Mojave

You said as I stared “I think the colors of the desert sunset are quickly becoming my favorite colors.” Even at the tips of mountains, I am the valley. I sit in the loudest silence and the brightest dark and am left alone to eat and breathe cold breeze. It is the most overflowing pour…

Things to cleanse yourself of

Things to cleanse yourself of: the skin that hands touched. words that scraped into your chest the moment they were dribbled out of spiteful mouths —-in your own language. The weight that threatens to crack your ribs —-.––––––––––––that’s made from one thousand days you could ——––––––––have been better if you just – -and a thousand…

Killing Time in the Desert

Not love nor power are luminescent like a burning burning summer fireball starry sky. Freckled universe. I am. burning from within and hope for my skin to show the same thing that I swallow like a rock when I am resigned to screaming behind plexiglass. And yes, when made burned it feels to finally release…

Asleep at the Wheel

I used to sleep in my car. In reserved lot space 341. Where claustrophobia becomes the new standard speed of your heart and breath. Amazing what we get used to. The-unprepared-for’s. A lot of things make us claustrophobic, don’t they? Sometimes at night I would wake up surrounded by doors as if they were cement,…

I am what makes dirt wet

And when I was 20 I finally learned to spit in the dirt. To make mud of the excess disgust built up in my mouth tucked behind teeth next to the words I wish I’d screamed. It wasn’t until 22 that I learned to scream the words when they came up at all. I live…

Dirt Crusher

Nothing intersects. We have no business going any other way but this. Off-roading as an act of force, as a disrespect and disregard to everything we were born to and constructed from. You do not crush dirt as if you are not of atoms of the very same. You miss the point. If you believe…

Breaking Up With a Storm

Breaking up with the pretty girl. From the start it’s not enough when the thing that fills you is the sight and not the sustainable affect. I love seeing the pine and lumber silver road and mountains of the same color. But the beauty in gray – that every love poem has claimed exists –…

Too Much and Not Enough

I put so much into you. TraumaDramaFactsSadnessIrrationalIrrationalSad I still overflow, though. Make no mistake. I am a mutated flower with too many petals. I am a storm-riled ocean with only strength in uncontrolled waves. But they’re not uncontrolled. They’re precise. I don’t pick and choose battles, I fight out of myself and hope it catches…

Nothing

I’m not something. I’m not it, I’m not it. I’m not it. Why does it hurt most to speak the feeling of indescribable unnameable permanent forever grasping. Desperate to be the tail of some severed worm and I’m the worm. Get ahead of it as if any memory is a real thing. Time is an…

Real Tangible Cold Fear

This is not a poem. Straight forward for full transparency I’m afraid of more hands but more than that I’m afraid of failing again. Of having to keep quitting. I finally get to write it down. More than trauma more than some triumphant overcoming, I’m a quitter. I quit on my successes because I didn’t…

Twigs.

I was born in March and somehow the month of your birth always feels like the weekend or the inhale of your life. If that’s the case then fall is the death of my life. The anniversary before the event. I’m not a pleasure chaser. As much as I celebrate dopamine and white knuckling, I…

Stargaze

I find that I am constructed only of a telescope in fog. Strangely now I am a dormant searcher. Once I lived for outside and now I live for the self I don’t believe in. Strangely now I look through the eyes that I don’t trust. Still, My hands are not weak. My hands are…