope:
ripped it out by the root
burned it all down
and salted the earth.
nothing will ever grow here again.
the things that come after
are just echoes
ghosts of an uncharted timeline
dead planets in a universe unexplored.
and i am all burned out.