Too beautiful to me, it is The way the truth falls but doesn’t diminish its overwhelming servitude Grief like hollow images and stills To be flawed and fawned with grey embers & soft wax Rolled on Ireland’s greenest pastures My dream garden My avalanche
I wake up endlessly absolving my sins, unraveling for you Tell me what it is you want me to do I’m so aware of what I can and cannot be And I think it’s best you not be there for me I tire in my own sleep
Morning cereal For four in the afternoon You wash over me like an Avalanche Like my dream garden White roses and picket fences, freshly painted Soft tuberose fragrance Dismantling me from within Fabricated and built in great jeopardy Soft and of the finest fabric
I think of you in waterfalls, that I’ve never seen before I ask you to close the door I’m impatient in the mornings but by evening so wrapped up in comatose fiber sheath Toying with my own nerves On purpose Like a fever dream Like ants unscrambled Running out of fear, hiding beneath dust Moving pollen and feathers to their corporate offices
When I pass by you on the street With my kitten heels and utmost softness Try not to Try not to
Go back to your dream garden Your avalanche Beneath dust
Connected by the sheer composition that melts in broad daylight Collectively held at A disadvantage Brought together in the Spring when the ambiance paints a different mood For the dust underneath the conjoining ether Without reserve Still and unenthusiastic Hopeful, yet without meaning
Find me in my personal dream garden When the smoke clears
He tells me Not to get too excited As we sit alongside the deep-blue riverbed But me – I’ve been counting down the days I saw my chamomile flowers bloom, then close, and fall apart in the duration of one week As I hadn’t changed the water I was distracted by the sparkle Of the morning’s horizon As it painted me in shades of pink I couldn’t quite capture on film
California outlawed flavoured vape products I know, I’m mourning it heavily Now I find myself smoking non-menthol cigarettes in my parking lot Like my father did, in his Amber tones of his skin shining like Diamonds you pick back up from the jewelry store That line your blue-tinted watch with a brand painted in cursive ink Like your mother’s Russian handwriting Soft in all of the Roughest places
My afternoon gaze is Thick with gloom and hope, both at the same time I’m wrapped in my navy ‘Windy City’ sweater that I bought at a Walgreens Where it took four cashiers to properly ring up my alcoholic drink, too Because the cashiers were mostly underage But we were on the same page Laughing about how liquor makes the turbulent flight go smoothly And how I’ll wrap myself in bridal magazines and read the new Forbes “thirty under thirty” list Knowing I won’t make it on there in less than three years Cutoffs are so harsh, isn’t it maddening Life is so funny sometimes, at the right times I’ll fade to November grey like a collapsing sky I’ll lay my head down and never, ever wonder why I’ll endure the gradual passage of time
He adjusted his collar And we laughed about who is taller Because me, my small frame, I take up so little of space Though I feel like if I spread my fingertips, they’ll reach the mountains Surrounded by cherry stems and cascading fountains Waterfalls along the trail where my senior terrier walks on her own self-created path My glimmer of hope in this brittle, dark night Made for a hollow tin of little coloured cards stolen from the paint store Where we wrote our biggest dreams on Gathering the courage to set them on fire And not intending to burn down the park grounds down with our miniature vision boards
I found a poem I published for a boy three years ago On his birthday It was called ‘I wrote you a poem’ My mother laughed at how cute that was I did too I think back to those years and how he never came through And somehow that didn’t make me love him any less Probably even more so
I have to get better with taking derivatives Along with the vitamins in my medicine cabinet I finally bought a parking permit for university so I could stop Getting tickets Even though the traffic cop is such a sweetheart He asks about my navy ‘Windy City’ sweater Things like “so when are you going to finally end up there?”
