art · ED · life · love · mentalhealth · Uncategorized


It calls to her like a siren,
on the sea bed.
Her hair is in long soft curls,
and her skin is a porcelain vase.
strong and curious.
This is not a reflection,
rather an aesthetic apparition, of herself.

The water is as cold as ice,
and she knows that if she goes to reach the siren,
her body –
her cage –
will act as an anchor.
Pulling her down to the unfortunate fools who fell for
the fickle nature of facade flesh. 

This is a hunger for more than just the imaginary,
one you can only ignore –
until you cannot.
And so, she will tread through tremble tides,
drown on salt water tears,
and cut her feet with decaying dreams.
Choking on iodine solutions.

Only to have this illusion combust
as she places bloated hand on pale thigh.
The youth and beauty of the divine she so longed for –
warped and winced into a whirlwind that grabbed her and pulled her to the

Her, Woman,
Yearning and lonely.
Defeated by a perceived perfection that infected her mind and her soul.
Now she rests, released from the burden of flesh,
With the Women like her,
and the gentlemen callers who see her
undress to calcium curves.

art · culture · life · love · relatable · Uncategorized

Bathe In Me

I remember long after my heart had let go, I had to let my mind go too.
So I took the pieces of paper with the cursive curse of love notes, set it on fire and let it float across the water. Far away from me. Then I left.
Not just the body of water, I left the town, I left my friends, I left my previous thoughts on how to live.

Because I realized that if you only feel love in certain parts of you, for someone else,
that you are betraying not only yourself, but also them.
So I ran. From everyone.
I ran face first into the reality that I was not only trying to escape them, but I was also trying to escape myself.
There were parts of me that I didn’t love, not entirely.

I spent a lot of time outside, in the cold.
My fingers they do this weird thing when I’m outside for too long in the cold. They swell up, making it hard to use my hands. Weird – I know. Which essentially meant that I literally would just sit there. For hours. Watching the mind dust float around and thinking about my own existence.
Within these hours, accumulated over years, I began to unravel my own darkness and I started to understand it, become friends with it.

When you take a bath, you enjoy it don’t you? Well, it’s much like that. See when you are taking a bath, you’re bathing in your own filth – essentially.
Yet baths are sometimes the most relaxing thing you can do after a long day.
Embracing each part of yourself is just like that.
A hot bath, or a cold bath.
Where the water accepts every inch of you,
and you can just silence the world.

Bathe in your own filth,
your shadow isn’t going anywhere,
it’s just as big as you are –
and it’s eager to hold you.

art · culture · love · relatable · Uncategorized

Wild Sugar

I have sugar in my hair
it’s four in the morning.
I can’t sleep because I am scared
of the things
you left me

Marzipan marmalade
in the evening.
a fever forever burning.
They may have been bruised,
but they were just
as sweet.

I have sugar in my hair
it’s four in the morning.
I am dreaming about
being eaten
by leopards.

art · culture · life · love · relatable · Uncategorized

Budding Heads

We have all had
where the emphasis
is placed on

where weak and wild intermingle
to create confusion.
Where you wonder
if you’ve gotten relief and happiness confused with one another.

Well the saying goes,
April showers bring May flowers.
In turn, I will create tulips from my tears and feed the Earth with my shameless essence.
I will keep my heart on my sleeve, to show that it can be done.

Even if,
the cold air burns it
or the heat exhausts it.

If forests set themselves on fire to welcome new growth,
why shouldn’t I.

art · culture · life · relatable · Uncategorized

The Human in Humane

We would share coffee.
Thomas liked his coffee black,
and his sandwiches best without iceberg lettuce.
Sam would hold me and cry,
because she swore she could see the angel inside of me,
and it reminded her to feel.

Observations I would replay,
each day,
growing closer.
I would return to my home,
knowing that they had no home.

These people,
with rosy cheeks, cold skin, and warm hearts
taught me lessons.
Of loss,

Not all education comes in the form of a textbook,
or a scholarly seminar.
Some of the worlds most valuable education is from
the people
surrounding you.
The people who want to feel,
the people who feel deeply, but no one wants to listen.
They have lived things you have not,
they can humble you,
and teach you the beauty of humility.

Let us try to understand humanity,
before we try and control it.
Let us practice forgiveness,
before we cripple ourselves.

I urge you to smile,
to give,
to be patient,
and to try and
We are not all born into corruption,
or into stability.
But we are all born,
with love.

art · life · love · relatable · Uncategorized

Reach for Reality

 Chain smoking due to chain loathing. Desiring a head hush but instead receiving a head rush. An attempt to make sense of the silver snow in the sky.

These spots spin in streams – eyes open – eyes closed. They create images and ask me to touch them, but I never can.

Not physically. 

I stare at myself long enough to know that it is actually me looking back. Vision cutting in and out of focus, as pupils weaken.

I close my eyes and they dance. The silver  creates illusions of another vacant place where I might be able to fit. Like dimension diving from reflections off of glass, and the heat of a stare that you cannot see.

It just is.

Simply, not.


art · culture · life · love · relatable · Uncategorized

La paresse de l’intimité

I see
these people
with their paperback pussies
dripping with illiteracy,
flipping through pages and readers,
in hopes to receive a Masters in Love Making
— but instead contracting something entirely different.

I feel
these people
with their shadowed hearts,
expecting it to grow in the dark.
Watering only to say it’s been done
not for nurture — just for fun.

I hear
these people,
too bold to ignore — but too vulgar to flaunt,
With a lust too strong,
gasping out words,
from scripts hardspoken
better left

I want
these people
to be aware of not an anthology of asses,
but to know the weight
on their chest,
of something worth more than a moment at best.