mirrored mirages of your phases from yesteryear
almost looked like my own reflection–
my dusty pinks washed away dreams of cotton candy and
you. you handed me dying flowers, and
i pretended it was the thought that counted (even though
the only thing you were counting were the days
we had left).
glitter on sidewalks still makes me nauseous.


death of a child

June 8, 2017

you told me
you would have married perfection if you could.
i saw
you would have cared for perfection if you could.
instead, you could only love
the acceptable
amidst the mess you created.
oh, but the beauty died
within her each
passing day
under the shadows of
your being–
deprived of the sun, of everything you didn’t have.
and yet you wonder
the obvious
why was
your mass of

i swallowed
the syrup you fed into my system.
you told me you were always right.