some of this crossposted onto my poetry tumblr
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seeing stars [written december 5th, 2024]
i had a migraine in your hoodie over the boy you wanted me to ignore for you. he gave me the painkillers to drag me out of it. i'm a n-n-nervous wreck and i'm never gonna change, my first response is always violence. trigger-happy diagnosis. i'm a fake poet, i don't know my shit. i don't know why i can't stop writing about you, i hate feeling like this. i hate being vulnerable. i can't get enough in my system because i keep trying to get something out of it. you want a boy who writes poetry about you? i'm the twisted version of everyone's dream boy, cross out my eyes with lime green lipstick [tell me to get lost while you're at it] and throw me in the ground next to serenity. i wish i could believe you were my savior. you're what killed me. at this rate, i feel like you're gonna do it again. wake up and do it all over again. a prophet, a puppet.... he'll be home in 20 minutes and he'll treat me better than any of you fuckers ever did. i keep telling myself that like it'll make the fact i still care about you better. i'm losing my mind and it's only a fucking thursday. i need to get the week over already.
me and pete, in the wake of saturday....
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cross emoji dot jpeg [written december 25th, 2024]
lord, grant me the strength to cut a bitch, the courage to wield the knife, and the wisdom to know when to stop stabbing.
i've never been one for organized religion, but the stress you cause me makes me wish i was. all of this just makes me wish i went all the way, that i couldn't fall in love, that i couldn't need another being this badly. i'm cold like the snow pouring down in chicago, burning up in my head like the sun beating down on me in fayetteville. i wish the light would put itself out, let me sleep in a little longer so i'd have an excuse not to talk to anyone. i don't think it's angled. you sure seem to. i can't remember anymore when time was on our side, can't spot the burn mark on my leg. couldn't do anything if i tried. i tried rejecting idols, but you still make me motion sick. my basement under the hill, the worst nights of my life, she ran away and left me dying and i didn't tell anyone for a week. i thought she was still out there. i would've taken her place in the pouring rain in a heartbeat. he didn't talk to me for that whole year. you didn't know me yet. i wish you'd stayed that way, for my sake and certainly not for yours, but that wouldn't be my problem, would it? raspberry slush sinuses, fireball and adderall, burn down the house before she catches on. i wish i still knew how to mind my own business. a building can be a yule log if you try hard and believe in yourself. one of my thirteen wishes is gonna end up a thirteenth reason. i don't want any of you to get worse. i feel like you're all a bit far gone. honey, she's good as gone.
i think now's when i tell you i'm dropping out.
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a heart on the outside, a thorn in the spine [written december 26th, 2024]
my quick reflexes have trained me to deflect every glance aimed at my emotions. hold me at a distance, i'm safer that way. i'm a pile of unnessecary verbosity, bitter and off-putting. don't look me in the eyes, i'm trying to act like they don't exist. you can see everything about me and i will do everything in my power to prove you wrong. just because i can't throw a punch doesn't mean i can't break your nose. i'm lemon vanilla strobelites, kiss-and-tell, ask-forgiveness-not-permission, but all you can smell is strawberry and misdiagnoses. and i know more, but retain less. the world is raw at the edges and you stay in the center. no amount of i-told-you-so's are bringing me back from the edge. it's all a ruse, but the world's a stage. time flows backwards when you're draped halfway off the balcony. it's certainly more entertaining than whatever he's doing nowadays. fifteen love confessions later, i still have yet to get [to] the point. no one's ever really gonna understand these words. i'm not sure i do. i'm still waiting for the world to start spinning again. i can't explain why this all makes me so uncomfortable. the excruciation of being witnessed must, surely, be more uncomfortable than being misinterpreted. there's no good middle ground. my sixteen candles melted down the drain. the internet just isn't the same. but i don't want to think about it anymore. you're a bad actor- try taking the bait next time. we're doing shots out of magic 8 balls, we're gonna live forever in the stars. he dreamt me. i'm made of glass and stardust. it's not my fault your eyes are too blurry to focus on me. you're just on the wrong side of blind, which explains your worldview. take the blue pill or the glasses- it's not my problem. all i see is glitter.
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the house is settling!!!! [written february 19, 2025]
i wish everything you did didn't make me concerned you were going to kill yourself. i was thinking about you [part time soulmate, full time problem] when i lit that candle, the flame bit my hand and then went out in half a second. i don't like what that says about anything. some part of me is convinced you're something twisted in the body of my brother, but i can never see myself leaving you behind. is it a crisis of faith or a midlife crisis? you'd like it that way, wouldn't you? i can't help but see myself in your eyes. i'm sorry, every single song really is about you. caraphernelia, n; the feeling you get when someone's left you behind, but you can still see the impact they left on your life. it's stored in hair-ties on wrists and old .txt files. i'm scared it's all i'll feel for you one day. you're imprinted on every inch of my soul. i cast a spell down the east coast, i had to trace back every bit of it to make myself feel better. i don't want to do anything to make you think i've done something wrong. i don't think your standards are very high. sometimes you make me hate that i love; sometimes you're all i do it for. i wish we'd both stop mood-swinging like this. i guess some things never change [there's a joke i could make here, but it's overdone.] rejoice, rejoice and fall to your knees.