The piece of rose-tinted, painted card-stock That I’d never set on flames I keep it in my wallet To know that I’ll get there
I’ll get there Until I’m at the drugstore again with the cashiers That are of-age, by that time And I’m buying wine
And Chicago will treat me like it’s been mine this whole time And I won’t love it any less Probably even more so
a free verse poem about finding stability & self-acceptance
I know That things won’t work out as planned I know that Because my mother taught me how to be a man But there are Parts of me that won’t let someone hold my hand Because I Because I Find graveyards appealing Harsh winter thunderstorms healing And the chaos within you is quite often revealing Of the doom and dismay your surroundings convey The filth The agony The dreams others built for you become destroyed I’m my own person
But when I drive home at night I don’t feel alone I just know I am
It was cold in Chicago And I wanted to lay down In the snow My frail body Seldom appears melancholy Singing you songs, breathlessly, to you in your sleep Though my voice is never the right pitch Maybe that’s why I wait Until you hit your steady dream state An abyss of perpetual ignorance to moral obligations
The impatience Is testing me Like a ticking clock Telling me I Haven’t painted The sky quite right Haven’t gotten the stars To my audience’s delight And I think I might combust From the tainted, porcelain figure I often wish to set on fire Because what burns Feels so warm In winter
It’s almost February The anniversary of A thousand slumbers A rainfall that struck me like Lightning on the fast lane on the highway Swerving between cars with my eyes closed Thinking I’m oh – I’m just so composed But me, parchment paper thick, practically comatose Wouldn’t keep anyone up at night When you haven’t Made a name For yourself And nobody Gets the intonation In your full name quite right Maybe it’s not The right time To say
That what burns feels so warm In winter My god The shades of blue How I’d devour the skyline Like an arsonist, I fade to grey Along with the trembling cityscape
I encapsulate all the seasons & am easily forgotten
I only hope to properly portray The vacancy light in this hotel I occupy
Me, Against the wall Cold, doll-like, confused Fingertips Painted the lightest shade of pink that the nail salon could offer me If only, I could be elegant I could like parts of myself that others don’t I could live my life like My father envisioned
When he said to me
That I was born In the perfect season For a girl who prolongs Finding a reason To burn this place down to the ground
Hollow Cave Where my old journals remain Where ex-boyfriends mispronounce my last name They never remember the best parts of you They never really knew How to get through How your eyes turn dark green when your favourite song comes on Or when the colour temperature is five thousand Kelvin and I feel ashamed That I woke up to find Myself Not in embers But filling a body With wholeness that only
Real self-acceptance could develop and create
Something permanent Is never Found
I’m no good with directions but I don’t believe I’m lost I’m exactly On my own two feet Waiting To leave a message after the beep
But I hang up, because I remember They can’t pronounce my last name The intonation Is weak And I Am so Much farther than I thought I would be At this time of my life Are you, at all, surprised?
When I look At the cars Passing me by On the highway, I wonder If they’re going Somewhere warm and inviting
I don’t know why That To me Feels so terribly frightening
The type of girl that you want to meet And to think that we met on the street And you watched me tag my website on the grey, electrical box in black sharpie and cursive For nobody to read, to not bother to glance And you laughed not at me, but with me Like we were on amphetamines Like you aren’t as traffic-stopping, rush-hour-madness gorgeous as you are How you framed a framework of genuine spirit And the spirits on your golden side table And the sweet drinks you made me because you store simple syrup Little bartender in a black top With hair like she just left the Manhattan salon With a smile like she’s been happy all along
I don’t think I ever mentioned it at all I was just Struck By the plants you have arranged on your glass windowsill The cotton, white, dreamlike, lush bedspread (I made your bed for you like a hundred times) I wanted to show you I can perform acts of service Because I clean when I get nervous
And my god, my dear god My god, did you make me nervous But not on purpose Some people exude a confidence that inspires the same thing in yourself But there’s still this nervous laughter of How is she so composed How is she hardly older than I, and so, so – Full of experience Full of delight Worth talking and laughing from dark to the morning light If this is fleeting, I can accept that But some people You want to know what lets them breathe And I’ve got your clothes, I’ll give them right back My New York damsel in sovereignty, too chill to be distressed I’ll have you at your worst; I’ve already seen you at your best
