Drinking my Dumb Bitch Juice Cause I'm Thirsty

“God only gives you what you can handle”

Oh, I believe that—

I really do.

But some of this shit

piled on my plate

that is overwhelming me—

I placed it there myself—

just me, my hubris, and I.

God was shaking his head

the whole time,

watching me mistake

appetite for capacity.

high high low low

Perhaps the only person alive who has any clue

how quickly I can completely pick myself apart—

which is how I find myself here, lowered down

after the delusional high, grateful to have you around.

Confession: I love going no contact out of the blue. I love to burn a bridge. I love to avert my eyes, not even look at what's going happening on the other side. I love to walk, not run just walk with purpose, away from the shore and marches. I love not giving a shit if anyone jumps in the river trying to swim across. I love making sure they'll never reach me.

We all got a lil demon in ourselves—and we've all fallen in love with the devil at some point. The problem is when we deny it.

My Own Undoing

Yet again, I dreamt of captive whales—  

orcas circling the tank, their black backs  

breaking the water, then vanishing,  

their tails trained to lift them  

from one side to the other,  

while my dead mother holds my hand  

and assures me,  

“Oh, don’t fret. They really like that.”

I wake to the fear still gnawing,  

a beaver worrying at a trunk,  

wearing it down by instinct—  

the fear that I, too,  

have become the loyal, fervent servant  

of my own undoing.

I could count, but don’t,  

the times I’ve made life-or-death decisions.  

Somehow, the deaths don’t stay with me.  

It’s the lives—the living—  

and the endless circles,  

the hoops held low enough  

to jump through,  

high enough  

to make the crowd applaud.

all homes are temporary housing when you remember we are mere mortals

 What if, in trying to become a good person, I lost all the parts of myself I liked?