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miss twitchcon [written written march 8, 2025]
and the thing is, there's something a little enchanting about coke zero and strawberry vapes, more than lotus incense and demeter's paperback was when we first got together. maybe it's a sign we're not the kids we used to be anymore. maybe i'm just in love with everything you do. and maybe it doesn't hurt with you, but i still haven't gotten the chance to properly test it out. you said our first dance would be to love, me normally, you said you'd buy me a citrine ring when you graduated. you're checkerboard bags and black hoodies, you're piercing spray and lychee tea, all the little things that make my life a little easier and brighter. i told you inches and falling was the least relatable song i'd ever heard, and you agreed even though you were walking proof i was lying. i love being in love. i don't care what it does to me. and i know i'm not lying, i really do hate being in love, but something about you is different. that, or i'm just stuck in my own daydreams, where we're living in a pile of clouds in the top of spaceship earth drinking hot cocoa and getting high. i guess we'll see, the plane's taking off tomorrow afternoon. golden hour afterglow's always better, after all. i'm in a world of my own. it's no wonder i turned out the way i did. there's a little bit of irony in how this all turned out, little blue pills and bitter poisons. i'm taking a page out of the book of rose. maybe i'm getting caught up in the process- did you really think i'd let you kill this chorus? it doesn't matter, though. it'll only ever matter when i can see my windy city out the windowsill. it's been five years and we haven't aged a day. you and your fuckin' coke zero.
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she's disappointed in you [written march 10, 2025]
she's disappointed in you. your palms get stronger with every bottle of ramune you crack open. you remember, when you were a k- you were younger, you could barely crack them open. what does growth even mean, anymore? she's disappointed in you. you sweep the floor, you make yourself breakfast, you're still learning how to do things but everyone starts somewhere. doesn't mean everyone starts well. she's disappointed in you. you meant to wash the dishes, but after you swept [you didn't do it well enough and she's disappointed in you] your back hurt too bad to keep standing up. you're still not strong. you are certainly not weak. she's disappinted in you. she claims you said you were an adult, "several times," and she's using that as all the justification she needs. the act in itself was enough punishment. she's disappointed in you. you've told her you have problems with freedom, you feel like the world is blocking you at every opportunity. at your age she had a job. at your age you are paranoid you're going to get shot every time you walk outside, and to add insult to injury, no one's hiring. she's disappointed in you. so you do something to take control, and it backfires. you run to her, gasping. laced. laced. help. please. she knows there's nothing really wrong, it was just your first time, but she still laughs at you and records it and she's still disappointed in you, even when she laughs it off. she's disappointed in you. she laughs at your jokes, but she still brings it back up. she's disappointed in you. you regretted it the second it started and she knows that. she's disappointed in you. she's disappointed in you. you're disappointed in yourself. she's disappointed in you.
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should we tell everyone? should we throw a party? should we invite frank iero? [written march 12, 2025]
it hurts to eat and it hurts worse to starve. i sneeze and propel myself into a cloud of my own snot, i'm fucking disgusting. i'm never not sick. your tolerance for gross shit gets raised after a while. my popcorn burnt in about two seconds. the instincts of a man with an anxiety disorder are not to be trusted. i'm a five-foot-nothing punk bitch who's constantly on the verge of suicide- you're calling me frank now and you didn't even get the joke. i'm paranoid to a fault, but it's saved my ass more than once. i'm desperate for connection and i hate talking to people. things aren't gonna get better without a little puke. the bigger pills aren't harder to swallow, but they leave a nasty taste in my mouth. so many stars in the sky, and i don't know why they always have to fall on me. i don't think it's all out of my system, i'm still throwing up on the inside. pray to archangel michael and maybe you'll end up where you're supposed to. my life is an inside joke. we were never meant to be here. my soul left my body on that highway and i'm still not convinced i'm alive. existence feels like a fever dream. i don't even have a home to tie myself down to- my body's in georgia, my heart's in chicago, my mind's in outer space, my head's in heaven, my soles are in hell. they say every generation's convinced the world will end in their lifetime. use it as evidence the world isn't actually going to end. to that i ask; why has it never gotten better? we saw the end so long ago, there's no reason we should still be hurtling towards it. i've got a lot of gripes with the way people talk. i've got gripes with other people in general. a notes-app poet never did nothing for society, f.t. willz and i won't be in the textbooks. maybe it's because we were too loud about what we believed in. SAD! well, there's other rhythm guitarists.