you were

my best friend

we laughed

cried

and then i died

you carried on

didnt notice at all

and now i've awoken

and you think me a stranger

i feel cold on the inside. i don’t think i was meant to wake up. maybe i wish i hadn’t

maybe it’s just always been this way, so so cold

my bones are made of ice

1 cup of salt

5 gallons of tea

1 pinch of confidence

1 ton of anxiety

2 cups of English

Not enough Math

A dash of purple

A hint of blue

Stir in some gray as well

Maybe some butterflies

Definitely some birds

Sprinkle with insomnia

Inject with intrusive thoughts

½ a cup of cinnamon

Burn some sage over the bowl

1 teaspoon of emotions

2 quarts of laughter

3 gallons of dysphoria

As much pressure as you want

A smattering of disbelief

13 cups of Fridays

And some lavender as well

A thirst for blood

And a fear of the world

Don’t forget the acorns and pine sap

Clap if you believe in fairies

And pin their wings behind broken glass

2 teaspoons rosemary

1 clove smashed garlic

And a healthy glob of whipped cream

Bake until burnt

And serve with more tea

It's easier to breathe

in Winter.

The air's not sticky and gross.

Just crisp

and breathable.

I remember my life in colors. I read in flavors too, savoring the taste of some words, spitting out others as quick as I can. Some of the flavors fade over time, but colors never do. They remain bright and vivid, coming to my mind unbidden when a certain smell or sound stirs something within. Long after true memory fades.

Dark purple is the nights I spent crying, alone, with splashes of red here and there.

Gray is the hospital. All of them. Always.

Blackest despair when they said you needed brain surgery, my grandpa, my friend.

White and light pink the taste of rosewater, though it took years to put a name to the colors and the taste lurking in the back of my mind.

Brown is my grandma's house, Thanksgivings and trouble.

Black, gray, white, purple. You know who you are.

And a rainbow, for so many others.

Florida is yellow, home is blue, together they're family.

Green is the world. Outside, inside, up, down, left, right. Green is life, forever glowing faintly no matter how much I want to paint it over on purple nights. Always showing through. No matter what.

i may be frail

and sick

and weak

but onions don’t make me cry

i may fall

and trip

and scream at the world

but onions don’t make me cry

i may not be able to lift my head

or stay awake

or fake a smile

but onions don’t make me cry

i may not be able to keep my room clean

or eat normal food

or pick up the phone

but onions don’t make me cry

you can say that i’m weak

you can say that i’m dumb

but i’ll only nod and reply

that onions have never and will not (not ever) be able to make me cry

When comes a time of wicked rule,

I wake to find an end.

I’m not a lightly taken foe,

I’m also not your friend.

They called on me to fight a king

of order and of good.

He hid himself away from sight,

with soaring walls of wood.

By dusk he was but memory

as flames did let me in.

His castle, just and good and fair

engulfed along with him.

We laughed and sang all through the night

when governments did fall.

And those who’d done nobody harm?

We came to one and all.

Destruction reigns and chaos calls

a mob of one shared brain,

to burn the globe, make sure it breaks

no order shall remain.