Jagged Mountain

the way that words come out
often feel like a visceral
exodus of emotions
through my favorite medium -

the pen.

writing poetry is like pulling
the prickly cactus needles out
of every inch of my body

painful
delicate
exhausting

much like the pain i inflict on
myself. i’m not sure how this is
better.

6 July 2021

Tired of
an empty self,
of a vacant bed,
of pots of coffee,
bottles of whiskey,
cigarette butts,
ash stains on clothes,
burn marks on my arm, 
spinning rooms,
swallowing drugs,
wallowing in sorrow.

Tired of the commotion
on the streets

The commotion in 
my mind
    my mind
       my mind

6 May 2014

i grow increasingly suspicious 
of the frenzied creature which
has unearthed within, 

and out, 

of me. 

ella muerde. she bites. and scratches
and hurls vulgar verbal daggers
from her twisted loins. 

y aparantemente vive en mi. 
and she lives inside of me, 

apparently. desperately, i stifle
her. so she takes her talon hands
and scratches at my wrists instead. 

15 June 2021

super moon,
scorpio moon,
who have i become?

y cuantas capas de mi
piel de serpiente debo
perder,
antes de que mi cuerpo
sea mio otra vez?

translation:

super moon,
scorpio moon,
who have i become?

and how many layers of my
snake skins must I
lose,
before my body
is mine again?

12 June 2021

i swallow whiskey the way
i swallow everyone around me- 
wholeheartedly, desperately.

the same way i take you in, 
giving you control – allowing 
consumption over my inhibition. 

after all, that’s what i do best
anyway – 
lose control.

So I drink you whole, straight 
from the bottle – 
get lost again, stay numb again. 

3 April 2021

when do i
stop writing about you
and start writing about me?

about
the adobe pillar, ancient ruin of
resilience that i’ve become?

about
this river heart which spills into the 
valleys of the people who i love?

about
this mind sharp as the razor that it turns
against me?

when do i
become the fluid motion of my rolling
hips on the dance floor?

because this 
chapel corpse which houses my spirit
is not completely lost in you. 

20 September 2020

it’s like you can sense
when my legs have 
found enough strength
to walk away. the minute
my thighs contract to
step forward - there
are your fingers, stroking
my limbs tranquil again.
as if this flesh were clay 
you could throw. and i, 
desperate to be formed
into anything other than
myself, wantonly bend 
to your will. literally.
this allowance of physical
pursuit satisfies my grieving
soul and once again,
i’m a bystander in my
own bedroom, my own 
body, my own being. 

26 September 2020

Fall murmurs a love
song i’m delighted to hear -
where death spawns rebirth.

17 Sep 2020

i’ve been knocking my fists
at the doors to your chest
for years, begging you to
return to me my dignity.
literally and figuratively.
now, i’m blasting down the
fucking entryway to your
heart. because what belongs
to me is something you can’t
have. regardless of how
long it took for me to give
it all to you, what is mine
is mine. and though i know
that pieces of you are scattered
in court cases of abuses inflicted
on you, that’s no excuse for the
slivers of me you’ve decided
to try and keep. so it’ll be me
again trying to find my way out.
but this time i’m not asking
for permission to let me go.

30 September 2020

how very god-like of you. 
to create faith from 
fear and ask for suffering as a 
testament of my devotion. is 
it not enough? 
to have me on my knees, open-mouthed, to 
receive communion and 
recite your holy prayers? 
on top of this, you'd like to see 
me ridiculed, flogged, and 
crucified to prove my worth. 
to cleanse me of my sins. 
but what about yours?

30 december 2021