vivid dream activity

not even death has to be a disaster
death can just be an illusory smell
that stays in the nostrils weeks after
something traumatic happens to your body
an unexplainable wrench
no one will understand when
you ask ‘do you smell that decay’
but then you remember a time that
where you had your face pressed
up to death
non happenings stick
quarantine has dismantled time
the space between life and death
has now become the
infinite version of it still
we all feel it
we’ve all been bashed inside

be happy, baby

stay soft yet strong
let that radiate from your
sunken eyes

made me no
molded me
crazy
the pain
made me crazy

now I distance myself
from people like me
women like me
who say innocent
things in order to be dismissed

numb the trauma
numb the trauma don’t rehash
it hide it, but numb it
don’t let it show
don’t , it only makes people feel bad
for you
for themselves
for the state of society
we only feel this pain and then
we die

am i

I only have time to creep on
social media I only
have time to stare at someone
from my past

my adult life, my twenties
can be summed up to what
today was

I woke up at 9am with the November sun
beaming through broken white blinds
I layed in bed thinking about where
it went wrong

I forced myself to journal three morning
pages they always seem
to be about me missing someone

then I went to the clinic because
HPV was a concern
turns out it’s just a skin irritation
the doctor reported this to
me with so much joy
I kept that joy for a few hours
after I left

then I shoved peanut butter cups
in my mouth while silently
color coding a rack of long sleeve
shirts thinking about my place
in capitalism thinking about
the fall of capitalism

feeling the band aid from the blood
that i had drawn earlier suffocate
the crevice of my arm
I got home showered and then
ripped an inch of my skin off
while taking it off
raw red
thin
I go to bed

looking through my diary

We sit by the ocean
while eating grapefruit,
and gazing
through white windows

A tea party is automatically nostalgic
lip biting returns while diving further into the future, adulthood
and whatever that means,

The painting by the ocean is prettier
than the others
due to the salt, and its healing properties

I am in the air,
planning something for a future moment

three weeks from now
that might end up being too late when executed

Bag lady

That sheet of metal that you have installed as a roof
isn’t preventing you from drowning.
The sun cannot reach you,
your head is dry,
preventing growth,
suffocating the sprout.

It’s October,
the month of the soul.
I can feel the change and introspection happen
within the melancholy earth colors.

This time last year I was almost in the same state of mind.
Wanting to grow,
but following a blueprint
of what others have found successful.
The true blueprint I should follow is
the one of the trees.
Let the baggage fall.