I invite you to love

your big toe
and that small one
with the tiniest little nail
you don’t know why you bother painting it
but you do
don’t want any of you

left out

I invite you to love
your imperfect skin
the part you still tear at in the mirror
every scar that reminds you of the times lost
to seeking perfection
and ending up ten steps behind

I invite you love
the parts of you that show up
even though often late
and those parts of you that never make it

I invite you to love
that part of you that still struggles to trust self
still sees self as enemy
cannot cradle self’s wounds in the care you always deserved

I invite you to love
that part of you that gets stuck in the grocery aisle
leaves empty handed because
you couldn’t decide between crunchy and smooth
and love
the hungry part of you that regrets it later
wishes you could just choose

I invite you to...

The sun fell for the moon
but it seemed the timing was wrong.
Heat sinking into land
they all aligned to say goodbye
and he arrived to light the darkening sky
but it was always
too late.

I am reminded of how he said I was his light
we
a perfect balance
but always on separate pages
me
grateful to at least be reading the same book.

I asked if I could paint for him
he wanted dark
I think how that’s all I know
but am stopped
in crossing a boundary that we never made clear.
Afraid it may be
too much this time
and so I’ve learned to keep quiet
to keep art close to my bones
until it explodes.

He says, “poor thing,”
he worries about how long I let myself suffer
he says, “come to me sooner,”
but I’m always afraid I’ll bring darkness he doesn’t want
to hang on the bare walls of his apartment

When I feel the loneliest
I turn my phone off so I can pretend
there is real...

When I approached you as onion
bruised but somehow sweet
still somehow fresh
I wondered
how many layers to your core
so you told me the truth
but it wasn’t
so you told me the truth
but it wasn’t
so you told me the truth
and now
I stand inside of you
peering through rib cage as prison
wondering how much healing until I can get to the outside
and it’s not normal
that your stories became my burden
like father, and brother, and brother
and mother whom I rarely am able to look in the eye
I see how much her back has carried
and it’s not normal
and when you speak to me
I can only find truth so comical now
it is the only way to rattle these ribs
create enough space
make my escape
so I may once again approach onion
turn around as I find
it is not my job to peel, to chop, to cook
I am woman
but now so woman that I kneel before them
wrap scarves around their necks
as she...

I learned the best way to enjoy my day
Was to make sure you did
Make sure we walked so much your pace slowed
And matched mine
That I had to continuously check that you were still there
And that my hand wasn’t holding onto nothing
Until my hand was behind my back pleading that you hurry up
I fake jog for you
Just to make sure it’s still in you to run
It is
You always save some of yourself for when if it’s needed later
My best days
Are the days I make promises to you that you can’t understand but I follow through anyway
Tell you we are going to the trail that day and now we have to
I don’t want you to not trust me to keep my word
So we end up at the trail often
Even when I don’t want to
I can’t imagine what it ever meant for you to be lied to
To be told love you forever but take you to cages
Sign you in and walk away
I wonder if they’ve ever looked into your eyes and saw how you...

We were always
haunted house
always illusion
couldn’t trust our eyes
in what was real
you
were never more real
than the space your fantasy
took inside my head
now I
live inside your head
I have made your bones a home
I
am creaking floor boards
slamming kitchen cabinets shut
who is crazy now
if not you?
look
how you wish you never met me
fuck them like you can fuck yourself out of me
shake yourself an exorcism
only left head spinning 180
turn around and I still stand
watch me
carve my ghost into your bones
make blanket of your flesh
and in those fleeting moments
when I leave you
you’ll only feel the cold
wonder where the breeze has come from
only to find out it is your own
old love
you have kept me eyes glued open countless nights
I have cried
my body dry
now
I have made your body home
bury you
and together
we will rot our bones

It is September
nearing October
nearing November

I am afraid.

I am afraid to spend the holidays alone.
My friends invite me to their families’ holidays.

I am more afraid
to feel more alone at my friends’ holidays.

It is September.

4 of this year’s 12 months
remain undocumented
everyday
is a wish for tomorrow to be over sooner.

My friends still call.

I don’t always pick up for my friends.

Don’t always answer honestly when people ask how I’m doing.

It is fine and okay and okay and okay
until I am crying when someone reads a poem about depression
until I feel more heard in that poem than I feel heard by my friends.

When that poem called I picked up.
Went on stage later like nothing ever happened.

I know how to dress depression well.

Until I am alone again.
Until I am driving home again looking at windshield through tear blurred eyes
this is now common occurrence...

my recovery date
is everyday that I open my eyes
and choose to get out of bed

it is everyday I open my eyes
and stay another hour
another hour
another hour

it is alarm clocks
and snoozes

it is everyday
I survive

it is nighttime
when I rest my head on my pillow

my recovery date
is not calendar marked

isn’t 472 and counting
isn’t
starting back at 0

it is every 0 and
all of the days before that

it isn’t what I put in this body
isn’t what this body spits back

isn’t shame laced single digits
or pride laced decades

it has nothing to do with
drinks
nothing to do with drugs

it has everything to do
with still showing-up
little to do with
show and tell

and everything to do with
trying again
and again
and again

the kids don’t fall in love
like they used to
don’t Jlo Miami Glow
spritz their love notes
don’t pass love notes
hand written

kids these days
send texts at a distance
love
is way less exciting
wrapped up in
digital addiction
let the vibrate go off
and beg to see his name
if only for an instance

then wait
play attachment theories
at their bestest
and when things go sour
delete message threads
to leave no trace behind
move on
to the next digits

kids these days
only know digits
can’t recall paper folded
fortune tellers
don’t fly paper airplanes
don’t M.A.S.H.
their futures
bright
or grim
14 kids and counting

kids these days
don’t
peppermint patty
don’t know how her story goes
that day she was walking
don’t secret handshake
and spin
end it with a five
then a ten
don’t dance on the playground
for no one to witness but them

only live for tik tok...

I am painting my nails black
mourning the loss of me in the mix of you
she isn’t coming back
we hang her innocence on barbed wire
her skin blows in the wind of yesterday and tomorrow
and I cannot cloak myself in her being
pretend that she can feel like me again
and the more time that passes
I watch parts or her fly away carried by the winds of yesterday and today

and I look at my raw bones
notice they are learning to carry less weight
and how strong
for a woman to bear only that which she can take.

little russian tears
pouring into american soil
we just dont speak the same language
I
have forgotten the words for turtle and whale
remember return
but don’t know how to paint the entire picture
see how
grandmother
never got to read my poems
native tongue slipping
cant cut the tension
with secondary weapons
or tools
or maybe its always been both no matter what sounds
are caught slipping
now
tears shed on american soil
encompassing russian bodies
and I dont know
in what language she’ll hear me
or if she watched me let her go
lips glued together
sort of smiling
like it was never about language
always
just about letting go.