I felt too mortified to

decide to dream a dream that’s solely mine;

Now I’m afraid post mortem,

I’ll turn infinitum regretting life.


Involuntary Silent Vow

It’s a constant tug-of-war

between the urge to completely vanish

and wanting companionship.

But when I’m with others

we are all just alone together.

They’re all waiting

for their turn to speak.

And as for me,

I never have much to say

just a lot of feelings.

And they aren’t that interesting.

Not saying what you’re saying has been, but

it seems to make you feel alright, and

I might be too polite, so

you can keep going despite my

uptight plight tonight.

It’s a tiny slight.

But trust I’ll try not

to overwrite you.

I might even bite

a few conversational cues;

try not to

hold it against you,

pretty sure you think I’m fine.

But I want to evaporate.

I feel me dissociate.

Who put that sound in my throat?

Now here’s the spiel.

You’ve built this

colossal, emotional reveal.

What am I supposed to do with that?

Smile and nod.

Keep letting you go on and on and

All I want to do is go.

I feel so separate

I don’t feel like I can connect

Do you notice my flat affect

I guess I’m glad

I can help you

through all this

I just wish

I could get

all my shit.

Get all my words together,

instead of “nah, NBD doesn’t matter,”

It’s more “I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

Say it’ll be okay.

Seems like you finished, but

now it seems to late to start.

Finish up my drink,

doing better making sure

not to have too many,

get my coat and depart.

Sympathies for a young snowman

I can still remember

the miniature

Louisiana snowman

in the yard that day,

and how mother

told you and me

unfortunately he’d

be gone by the end of the day.

Even though we’d

prayed for snow

our entire young lives.

(Mine twice as long.)

He was just visiting

a place he didn’t belong.

You cried.



Which caused father

to stir

see the scene.

Look to you,

look to me,

run over,

grab me,





But I’d never felt so small.

And his face was so red.

And his breath so hot.

I wanted to melt away

right there.

3:30 90°

In peak afternoon boredom stupor

reach the point where you stare into your

Flourescent LED ceiling bulbs

until the twin beams shrink and swell

as you shirk your responsibilities

looking and feeling like LSD except

less excited about the staring,

and sure you’ve never seen it

like this before, but a boring setting

is still just as boring turned 90 degrees

at least there’s irrefutably no reason

to expect there’s no one above pulling

your strings like a marionette

at least not literally.

Thank Christ, I’m not tripping

even though I somehow ended up

on the ground staring at the ceiling at 3:30.


Barometric sensations

are generated from within

my calcified cranium

while the ureaesque

substance begins

to be pumped in.

Better to be

pissed off

than pissed in,

but not my


It’s both…

to my chagrin.

Breathe in

the benzene

laced air.

Breathe out

the existential


Feel lucky

that you were

able to get here.

Be thrilled

you’re alive.

That’ll be


When I see you again, you’ll have less legs than I remembered

There’s a moment when your memory

crystalizes a living person

into a picture or scene.

If you’re lucky, maybe

you hear a laugh or

see a quick facial tick.

In that moment,

the living person

is no longer relevant

to the chrysalis

your memory created.

Even when the living person

becomes someone else,

they’re stuck

in your mind’s cocoon.

I was in an emotionally abusive relationship,

but all of my friends don’t understand the extent.

I’d even agree I have minor culpability

for using the stock reply provided me by toxic masculinity:

“Oh dude, she’s crazy.”

Which means typically,

“She didn’t let me party and got mad she ditched her on Thanksgiving.”

But here reads,

“I’m not sure exactly, but something vaguely cluster B that left me feeling worthless with little self-esteem, and the realization I hadn’t actually dealt with anything emotionally which caused me to further sequester and was quite isolating, and there was also the time she threatened to use my nudes, but I don’t remember exactly what the hell I had to do to deserve the threat even as a ruse. Scarier part is sometimes I still think I deserve it. Even after she cheated at least two times, possibly more, but not like I’m trying to keep score.”

And probably, I don’t want to be seen as vulnerable or something

or maybe typing this out once was tiring enough and I don’t want to remember all of the stuff.

The weakness, the guilt, the shame.

I’m still embarrassed, and I didn’t do anything wrong. I still feel like I deserved it.