Dear fucking diary, reality is hitting me in the face like a grammatical error in a blog post, and I don’t know what to do about it. Every time I will myself away from my gluttony and sloth, I find myself thrown into this game of blackjack where the odds are stacked against me, and the dealer’s laughing his ass of, because he is me, and I can’t fathom my failure, at it’s pinnacle, every time, it just gets higher. 

I have a dream that is so tangible, so real and so close, slipping for a collection of bad days I refuse to recover from. This is noisy and flashy

I’m going to sleep, it’s the only real peace I find these days 



I see colors that feel as deeply as the time that surrounds every part of love in stability and uncertainty 

The headache flows like mud in the monsoon with the smell and the haze as the cars go by with stale cigarettes and greasy food

Wrinkled skin wrinkles up into a frown that disproves everything we once said but then didn’t 

Shut this down, but keep it running two whole days behind the ocean in motion as questions pop up like a brand new toaster 

Friends are all you need to fulfill what you have in the dogs world

Dear fucking diary, no, everything isn’t alright
I bad a dream, but I’m using sight
I learned to understate mental conditions
From my mum and haven’t recovered since
Yes I get to complain, here, if nowhere else
School’s taking me through six different hells
And they all look better than what tomorrow might bring
I can’t read, I can’t dance, In can’t sing
I feel like a bird with no wings


You call me cute and fuzzy and everything else
You taught me all the wonder that a writer tells
Even if you hated the world, you always had time to kiss my cheek
You come just to see me in the middle of your week
It isn’t a coincidence that my last two girlfriends were exactly like you
You taught me what it’s like to be happy and love what I do
You knew about my first kiss right after I kissed her
Trust me, you’re the best big sister

Sunday Morning

The sunlight flows gently, a river of all that can be seen
It drips down the walls, letting me swim in all that it is
I rise, as in a dream, basking lazily like only a glutton could
This is reel of life, an endless loop, the forgotten scene

On Love

Yes, I like it when you blush and your cheeks go all red
Yes, I have culturally and socially inappropriate fantasies of you in my bed
Yes, I like the cliched way your hand fits in mine
Yes, I know this may not get too far, and that's fine
 I love that we haven't even kissed yet( I do!)
 I like that one because it's the one you drew
 I know this may not be the way to do it,
but you know what, I don't care! Screw it!
This isn't shakespeare, nor mills and boon
It's too little too fast, and too soon
It might not be what they say it's supposed to be
But, it's everything to me



Day and night, they pass.
Each as grisly as the last
Everything's dirty, everything's right there
Everything's always been somewhere

Gaze now, at the soles of your feet
The dirt is their prize, from the illusion's defeat
Yet, as you wash it all off, you're told you're pure
You escape the beauty of the mud's allure

Sit on the grass, freshly cut
Feel the cool dirt, and your eyes, let them shut
This feeds all you see and all you will
Feel it, love it, and bask in this newfound bliss, beautifully still

Love all you see, in this dirt
All that
Creeps and crawls
and weeps and bawls
and cheeps and calls 
(for love, as they know can only hurt)

Wind in your hair is not of a poem or book
It keeps in check all that life has left shook

For love, we tie stones round our finger
Should that gaze forget to linger

We are one with the earth and shall be bound here till the end of time
On here, we have loved, lost, and lived, blessed in an unending crime