make like a tree & fuck off

the leaner i get, the softer i reveal my
self to be. met a woman who was a
new jersey ghost of my former
self, though i was never quite
That harsh. she spent the mixer
talking about her self, how
men in LA are “too soft” and that her
last lover left due to her sharp
edges. myself, i find the men here
a momentary reprieve from war. in another
life, i was tightly spooled, perpetually
having to have been at my destination
ten minutes ago. and nowadays,
i do not require that level
of armour, so brassy and self-isolating. i
can exhale. drop my shoulders. i am still
bold, i am still assertive and
cocksure, but with far
softer edges than before.

wouldn’t his words make you wish
to sheath those edges, i asked— just
a skosh? to evolve?

her whole aura frowned. she
did Not agree. (still got it, V.)

if it ain’t broke

i miss you and i wish i didn’t. seeing
you after so many months was akin to
being plunged into the january atlantic.
my entire body reacts to you still, even
from a distance where you are trying
your damndest Not to look at me. (me
fucking too.)

you read things i’d heard before, in
another life in your bed. and
hearing your voice brought electric
twinges of sadness. i long for
a future where you’ll be around, where
things will be different between us,
better. fun. drunk. happy. no cold
words where once there was

but instead, you’re somehow more dis-
connected than i; broke but with no
fix. all i know is fixing, my whole
life. “approach everything like a problem,
you’ll be a hammer where every
fucking thing looks a nail. don’t be
so cynical, it’s unbecoming”, my
mother always told me when i was young
and dumb. i thought that it would save
me from being burned like that again,
but it only makes me distant. and right
now, i am cooked. of course, she was
right. wrapping yourself in cynicism
is a good way to drown. no more
stones in my pockets.

i wish you the best of
every damn thing. i hope you’ll
have me around someday

all candy

rage paves the way for sorrow
and then regret. i find myself holding you
close to my heart and my mind, slowly
driving myself into a pothole. you are
never far, and

i know you feel it too. come on out
and dance instead. think of
me, think of the moments we could be
stealing instead of dead air suffocating
the both of us beat by beat. i long
for your touch, hollowing me out
and then ending it all.

the shape

the new year’s day,
when the roof caved in. the film
moved me from tears to an
unending sense of
absolute dread and nothing was
the same after that.
guilt, a steady piercing ache
humming in my head like the
emergency broadcast system.
electric and sour.

the bar,
silently sitting staring and
stirring my whiskey rocks, i can recall
that exact moment i knew we were
done— an albatross deep in my chest
years later. my shame is
immeasurable and trying to piece it all
together now feels futile. but as i find
myself again, ounce by ounce it

another frightening dawn.


fuck physicists
who don’t know about us, how
we lust and love and
fuck and yell and cry and sweat
and oh my god,
i am so tired. have been since
the day i arrived,
but you’re tired
too. and yet— brilliantly,
you are a constellation that
keeps changing, flitting, flirting,
fitting. we are sultry matter
circling and swirling. go faster to
see what happens when we crash
into each other once more, drawn
like magnets in the breakdown.