she decorates her space with paintings
she painted for her grandma
but when death came
she took these parts gifted and hung them
on her walls
paints her nails black most times
but also enjoys colors
decorates and redecorates walls
moves desks and lays down rugs
returns rugs for her toes crave more softness
thinks about standing and sensitivities
reminds herself she’s not crazy for wanting her toes
to rest on soft landings
justifies how many hours they will remain
and how important their comfort is.
She decorates time with laughter
keeps time with people she feels heard with
and with those who also ask for her ears
sometimes,
poems pause the moment from A to B
gives her A.5 and something to share about
decorates time with dog walks and performances in her office
for only herself and a mic that’s never been
plugged into a speaker
calls it practice
as she sleeps she dreams...

they say love can move mountains
I assume
I am surrounded by the sea
assume
love can too, swim
but don’t know, really
which is easier?
is it hiking
until oxygen barely pulses through veins?
or head underwater
gasping
is loving me
worth the danger
of you running out?

falling in love
wraps me up in all sorts of
everything
pulls me up to the city sky
and I look down at all of it
glad to finally be away from it
love
pulls me away from it

has me think
down
is never a place I’ll wander to again
until down
is the space I’m looking up from
wonder
where flight and butterflies
go to die?
wonder where we go to mend the pieces?

love
never again
tell myself
love
only slower next time

take love lost
as lesson
love arriving
as warning to slowdown

but love is often fast
often skipping
knows only on
and off
and nothing in between

I say love
next time let’s be friends
let’s visit the city sky in the daylight
let’s hike to the 13th floor
so we can remind ourselves
heights like these take efforts
and it’s much better
when you can feel sturdy
beneath your feet

but love
doesn’t always listen
I mean I
don’t always listen

my dad looks at the sun
and calls it the moon
I scream
“but don’t you feel the heat?!”
my dad says
“heat isn’t something you feel,”
I watch the sun rays land on his face
so he moves us to the shade of a tree
I say
“you see dad
how the sun shines so bright
you take shelter”
my dad says,
“the moon
is beautiful tonight.”

I look at the bright sky
but fear asking him its color.
I look at yellow dandelions
as my father complains
of the dying red roses
where are there are none
I take the white parachute flower
and try to wish his ignorance away
but instead
pieces of me are taken with the wind
I grasp and grasp
but open to see only an empty hand
my dad
sits silently
speaks only to complain
“the moon is unlike I remember it,”
he says
“I know dad,”
I say,
“this one is brighter
so bright we take shelter under the tree,”
my dad nods
quietly
and I surrender to the...

I eat dinner at 9 pm
thank you hello fresh
for
everything.

I can be your
mental health case study
put my face on your reviews and write
“I was going to skip another meal
until I couldn’t but I didn’t.”

• Irina, recent customer, 1st box, 2nd recipe

It’s a big deal.
Cuz I’ve justified skipping meals
for all the sleeping
don’t need all those calories if I’m out
14 hours a night
a restless bliss till tired morning.

But I beat depression
one dish at a time.

Fill the dishwasher full and truly
truly consider wiping the counters
how much is the state of our kitchens,
a reflection of our minds?
I almost scrub it clean
create an illusion I might fool myself
into buying tomorrow.

How many times can I clean the bathroom
till it loses it’s luster?

How many drawers re-arranged
until sadness returns?

How quickly the vacuum lines
leave my rug
how fast the dog hair...

I walk into a kitchen
full of dirty dishes
sink
doesn’t know itself
to be any different lately

walk into my living room
dog food
has crawled from kitchen tiles
to living room carpet
I have been looking at these crumbs for days

the vacuum
is all set and ready to go
cord
pulled form it’s core
plug
laying at the foot of the outlet
but the dirt remains

I walk into my bedroom
unkept bed
dog hair
has begun to build foothills
in every corner

I did not shower today
my sheets
must hug this salt soaked body

because this body
still makes it to the gym

but the gym
no longer brings home joy

I ask
what came first?

Depression
or this unmade bed?
Dishes
or deprivation of things that
once made me happy?

I show up to therapy
like I know how
there are two of them now
and some weeks
I make the drive three times

I don’t feel like I’m getting any better.

Ask...

once a month
I count down the days to the day
my body tries to out bleed itself
I wash blood soaked fabric after blood soaked fabric
shocked
there is enough blood to still feed my cells

one time
an explosion started in my body
my body knew I couldn’t handle the pain
so it knocked me out
this is where I learned
how I am not my body
it blows my mind that there is a mechanism
designed to save me from incoming pain
to separate me from this bag of flesh
only to come back to it later

sometimes this thing that is designed to heal
can make itself sick from the inside
I woke just in time for detonation
I waited for death that never came
just an ambulance that was too late
and a man
asking if it was just a panic attack
I’ve never panicked my way into passing out
or woke my way into so much pain
I couldn’t stand the heat
tried to rip all the clothes off my body
...

I wonder which poem
healed me first?
Like,
my body grew a few years
after I wrote about how frail it was.
I am 10 pounds heavier than when I wrote it.
I can’t perform it
without thinking how I’ve physically outgrown it
how what once was too skinny
now out chin-ups the boys
I want to write so many poems
and win a strength contest against all of them.
I want to be 10 pounds heavier than
every heart break
I want to read every poem
and say it’s not my place
say I’ve out-healed it too much
for it be genuine
want my poems to make a liar out of me
unless it’s one of the good ones
like
I only want to write good ones
that even when I feel like I’m lying
I wish
I was performing the truth.

We can’t talk about sustainability
without talking about ourselves
without remembering our childhoods
what our bones are made of
or where our bodies go to rest.

Our bones hold parts of the stars
our cells
are the tiniest solar systems
magnetized to our centers
the earth
keeps all of these moving parts of us together
she holds onto us so tightly
but still
gives us the pleasure of being let go
so we visit the moon
only to find that there is
so much depth
to our oceans

exploration ends
only when we decide
that there
is nothing left for us to discover
but watch
a child play in the mud for an hour
and tell you
his favorite part?
is the sound that it makes.

let it remind us, when we were curious enough
to get our hands dirty
when we found pride
in grass stained knees
when we knew there was only one place
that guaranteed us peace
and it was
with the wildflowers.

But...

If given the chance to ask
I wonder what the earth would call us?
Silly animals or intelligent beings?
We will never truly know
but given a guess, I guess
it depends on the day.

When I remember my youth I am tempted
into saying silly
but know
sometimes I knew then
what my mind has forgotten now
but still my bones hold onto.

Your bones hold parts of the stars
you are as much a part of the earth
as you are silly animal walking upon it
as you are intelligent being flying over oceans and land

Remember, how sometimes
we tried to jump so far forward we fell back
put so much food on the table that the world starved
for the full few
sometimes
I think I am the full few
other times
I am starving for more than my plate can carry
to a leaning table’s edge
everything
is so temporary
but watch
how we can digitize impact into permanence
how we can look back and say,
remember...