---

this is poetry
about leaving childhood.
it makes me wonder

why you think we can
fit adolescence
into set stanzas.

when i was a child,
i picked poetry out of
the skies like ripe fruits,

and fermented lyrics
to squash between my toes like
grapes so I could make

the best out of my
experiences as a
tiny pugilist.

#15 - Waiting on a Blue Moon

last night,
I saw your half-moon smile
break out through the clouds,
and it still hurts to say
that the lunar lady
has not yet graced us
twice this month

5

I am sold. The sparse words
you exchange with me like currency
turn me into a beggar; starving for pennies
you drop carelessly into my upturned palms
cracked with your frigid bitterness.

4

My skin has worn itself paper thin
pining for you, and the edges are frayed.

I am done being parchment,
because you made our love biodegradable.

There are chains made out of cardboard that wrap around my legs
the same way you begged me not to stay because I weaken you.

SOS

i sometimes worry
when you brush your lips
up against my lycanthrope mouth
that there will be no transformation
to justify pushing you away
for your own good

because i bit all my past lovers in the jugular
with kisses so sanguine their veins sang my name
and i can still feel them awakening to my voice
echoing through their heartbeats

elephant gun

I miss how you
spun around my soul
with androgynous kisses
and lifted me off the ground
as if the laws of your physics
put your priorities above gravity
until I was so dizzy
in the centrifuges
of your tailspin
towards gender roles
that I fell out of love

freeze dried romance, 5 hour phone conversations

this isn't the first night

i've spent staying up with you
until you have exhumed your soul
from the crevasses of emotion

liberated your broken heart
from women you proclaim
i am nothing like

so i will never be worth the effort

I constantly find myself
torn between the insides of my thighs
and indecision between good intentions
that pave a gilded path towards perdition
that you curl upwards towards heaven
like a sneering lip

but I admit that I love it
when your diction twirls me
around your fingertip until
I am at your beck and call