weak motivations

A level of cattiness in sues. There is acceptance but we compare it. Is it so hard to untangle frivolous language? Everyone is short. Don’t sell yourself short. You can tell in the string of letters that detaches from the heart and the algorithms of word clouds breaking through from snappy waves of the brain. So they say. The first thought that comes through is not you. What should’ve stood for something, stands for everything, and everyone is ready to break apart to save some time. Elevator pitches all around, no essence of deep contemplation, the root of all discoveries! A need for less work, a want for more superficial means, a requirement to lay around. So quick for change. Change is at an all-time high in 2018. Taking too much time is slept on. Quick before supplies run out. Quick before lateness gets documented. Quick to press send …. Quick to zip, zap, zop!


The more lies that spew, the more one resembles a slave to self. We were never free to begin with but we can try. Free yourself from expectations, everyone has them high. Strain yourself to impress if you feel but we’re already so close to death, sedentary thinking and myriad of silences are to some virtue.


Motivations that are weak are easy to see through. It makes one a bad actor. Motivations that are strong creep on without notice. No need to brag all the time. Insecurity is no destiny. Desire learning but take what’s valuable and unlearn the rest. There’s only so much space for information. The more you have to prove, less fun is to be shared.


Seeing through the veil requires silence and recognizing patterns. These thought patterns lead to connections, cerebral and outside. You think about someone often enough and they will show up. The stronger your presence is, the easier the synchronicities will arrive. There is no such thing as coincidence. The brain can be powerful if you exercise it. You can be quick with your actions all you want, but a mental quickness will prepare you the conversations even begin.


Wear many hats. To be predictable is death. A mystery that needs to be solved is more worthy of one’s time, it provides an adventure, Convenience is not your friend. You can’t speed read a fine piece of literature. Chronically messed up structures leave gaps you have the power to fill in, and its worth its weight.


happy conclusions

congrats on maintaining
your structure.
as you’d like to mimic
a painting,
but beauty is now only explained
by perfection.
we lose ourselves in the world,
with this concept.
look now sexful being,
you thought you could never be replaced.
but currently,
a certified man in nanotechnology
is having kids with his mechanical model
of a creation.
do you dare to enjoy,
competing with a hybrid kid?
the earth keeps spinning,
as you spin out of control,
with a shed of skin lost and ash gentrified.
you should’ve stayed true to your ugly, hairy nature,
lowering the stakes, the aches of your very fiber,
and read Rousseau instead.


four corners, a striking discovery with guest star 4 a.m.

This is when lungs are ashy and crumbling with every breath
This is when a swollen up battery within your heart pumps acid through your circulatory system
This is when the dead commit suicide
This is when words can’t help anymore, neither yours nor mine
This is when your nerve endings freeze from departing touches and then melt to useless arsenic spilling after someone tries touching you again
This is when the webs of your iris snap apart from constricted apathetic pupils
This is when your senses are begging for sensation
This is when your vocal chords get plucked too hard and your throat gets carved with stiletto knives
This is when the only thing keeping you alive is the picture of you from when you were a little child
Staring you down

the house of hums and lullabies

I found love in flesh,
Curled up on my bed holding the darkest moment of 4 a.m., exhaling the seconds that I wish I spent with him.
I found love in definition.
He buried his every synonym in my skin,
And maybe in a year or so,
I won’t know how to speak this language anymore.
I found love in cigarette lungs and whiskey tongues,
In barely started stories, and bitterly ended poems.
Its promises of “one day” never came.
I found love in ghosts and missed eyes.
In words that held too many or no definitions.
Hold me the way you hold onto these dark words,  that amble around the inside of your skull.
Hold me like I’m pain, and you’re a masochist.

4 a.m.

I’m searching for daisies in the cracks of my heart because someone told me there was beauty in a breakdown. As I’m grasping the opaque moment of 4 A.M. drenched by my own tears, I lay next to the toilet vomiting because I can’t get myself together. Hours pass by and my eye bags are as puffy as crinoline, my nose is as red as hibiscus flowers, and my face is as pale as snow. Every feeling I have attempted to suppress rises from my stomach and into my throat like bile that mixes with regret and spews onto the floor.
I attempt to shrug all these demons off and tell myself that I am not the only one feeling this type of way. But the distorted memories of you engage with my functioning on a bi-weekly basis. I know it’s all just influenced by my fight-or-flight hormones rushing through my body. The long lasting flashbulb memories intensify my sadness, and slaps me down face flat on the lonely tiled bathroom floor. Sometimes the memories of you take hold of my fiber being to the point; I can’t recognize myself in the mirror. I know for once, that this is not a creation of a false memory. Its impact is broad. Its purpose holds. Its duration is long, and the capacity is large.
Now there’s this shadow that lingers above me, and I can’t help but want to reach it up and pull it around me. I became a weight that dragged on those I care about, so I cut the rope and watched them float into the sky above me as I fell below. I’ve spent most of my life admiring stars, wishing I could possess or become one, but instead, I became buried six feet deep and never saw them again.


A literary mess living from a suitcase, tripping over Tupperware full of dry cat food. Two are sleeping in a twin bed, the other two on a single cot. Bodies are covered in cat fur. 3 AM and his teeth is grinding. I clean off entitlement. I give. Then, there are two moths and one spider in the bathtub with a side of slow drainage. There’s the unhappy couple. Best bro friends squeezing a can of empty Icehouse beer. 3 trash bags by the door. The water pressure is non-existent. Vents are ripped out of the wall, throwing the room off. Frequent cat sex on ottoman. Frequent cat vomit and shit on the aged hardwood floor. A door that doesn’t stay shut. Can’t vibe with the girls because they’re all
and Materials
But I’m Au naturel.
No countertop space but enough for his $5.99 Dominican Club Vodka. Inconsistent sleep. It’s him or the dirty couch. Constant cartoons from his room. I voluntarily cramp my feet in bed. It’s most comfortable when pain is provided. Fans whirling overnight have become some sort of mantra just like the broke people complaining about being broke. I’m having my sense of luxury wearing my mother’s slippers and drinking two bottles of discounted La Marco Prosecco in the morning.
Check out these repeated stories, and fixed mindsets. Don’t forget to observe the games being played! Become the fool, it can be fun at times! What’s this? Checkout my permanent muscle aches. Check out that month old gummy bear on the floor. Become one with the eye sore!
Strands of my false blonde hair are uprooting into my tobacco filled larynx. There’s knifelike gravel in the rugged and grimy platform boots my server legs fit snugly in. I’m keeping plastic wrappers and convenience store receipts in the holes of my puffy, ash stained coat pockets. The living is sleazy.