Late Night Pollution One hour ago, you told me I was nothing. You sent it in a text, the message ricocheting off some satellite in space, And I was embarrassed knowing the stars had seen your words to me. Forty-six minutes ago, you told me you were sorry. Your voice seeped through the speakers of my phone like smog, Laced with a familiar, deep irony that sent chills up my spine. Thirty-one minutes ago, you asked if you could see me. I sighed because imagining your presence made my throat burn, And yet my hands still buzz with the thought of holding yours. Nineteen minutes ago, you said you wanted your shirt back. I threw it away but your scent still lingers under my fingernails, My skin itching with the knowledge that I can't scrub your impressions off of me. Seven minutes ago, you promised you were clean. But I know you still search for answers at the bottom of every bottle, And in every cloud of smoke you exhale from your damaged lungs. One minute ago, you stumbled to my door. I can hear my name on your tongue in the night air, permeating my thoughts, And I wonder if the blade against my veins will make you go away.

pigment Underneath my eyes, partially obscured by the lashes, Dark circles have begun to flower through my pale freckled skin. Every night I water them with sleep deprivation, And by morning they are so striking it hurts to look at. They are a secret pride of mine, A sadistic pleasure that burns in my stomach at the sight of my gradual decay. The haunting bruises seep down through my skin and crawl up to my brain, Where they evoke an ever constant pressure that crushes the thoughts right out of my head. The pain travels slowly down my limbs, Exhausting every one of my muscles one at a time. I can actually feel the discoloration blooming under my eyes. I can't remember the last time I slept. #poem

Insomnia Noise Your feet crunch loudly on the ground A retched, hollow burning sound In your chest your heart does pound You are the lost waiting to be found Your skinny legs continue to sway Your skin begins to slowly fray Trapped in endless shades of gray This scene is turning too cliché So change it up before you trip Teeth catch your gnarled bottom lip Your clothes snag and start to rip Just as the rain begins to drip You're in two places at one time Reality is hidden deep in the grime Like the two sides of a dime A bed of trees for you to climb Above, the leaves have fallen still Though your heart still acts as a drill Predators lean in for the kill You're forced to rely on one last pill This one will hopefully put to bed The sleepless monster that you dread These nightmares from which you are fed Are the result of insomnia in your head

your flowering roots I'll dig you up from your roots, Then you can sing the blues. Analyze every note So that you keep in tune. If I dig you up by the roots, There's no way you can break. I'll keep you just as perfect As the sunset on the lake. Then I'll take you away, In some stained and fragile vase. I'll judge you by your appearance, The contours of your face. I'll take you far away from The home you once had known. Place you by my window instead, And watch how your petals glow. And eventually, you'll start to wither, Though I may not know why. Oh, I've forgotten to fill it with water, That's why you've begun to cry. Now it's far too late, You're already fading away. Your roots were just so perfect, But they're dried out today. If I'd left you in your blooming days, You'd still be safe and sound. You would have never left your home, Rooted deep in the ground. I was only trying to help, But I've done the opposite. I shouldn't fix what isn't broken, Now your roots will never fit.

princess? Once upon a time, There was a fragile girl. She wasn't locked away in a tower Or destined for world. She wasn't daughter to a king and queen, A pride of all around. No, she came from a rather poor And rattled little town. She didn't fit the glass slipper, Didn't live with seven dwarves. And she certainly didn't dream of Ever having something more. She didn't live deep in the ocean, Wasn't under some dreadful curse. This little girl was battling Something so much worse. She suffered a thing called cancer, And it raged under her skin. She might not ever get her fairytale, She might not even win. Her strength made her beautiful, A diamond in the rust. And she never lost sight of herself, Keeping faith was a must. And even though she was sick, She glowed with fierce delight At the smallest little things. I feel like she could win this fight. Our views on fairytales are warped, Disney's wrong, you see. The real princesses are the fighters, The ones you don't see on tv.