inkskinned

i.
i say “i’m so terrifyingly empty that
when i look in mirrors,
i get vertigo”
and he laughs like
sparrows taking flight and when
his hands tangle in my hair and our lips connect
i’m sure he thinks i’m feeling something
besides a vague regret

ii.
somehow i have gone so far from where i belong
i have witnessed my own downfall and
my hands never stop shaking and my stomach
never settles down and i don’t know if i wanna die
or i’m just in love with being six feet underground

iii.
what gets bigger the more you take out of it?
a hole, a girl, a brain that is rusting her teeth and
sinking her ships and holding her hostage

iiii.
last night, did you see?
she almost cried
about something.

v.
kinda okay, kinda wishing
something might just come and
kill me.

I think about having myself committed daily.” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
inkskinned

i. when they ask where it hurts, you go home
and knock on your bones and they sound
so hollow, you will whisper that it hurts
everywhere, everywhere
everywhere

ii. your lips will taste like fireball whiskey
and the night will be so wild you cannot tame
your darkness and when they ask you why you
are trying to drown memories or maybe just
yourself, laugh like a maniac, do not tell them you
are just trying to fill an emptiness so threatening
it has started to smell like dead bodies, do not say
you are just done with faking being happy every day
every day every single goddamn day

iii. when you kiss people you don’t care about
and claw your way out of their covers
or when you stay home from parties and shut yourself
behind thick doors and lose every number
or however you choose to lay down your spine as dynamite
so you can selfdestruct socially
when they ask you why you’re doing this to them say you’re
just having a bad day don’t tell them you’re not good enough
to be with them don’t say that people make you sad don’t say
you think each person you meet secretly hates you
don’t say you’re sick of people everyone
every one every single person

iv. four is the number of death when they ask why you
smell of it
and why your smile doesn’t actually look right
on your lips
say you’re tired
don’t tell them you’re tired of everything every leaf every
atom every fucking sad poem every stupid shitty thing on this
too-loud planet with shitty people and shitty poets and shitty
friends and shitty feelings just seriously
every thing

v. when they ask you what’s the matter
lock the answers behind your broken teeth, swallow the key,
feel it hit your stomach while you rip lies out of yourself,
take your bloody fingers, hide them, maybe wipe them off
on the corners of your shirt, do not tell them you are the ice of
saturn’s rings
just show them the best impression of happy you can manage
and say
nothing,
nothing
nothing.

Bad nights make poets write. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
inkskinned

my older sister never saw this world and
sometimes i think my momma still cries about it
when nobody can hear how bad it hurt her

this is a cold universe that
lets us love things which
can be ripped from our grasp
without a moment’s notice

yesterday i told a student, “bad things sometimes happen
and that’s just the way it is,” and he said
“why”

and i think maybe we’re all trying to answer that
in our own way but all i know is
all the good books have the main character
struggle before they succeed and
i know maybe you deserve it easy but
all i can think is that
bad things happen because you’re
strong enough to survive them
even if you don’t think
you could be

i want to believe everything really does
happen for a reason even
sad things
i really want to believe that
space could have been completely empty
but even in all that awful chill
the stars fashioned themselves
out of nothing but their own combustion
and i really want to believe
supernovas
don’t just cause destruction
because after all, we are all only the result
of a terrible
explosion

maybe we are all just
small solar systems and
in order to expand beyond our horizons
we must first become singularities within
ourselves, maybe none of this
helps

i just want you
to be okay i’m just so sorry
i don’t know what to say.

Written for my friend who told me about her miscarriage. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
inkskinned

i never started smoking because my father’s teeth
are stained yellow-orange and there is a persistent crow
living in his chest which
constantly rattles its feathers whenever he tries
to speak

i was always cautious about drinking because my mother’s uncle
died with his liver shouting for revenge
as his body coded on a hospital bed
so i space out the times i take shots and i don’t give in
if it’s not a weekend and i keep bottles away from me

but i loved you
instantly

and of every addiction i’ve ever had
this one is killing me.

I still love him but he moved on, maybe I should move on too.” // r.i.d (via inkskinned)
inkskinned

mother rabbits love their babies with such a wild fervor that they will pluck their own fur out to make blankets for their children to lay in

you asked last night how school was going but i learned a long time ago not to answer honestly and sure enough within five seconds of opening my mouth you were distracted again but something so much more important and later when i was trying to calmly explain that the juice on the floor was an accident, you flew off the handle like i’d spilled the world’s most precious liquid and the whole time you thumped around and shouted your throat raw i just cleaned up the mess and waited until i could go back to my room without you making a comment

a mama killdeer will fly from the nest and lead danger away even if it kills her

and it just kills me how little you actually know me and how much of my life you have missed because most of our interactions are either you yelling at me or me being dismissed

i mean for awhile now i’ve realized
that i’m the more mature person
in this relationship.

What I want, more than anything in this world, is to make them happy, make them proud of me, but all they leave me with are bitter words and an emptiness that swallows me whole…” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)