Category: Poetry

PTSD

Driven Mad By Time

Something is wrong with this class

chocolat

Something is wrong; I’ve discovered a terminal illness

That makes me sit in class with a death-like stillness

Leaving scars on my conscience; a limb must be severed

The remedy is bankrupt, despite my endeavors Continue reading

Pillow talk

school
Schooling is not the same as education
education - it is sacred.
Here it is commodified - twisted, manipulated, thrown away
with every spit bubble lazily popping at your mouth, every glazed over look you give your teacher Continue reading 

Life is a real nailbiter

wolf

I don’t know why I’m not learning

that when your conscience is hurting

you can just go about turning

your cuticles into victims.

When your life is going off the rails

you take it out on your nails

the sad state that your violence assails

red, raw, and bitten.

Guest Post: The Conductor

You are not alone: a monologue about college decisions

free

People are finding out about their colleges and

on one hand, I am so happy for them.

But at the same time, I want to rip my hair out

Because I have hallucinated 6 times today

Cruelly rejected myself 3 times and

Twice ecstatically accepted myself and

Once cold-bloodedly deferred myself.

Tomorrow seems to be a path with two forks in the road

leading in opposite directions.

Continue reading

A memory I never had: a poem about poems

moon

I’m standing on a stage, and I feel a billion pairs of eyes staring intently and expectantly up at me.

I’m standing on a stage, and the whispers that float around in the downtime between acts fade into non-existence as I open my mouth.

I’m standing on a stage, and I’m not holding a guitar or sitting on a piano bench – it’s just me, in front of the microphone – no one knows what to expect.

Continue reading

Intense, like no other

Intense, like running a burned finger under cold tap water

Intense, like debating for 3 days straight

Intense, like the way you devote your life to something unconventional

knowing there are so many reasons for which it could fail, but holding on because of the one reason it might work out

Intense…is the way I feel about you. Continue reading

at night, my mind wanders