And I watch as life runs in reverse.
I watch pills crawl back up throats
Back onto the tongues and off of the black gums of junkies
Like a symphony, a firing line one after another from the lips of the damned
Clattering, no, splattering, onto the floor after one more failed attempt.
How lovely to be
A singularity inside of this skull
A Daily Californian’s Weekender Staffer sits down with the Multimedia team to share one of her poetry pieces.
I always keep Band-Aids in my pockets
They cling onto my notebooks and fingers
As I dig around to find a hope
That some semblance of wholeness lingers.
In beauty, there is pain, though you can’t always see, The cost of this face, these hands are not free, Beneath the ballet slippers are broken toes, Behind closed doors are broken bones
I like flowers and sunshine and sweet satin dresses, I like blue skies and ocean tides and the seashore it blesses. Poetics of summertime fill sweet in my chest Of hilltops and valleys and blooms which they dressed, And I’m wondering now if these words do sound Like a collection
The nausea passes, but the memories don’t.
Silence is often filled with a self-critical or self-loathing cacophony of voices of our own creations, filled with dangerous imaginings.
Because sunshine you are like me, and see, // I am a fighter, too. // And mom, that’s why // No matter what // I’ll want to be like you.
I forget what I wanted to do, what I wanted to say, / I guess it can all wait for another day — / But can I?