Quarter horse like I’m running a race Blinders on until my lungs shake and break Eyes locked or freeze framed? We float off the ground and then find out the helium’s fake Can’t live in space, can’t suspend this feeling while my hands fucking ache Stars in ur eyes, their dust in mine Gotta cut…

nothing quiet like snow free falling from the sky matter meeting pavement like a feather soft lie

You wanted to paint me bad but these horns were cast from your shadow. Dangerous, & there I was spun in silk with punctured wounds, your thumbprints. I oozed infected acrylic you painted your roses dead then gave me credit for your blood canvas.

**Published in New Words Press Literary Mag, 2023 grabbed for scraps of attention like they were a delicacy nibbled and savored like a trapless mouse grateful for what I could get – for your cup of day old porridge. bland and thoughtless, hard to swallow, but it was you holding me – by my tail…

you live between atriums split somewhere I don’t hate you I don’t love you either I wish you well well away from me a lily, a butterfly delicate like the fuse to your unconsciousness deep brown but not hollow just empty not poured out, just never filled not an enemy, not a friend either

water too cold, biscuit too sweet tea won’t work I can’t drink or eat my stomach shrinks but grows with pain You let me down and I want You to feel the same- way as I did when You drugged me, then hugged me, every night before bed You wanted to love me but punished…

Remember the big blue pills you would set on my tongue? Make me open up so you could inspect that everything was gone. So you could know you did everything you could It’s me that’s wrong It’s me that’s broken It’s me you can no longer control. But you did everything you could It’s not…

I cried, I exhaled air moved slow it had viscous I weighed less it floated away My dad sat next to me today

I dreamt his wickedness dead- no one knew until I solved the mystery of where when how and then the blank bodies faces I can’t remember if they had one at all I ask them—Did he die? they all say yes as if they knew, as if I told them December 2nd was the last…

**Published in Inbetween Literary Journal, Winter 2021 Take it easy on yourself Isn’t that what I’m here for, doc- Can you show me what I don’t know? what it means to not find fault in perfection like my mother-about my body the way I chew I’m grown now and I keep my distance throwing medals…