[Untitled document]
the cursor keeps blinking
through a nauseating, all-consuming white
a pointless, sisyphean task
to arrange letters into words
string along words to thoughts
tie thoughts to sentences, sentiments, imaginations
as i stand here
spinning
i want to say
exactly what i feel
i long to feel the words
i try to speak
but somehow
the page stayed empty
that i’d once easily filled
and the thick, numbing static
a vat of dense, viscous goo
this sense of heavy, empty, nonsensical flooding
is opaque
sticky
stale
familiar
mocking me
so many combinations and possibilities
and unabridged stories
i want to come out
in trivial thoughts
and clever prose
symbolic depth
and natural flow
that it stops me
from ever starting
because, i figure
it all sounded better
in my head
that all these ideas
swirling around me
are only of worth
in unpenned, indefinite
ever-changing theory
it’s as if
my constant, incessant refinement
and deletion
and reinvention
of the written word
can somehow reach into the mirror
and grasp some semblance of stability
a tight, firm grip on my own identity
but the mirror before me stares back
and i linger on all the parts i hope to change
the way her ankles blend
into flabby, fuzzy tree trunks of calves
how her knock-knees protrude worn-in doorknobs
pressed into heaps of old, lumpy playdough
how her legs’ off-center, obtuse angles widen to her thighs’ jello
jiggling, bouncing, expanding, ballooning
to entirely block any gap between them
and as her gut fills with feces and urine and half-dissolved foods
her stomach putridly gurgles and bloats
pushing out in folds and fat that weigh in beyond numbers
but numbers nonetheless
that swell her in places
she secretly wants still, tight, slim, flat
so for if i
could just
turn the right phrase
play on a specific word
find some certain thing out
figure at least something out
the figure staring back at me
trapped aglow in the bright, blank screen
would be someone i’d know
maybe even someone i’d want to write about
______________________________________________________________________________
It’s Late
i like the dark
it helps me pretend
i’m not real
that i’m on the very brink
of existence
as i focus
unfocus
and refocus at will
just barely seeing double
as ‘pre’ and ‘post’ blurs
as one and the same
my eyes are already open
or are always blinking open
and i look up
with nothing to see
and out
with no one to be
so my touch
the feel of
my clothes on me
is the only way
i know
that i’m still here
so i close my eyes
and think
and question
and wonder
who could even tell
if i just fell
but i hate the dark
and its thoughts
that creep up on me
the thoughts that
drown everyone
around me
the thoughts
that question
what’s really true
the thoughts that
never come out
to play
the thoughts that
only get louder
the thoughts
make me believe
it’s not worth it
i’m not worth it
what is worth it
the thoughts
convince me
it’d be better
to up and leave
and yet i question
and fixate
and question what i fixate on
and fixate on what i question
because
what if i want to sew together my own blanket?
mix and match the infinite colors of thread
thread through
across
over
under
criss-cross
cross-stitch my mind’s creations
no matter how much or little light i get
but then, i’ll see
and really see
not think i see
my hands already stitching
the frame of a ready-made quilt
on command, mind you
though then it won’t even matter
how or what i’ve built
so, still i guess
i love the dark
who’s only ever seen me
for me
i can’t hide
in the dark
there’s no hiding
with the dark
since it knows
before i do
what i can do
so i thank the dark
for listening
and keeping my secrets safe
from me
___________________________________________________________________________
thirty-eight minutes
bag slung over my shoulder
top cinched, drawstring taut
brimming with cotton, denim, heaps of strewn fabric
the pieces that cover my body
the extras i choose to sweat through
tear stains
or maybe just food
or maybe something i sat on
or maybe it came like that
did it rain, too?
hair up, shoes on
it’s heavy
the elevator is slow
but i trust it will come
just as the thoughts that never leave
casting shadows on trust once left for me
straining on my mind’s cable
to bring me down
portal me to the next floor
where the laundry room’s at
machines whirring, clothes spinning
vague heat and a stench of disconnect
my eyes find an empty washer
and i will my feet to walk me over
more than a couple weeks’ worth of clothes
i play pretend with
too much for this load—clearly
but how else would this work?
as clothes are meant to be
thrown in and spun around
what isn’t there to get?
so i stuff in what’s left
another towel, one more shirt
wad up a lone sock and bedsheets
wedge a flannel in between
jam in this last pair of jeans
and slam the door closed
crumpled, condensed, compact clothes
if it fits, it fits
the bag
once full, bursting at its seams
sits a sagging, deflated sack
an amorphous deformity clenched in my fist
turns my knuckles white
as i push the muted buttons
worn-down, faded, yet still runs (in spite)
delicate, cold wash
the door locks shut
i turn my back to the washer
sputtering, groaning, clanking, shuddering
as it drowns itself to function
delicately, with cold water
it’s almost something of a production
but
excessive, elaborate, exaggerated
as if it doesn’t take the same dollar
to the last fucking cent
no matter how much or little i shove in
‘cause i wave this wand that’s fused to my palm
and suddenly
there was always room after all
it’s just
i could swear
more went in than what comes out
like a true magician
who never reveals their secrets
even when it’s them
who’s both on stage
and sat in the crowd
yet
this machine is surely no act
though its hinges may buckle
the window barely cracked
just slightly wobbles
a smidge too warm
(hardly any smoke)
the frame, now bent
is still intact
thirty-eight minutes
and i’ll be back
unless
of course
i forgot detergent
______________________________________________________________________________
It’s time we’ve had a heart-to-heart
sometimes
i feel my heart
in my throat
pounding on the doors
that cage my neck
cutting into me
so desperate to leave
screaming to break free
get out
and breathe
the same heart that
echoes the rhythm of pain
and cadence of regret
begs to fall asleep
burns tears in my eyes
that really could be sweat
rips open
parts of me
i used to be
i long to be
but forgot how to see
fixates over
faults and flaws
with scars that stay
holds in so much
too much
but all this
and for what?
why keep beating
just for my sake
if i’m not as strong
as you are
for me
because
you must be tired
bearing all my weight
pulling you down
to keep me afloat
for you keep me here
in a sinking lifeboat
so it’s no wonder that
our walls are taller
our mask, thicker
when i say i’m okay
with things
you know are not
betrayed and enraged
drumming louder, quicker, heavier
eating away at me
(i’m really sorry i lost your key)
but now i’m in debt
to all your work
how hard you work
how consistent and precise and herculean is your work
that every time
i brush you aside
my hands quiver
my legs tremble
my hearing dims
my vision blurs
all trivial to
my breath too far to catch
a pace too fast to match
and still you have time
to give my feet
a nice, chilly, salty bath
smear ice across
my hands and brows and down my back
(it’s okay, i know that you’re trying your best)
your pulse reverberates
amplified against
the walls of my skull
trickling down
the nape of my neck
tightening
constricting
compressing
my chest
so i listen
paralyzed and powerless
counting the breaths you restrict
counting reasons, feelings, people i’ll miss
counting down to
come down
sit down
calm down
[five]
[four]
[three]
[two]
counting on you
so tell me
what to do
because they say
i should follow you
and i want to, too
but how could i
if you can’t even
give me
a god damn clue
if only
there were more room
to fix you a mouth and voice
logic stitches in
with a reason to explain
the ways of my brain
to tell me how we feel
and show me how we work
together to heal
maybe then
i’d know how
to listen to you