remember something, anything

i remember nothing. you don’t understand, this exercise won’t work on me, i remember nothing. it’s all grey and sometimes black and maybe if i’m lucky one day i’ll get a vivid image in all the colors on the spectrum. that’s not good, though, not healthy, induced by mania or acid. i can only feel happy when im doing drugs. but i can only feel happy if the people i’m doing drugs with make me happy. so maybe it’s not the drugs but the people but i’m too traumatized to tell the difference.

i remember being left. left alone, left to cope on my own. so sorry if i react to help and love like a wounded feral cat. the thing is i was raised by goddamned wolves, listen, listen, they taught me not to feel but i am all feeling, no logic. so i failed that test. i failed test after test, could never fulfill the conditions to earn my mother’s love.

havne’t written in weeks, honestly. i don’t know what happened, something in my brain snapped in half and i could barely speak let alone write. could only speak harsh words, could only wound like i’ve been wounded.

i remember my epiphany where i realized i have to stop blaming the actions of my abusers for why i am the way i am. i remember it, and yet here i am, miserable because i was left with a series of injuries and no first aid kit. i had to make the fucking first aid kit myself. i’m not a man made to survive in the wilderness, yet somehow im here, at 23, surviving. i think that’s a miracle. i think that’s beautiful.

beautiful, but i’m tired. beauty is hard work. you wake up at five am and pretend you’re asleep for five hours so people don’t worry about your sleeping habits. can you still blame jet lag three weeks later? can you still blame your untimely break up for your misery?

no. you can’t. something is wrong. i am telling you something is wrong.

an accident.

let’s call it an accident, even though there are no such things as accidents. but you must have regretted it because you were cooperative. no, i was guilted. guilt eats me alive.

i hate who i am.

i think that’s the point of all this.

i hate who i am.

We break
to rebuild together
and for this moment
a harmony is playing
and the world is singing
a perfect duet


[if you’re on Twitter, retweet this for a chance to win a signed copy of my poetry book, beyond rock bottom!]

the house is on fire in the distance clothes left on the furnace
asking if you’ve called
the fire department
or the police
and answering
it’s all the same.
taking a breath
panicked shards
stabbing through the
foyer and
there’s all this smoke
breathing laboured sounding
the house is on fire in the distance,
and you’re just sitting there,
watching safe
as everything you know
burns into nothing



you are fragile in your strength, i begin to grow in fear of shattering you, as if i might say the wrong thing and you’ll shut down like a venus fly trap, refusing to open again unless i can manage to say the right thing. to be the right person, to ask the right questions and give you the attention you want, but not too much attention, but not too little attention.

maybe you are a minefield instead, and i am doomed to constantly misstep, to miscalculate my trajectory and be blown away, be blown into pieces.

winter’s fog

What is winter if not a time of death and dying, if not a time of hollowing out and burrowing into yourself?

And what is so wrong with that?

Bear with me here.

Why do we fear winter, why do we fear this opportunity to close ourselves off and take care of our wounds and our hearts? Living is moments of inhaling and exhaling. Winter is just one long exhale, before spring rolls in and we are allowed to breathe in the new air again.


it seems i live in a snow globe
touching the ends of my existence
seeking to reach the outside world

i find myself asleep
in a green meadow field
i suppose in the end it’s all the same

you were here, for a moment, you were here
but you’ve gone away now
in that green meadow i once woke up in

these days i sleep under a starless sky
i saved you for a rainy day,
but the rain never came


do i still hear your voice?
back of my head
sings songs of your words
sickly sweet
like honeydew drops
in a glass of milk

an old movie
playing on repeat
the bike wheel turns round
and round

life in a snow globe
shaken to my core
touching the ends
of my existence
seeking to reach

i find myself asleep
in a green meadow field
under a starless sky