World Mental Health Day/ A Poem

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We’re holding on as tightly as we can.
Fingers gripping on to feeble articles of meaning,
Trying to ground ourselves within this mess of this spinning globe we call The Earth. Continue reading

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I Still Dream

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I used to fill my bedroom up with vinyls carrying hope, voices that would bounce off the lavender walls and against the posters of my favorite tv shows.
Polaroids glued to the mirror on the verge of falling off this is how I used to see yesterday.  Continue reading

Stepping Stones

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He liked to chew bubblegum, kept it underneath his tongue, he said it made him feel grounded. More in control. Scrunched up poetry in messy handwriting strewn across pages in white he would hold them in his palm before it melted into a fist and it was almost like the words were written to be washed away. Continue reading

Eighteen Years Old (There’s Still A Lot I Don’t Know)

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I’m eighteen years old and there are things that I feel like I know more than anyone ever could, like how much the color yellow infuriates me and how I can never get tired of my mother’s voice, my friends are the closest I’ve ever had to a home and my father’s temper is almost as understandable as the Rubik’s Cube on my bedroom floor that I never could learn to solve. Continue reading

The Taste Of You

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I am frantically brushing my teeth at 3 in the morning trying to get the taste of your tongue out of my mouth, but I can only go so far before my gums begin to bleed and my teeth start to ache the way my spine often does under the heavy, heavy weight of your hands. You liked to place them on my back. My mother is sitting in the stairway, staring at the dim white light escaping from under the bathroom door, she’s going to ask me. Why?

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