on learning to like after you

green eyes has good teeth,

i should’ve been a dentist, he jokes.

seat mere feet from seat, four palms

two occupied with frosty clinking glasses,

(no salt on yours, he says, freeing one palm with a grin)

he takes off his rimmed glasses and wipes them,

“you look nice without those,” i say, he smiles.

your eyes were brown indoors and hazel in the sun,

your legs were short,

your shoulders, your gaze

cast towards your small quick feet,

your words sped when our tension thickened,

sludge-like with the absence of words until

our bodies found their ways to separate places.



let us go then, you and i
when the evening is spread out against the sky
with words and stars woven between and blanketing our
20/20 vision, even peripherally, all that’s left to see is nothing but
blankets over our eyes, blinded,
my grandmother knitted me covers for my eyes so that I can look
up at her at night, her soul interwoven into
each star, each glimmer, and yet
i am so small as well, just
one in a plethora of
ground and water and endless expanse.
let us go then, you and i,
gazing at blankets above our eyes,
of stars and grandmothers and past,
i am a past, a dream, a future,
a reason you are floating,
i am selfish and yet selfless,
yet nothing.
let us go then, you and i,
venturing our sights into the skies,
looking forward and backwards and the places we don’t know,
let us exist.

Shitty poetry for your entertainment.

I like living on the hill, it gives me a sense of
security like I’m up
high far away from all problems of the earth, sort of like the way the US was
founded, some idealistically holy city atop a perfect
utopian hill, that’s where I live, in a
fucking utopia where garbage receptacles
overflow and yet every day security is
promised, the world
looks better in utopian-tinted sunglasses to block the picturesque
setting sun, and it was atop this hill that my life started
rolling down and for this I
blame security, why are we
friends, why do your grins make me
vomit, why wouldn’t you ever
know, why is this whole
rant about you; I was
given five minutes, five minutes out of my entire life to
spill garbage from my mind and thus this paragraph was
constructed, but the trash bins outside my apartment were spray
painted with the words no bodies, please, and perhaps this garbage
involves no bodies, we are nobody, no bodies, just souls
floating around because according to the philosophy class we
identity is nothing but soul, but the falsities that people
identify us for are our exterior appearances.