masochist

beginning

to think its real when

(it feels bad)

when i feel

(pain)

hurts so it must be worth

(it(s))

a skewed perception but it guides me down a path of destruction and

(self sabotage)

feels like progress leading to my own

end.

new york face

where im at is a state of mind
bus train taxi don't cost a dime
b-line to the spot
where goods easy to find
im done cryin
lost in time
grab my hand
its fine

the mask we hide behind

Learn love your imposter.

winter is on its way

You're your own fucking tsunami, ruining everything in your path. Yours is a brewing swell, growing and overtaking me. I can feel wet, cold, salty drops rushing down my cheeks. I'm taking cover on higher ground. I'm headed inland. I'm leaving you in your lonely town, population: one. You earned it, fair and square. For the rest of your life, you'll be living in ruins. Existing among the destruction you caused yourself. The righteous storm, your epic collapse... waves of pathetic, artificial attempts to make some sense of your tragedies. So you turn your back from the warm shores of a loving embrace, because it's easier to tower over me than to fall for me. Winter is on its way. While your freezing over, empty and alone, I'll be nowhere around, nowhere to be found.

suck.

some people just

buttons

today on my walk to work, i saw a button in a sidewalk crack. i couldnt help but wonder where the person is who owned this button. maybe in one of the tall buidlings above me, maybe driving a bus, or maybe it's the person in front of me who lost the button. then i started thinking about the poor, unassuming soul who hasn't a button...

his pants aren't fastened. he is in the office kitchen, pouring his coffee and his coworker notices but doesnt say anything. for the rest of the morning, he'll wonder why she was unordinarily stand-offish.

her blouse is open. she is running to a meeting because she's late and her eye catches an un-desired glare and from a married man who licks his lips and winks at her. for the rest of the morning, she'll feel dirty.

then, i looked down at myself.
i have all my buttons today.
do you?

untitled

We were laying in bed. He was staring at the ceiling while I read to him, but I knew he was paying attention. He was soaking up every word. I read him lots of my stories and poems, but I couldn't bring myself to read him the ones I wrote for him. Mostly because I think he would have known it.

He told me I had "talent" and I just stayed quiet. He asked me, "what could you do to get published?".

It seemed like a long time passed after that, but it was probably only a few seconds. I stared at the ceiling, too and I said, "You don't."

October 14th was a Sunday

I took a seat next to an old, black woman. We smiled at each other and she asked me where I was going. I said "no where." She asked why that was, to which I responded, "because, why not?"

For a rather uncomfortable length of time, I felt her staring at me. Then she turned away.

I decided I'd get off the bus at the corner of 15th and Market and walk the rest of the way.

leaf

yesterday, on my walk home, i picked up a leaf. it was really big, the biggest one i could find. a reminder that fall is here.

Not long after i brought my new find inside, it shrunk. it crumpled up.

i guess it died.

a small whisper, to you

i love you...
like,
do stupid things love,
make no sense love,
wish i weren't in love...
love you.

and even if you may never see this,
and even if you have no idea this is about you,
and even if you can't say it back,

i just thought you might like to know.

from the moment we met, this teeny, tiny feeling deep down inside me has grown far too big for my own good.