But I’ll have you at your worst; I’ve already seen you at your best
I hope that you’re happy I hope you wake up and fall in love with the world I hope your parents love you And if they don’t, I hope that in your head you tell them to go fuck themselves but keep them in your prayers every night You deserve Confetti streamers on your birthday Someone to travel on the train for 2.5 hours with 29 golden balloons to Surprise you with celebration
Something about you is so familiar Something about you is so new You looked at me with cocaine eyes when I grew solemn and blue But I wasn’t tired of you I was just tired- I was up all night! This girl’s got a bedtime And I slept well But it might be my insecurity, for I can’t tell
If I made the right impression God, I talked so much Why’d you make me feel so comfortable! Why did I have to enjoy your presence! Under the city street lights when I first glanced in your direction, I thought “my god, she probably has everything”
The first impression That you made It is one that may partially come from you, and a portion from the book you lent me Well, I’ll read it, and all that you highlighted – I love the little shades of blue hue I’ll learn your secrets I hope you’re living A life you dreamt of I hope to be Someone you’ll send a message to when you’re Stuck Not knowing what to wear, Bored and want to make me a drink, talk about the weather, don’t even have to think Want someone to make you laugh about everything Because I’m good at being that
My New Year’s resolution is to be accepting of myself So I can stop second-guessing whether others accept me And start living life as boldly and securely as you appear, you stunning avalanche of a porcelain doll
Think I’m starting to think This year is going to be new for me It’s only the seventh, and I’m on my pink bedspread in your cream white sweater Somehow we’re the same size Even though you’re smaller Porcelain and clover, golden and sapphire
And you like luxury the way I do And you don’t eat animals because you care And we’re the same age but wiser beyond our years Even though the boys would never tell us that our face
You’re awfully good at first impressions Is there anything that I forgot to mention? Shut up, don’t make fun of me for my apprehension
Make love to me under the twinkling lights Let me give you directions
Porcelain skin, long princess hair With plants on your windowsill Downtown Los Angeles, May earth baby girl of nonchalance & sheer observation
Because being alive is just enough for you Because being alive comes naturally to you And you told me, not once- but twice That you’re happy I’m here too New York baby doll You were a star in the fleeting night While you’re in your studio, I’ll be right here I’ll be right here The things you said to me They meant so much to me to hear
The plants arranged on your windowsill I can’t wait to tell you their genus and species Because I like biology And you like theories And your projector television screen illuminated a light upon your silhouette that made you look even more like a fever dream
In your cream sweater I feel much better
So call me if you ever want to chat about the weather
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This is one of the shortest poems I’ve ever drafted. Many people think my poetry blocks are separate poems, but they’re actually all one post – I think it’s in being ethnically Russian that makes me so verbose. Sometimes I think I’m entirely composed of words. Enjoy. – Elle
In a cream sweater, I lie polished in the sand Me, right there, with just the right tan Your diamond slippers Soft chain-tainted, frozen and milky bite Sweet medallion, golden skyline Treasured and regarded Held too tight
Never enough It’s never enough I’m never enough Never enough It’s never enough I’m never
Like cobblestone paths that I walked along in the summertime Sweet and concrete Soft like the horizon That falls like a ghost, which I warned you about Not once, twice – not once, many times Sweet, hazel eyes Blemished skin Soothing fireplace memories and lullabies in notebooks Lined with crisp-white, apricot pages Laced garments Torn to pieces Left for those who traveled never too far away from where they were raised To lay down forever, at least in the garden Until the fountain ceases to calculate its own mistakes
Tell me what it is you dream about
I flat iron my hair, and I separate the strands They fall I’m beside myself And I think of diamonds Gazing at the dandelions on my coffee table I notice that the table leg is about to come apart
Never enough It’s never enough I’m never enough Never enough It’s never enough I’m never
