Back Ally Bar Fight with Your Heart (04.01.17)

Welcome back to the dirt.
Hands, rotting and crumbling,
Something not quite dead.
Little shambling thing,
Created just to move.

Can you still feel the breath leave your lungs?
How did you end up here?
Black, blue, bloodied.
By some unknowable force.
Did you tell anyone you were wandering alone?

Smart girls know to only walk on well lit streets.
You weren't a smart girl, were you?
Treading where others refused to go,
Running through where trouble resides.
And now you'll never be found.

You died gasping,
Grasping for someones hand.
No one came.
Perhaps, by chance,
Some kind rain will come
And wash you all away.

Gaslighting. (6.3.16)

I am searching.
I am looking for answers in between lines of code.
Strings of data attaching me,
To the Earth like
Anchors.

I am lost.
I am wondering hapless in the night.
Groping around in the darkness,
For a hand to pull me up.
Away.

I wish for little.
Love in the form of
Soft kisses
And 'good nights'.

Why is it
That my soft heart melts
At the sound
Of a blazing gun?

Ambient Thoughts. (5.30.16)

Phosphoric bones snap and glow,
Giving the world a brand new shine.

Something is glistening, wet and unruly
In the corner of her eye.

The sun lives inside.
A body, hollowed out.

Somewhere along the way
Her soul left her behind.

Through each hazy rain cloud,
A million new ideals drop down.

An unforgiving world is waiting
For their daily dose.

Surface thoughts hide deeper dreams,
Living in oppressive atmospheres.

She breaks.
Like waves,

Like dawn.

I Guess I've Read Too Many Books.

I have so much to give away.

I don't need all this love in my heart.
I don't need all the pretty words in my head.
I don't need the extra space in my car,
Or a cold spot in my bed.

I don't need visions of stars,
With no one to share them with,
And it's stupid as fuck, but.

I want someone so goddamn bad.
I want to be wanted,
And cherished,
And loved, and worshiped.

So I can want,
And love,
And worship in return.

Shenanigan

I'm finding my blooming patience a comfort,
Most days people know where to find me.
A set pace, a streetcar rolling down a triumphant hill.

45 miles per hour.
I pulled myself out of the fire,
I bandaged my heart and got back to work.

Bruised knuckles show where I've been most days,
A subtle kind of excitement washes over my crowd.
I've been waiting years for this.

Splitting grins sit where tears once reigned,
I am the ruler now, this is my domain.

Everything is new.

Anger dries my throat. Tears well in my eyes.

I ball up my fists, crushing them against my sides.

A bruise will soon form where the two forces meet.

Words from a broken home knock me off my feet.

My mouth is taut, a line so thin, one would think it would snap.

I inhale once, and let out a heavy sigh that sounds more like a gasp.

The muscles in my hands tense once more as tears dry in my eyes.

Palms now gone flat against purple-green thighs.

All that remains is a bitter after taste.

My cheeks burn where tears rolled their stinging chase.

I breath deep, and let it all go again.

-H

As I've Grown.

As I’ve grown,
I’ve witnessed countless tragedies.

Whether it was guns or bombs,

In person or on T.V.

The world is a better place,

This much is true.
Less deaths thanks to disease,

Less things to kill you.

As I’ve grown,

I’ve come to disagree.

The mathematicians must not see

The world I see.

Graphs say the world is getting better.

Crime is going down,

The ocean is going up,
The shoreline is getting wetter.

But as I’ve grown.

The only things I see,

Are wars on drugs,

On terror,

On me.

From the time I was born,

In 1997,

I can’t count the number of

Funeral processions.

As I’ve grown,
I’ve seen people cry.
Watching millions of innocents die.

I ask the world,

Now that I’m 18,
What changes are left unseen.

Now that I’m grown,

I need to know,
Just where the future will go.
-H

Seek Medical Attention.

I have a habit.
A very sever habit of staying up for days at a time, and allowing exhaustion to crash over me like a wave. I will stay up for 20 hours and sleep for 2, then repeat until the weekend. Then, and only then, will I crash for 16-24 hours.
I never figured out why I did this, but it's been happening since I was a very little girl. When I was six, I would lay in bed until midnight, then I would creep into my grandpa's lap and watch some R rated movie. I would watch stories of women seeking revenge. I would watch stories of warlords reigning over their territory.
As I got older, the habit grew. With the dawn of the Internet, I used my sleepless nights to learn. Mostly words, sometimes different ideas. I attempted to teach myself other languages and got pretty far in it too. I would watch different stories. Ones of love and heroic sacrifice.
Now I am older still. I sleep less frequently than I did before, I chalk it up to safety. I never feel safe enough to sleep. I don't live in an environment where I feel it's okay to shut down, so I don't until I push myself to the shore of exhaustion.
I want to sleep. Go to bed at eleven, wake up at seven and repeat the process.
But then I feel like I would miss the night and all its charms. The way silence sounds at 3AM. The way hysterical laughter feels after 24+ hours without sleep. I know it isn't good to force yourself into mini comas, but what else could I possibly do.
-H

The Chase.

Vincent Van Gogh told me to go out and taste the stars. To paint them with my wide eyed brush. That same brush that was tinted rose with the words of Emerson and Aristotle. Those 'great' poets told me to live my adventure, and to hold close my dreams. Scientists have spouted for years that I am special. That I am made from the building blocks of universes and I am innumerable.
All throughout my childhood, Doctor Seuss wrote for me a path of confounded prose. Telling me stories of all the places I could go and I believed every word. I remember the first time I picked up a Harry Potter novel and I heard Dumbledore tell me about his mismatched wool socks. I recall the sense of whimsy the words ignited in my chest.
I remember picking up Shakespeare's 'A MidSummer's Night's Dream' and having that whimsy run wild. I was entranced by the pitter patter of Iambic pentameter. I recall being engrossed by Edgar Allen Poe's trokey, as he talked about ravens rapping on his door. All these voices calling to me from the past, inspiring my mind to rebel against my present.
I remember finding out about Van Gogh's depression, Poe's too. I learned about Shakespeare being a drunkard, and my dearest Doctor fighting nazis. The way those realizations dawned upon me, the weight of their words only increased. Suddenly the raven was no longer a mischievous friend, but a sullen companion. No longer did Puck seem to be the lovable scamp, but more the righteous hand of fate.
The beauty of 'Starry Night' became insurmountable.
There is a sense of wonder that never left me. Inspired by the greats of old. They whisper to me while I try to sleep. They tell me their tales and ask me mine.
"Who are you?" They say, and "What are your sorrows?"
I miss the days when I responded freely
"I wish I had more money." "I wish that I was in love."
But now things have changed. I am no longer chasing sorrows, because despite what the greats told me, I chose to chase a more finicky beast. I chose to follow hope. The light that glows in the flowers at dawn. The way the ocean sounds at midnight. I chose to follow my heart and chase my dreams like wisps off a wishing weed. I don't know where this road leads me, because more often than not it's not a road, but I know I will land one day. Wherever I land those greats will follow.
Because people like us can't help but to chase a story.
-H.