It's been a while since my poetry
visited these dark chambers of my imprisoned...
Sitting alone out in the cold
Begging for a speck of hope to hold...
Not knowing who we are
Not knowing where to go...
Did you feel how easily my skin squished?
How it oozed between your ringed prints...
Oh, little house, where once I grew,
You hide behind the green...
Leveraging the greater good against the warmth of...
Belies a train of thought better to divide and...
september hovers over my bloated fingers before
pressing her petite lips on them and leaving...
Take me back to the days when your coughing fits...
When I thought it was bad that you’d forget to...
Mud on the doormat,
wind rushing...
There is always this moment
before a car smash...
I feel like I want to write about
Someone who hates her own skin...
looking back I don’t recognize
that girl hiding in the closet...