the problem lately is that i am still alive- brilliantly so. teach me how to feel less. "full moon"

sometimes, i feel alone even when i am surrounded by people. it is hard to put this feeling into words, but it is there and it is burning a hole in my chest, melting onto the hardwood floor like candle wax. you might reach out to touch me and your hand will go right through my skin. i like the way that the grass in the backyard feels against my toes; the way that the earth is always there, even when i’m not. and i’m in a full length skirt the color of peaches and my heart TREMBLES like a rabbit. and the earth whispers that i’m alive, alive, alive. “girl as ghost in a peach skirt”

my heart is a bird throbbing with the ache of skittish wings but still it loves, it flies, it sings. “it loves, it flies, it sings”

what do you do when you aren’t enough? when there isn’t enough you-ness in your skin, in your bones, in your blood. is there enough me to light a fire? is there enough me to paint the night sky black? i don’t think there is enough pigment. i feel more like watercolor. i don’t feel entirely here, or there, or anywhere. “enough, enough, enough”

i relate to empty jars of honey. i run my fingers along their insides tasting the remnants of something sweet. “honey”

tear me apart at the seams but gently, please. i am drowsy and bursting and full of wildflowers. “honeyed”

i want to have my heart opened. it has been dormant for so long that it has nearly forgotten how to beat. “remind me”

release me from my tired skin. this age-old dress of flesh and bone has known this world for too long. “garment”

i am full of so many flowers. i worry that no one will see them. “your twenties rub salt in your wounds”

i feel like a time traveler: june, july, august. summer dissolves in my mouth and i can’t remember what it tasted like. “erasure”