kissing fire
Rian. A matryoshka doll.
If I am not able to write because I’m afraid of being a bad writer, then I must be a bad writer. At least I’ll be writing. 

I’ve locked my rib cages
extra tight
just in case my heart
wanted to jump out
of me
and felt the need to fly.


in my defense, i thought he was a comet. 

from where i was standing, he looked like
a fizzling star hurtling towards the ground
and i couldn’t look away from
his beautiful downfall.

in my defense, i fell in love with his despair.
his hands were glowing embers, and i was
looking for a fire to warm myself by. he made
me forget that even the moon is just a floating
rock when the sun isn’t lighting it up from
behind, and the most ordinary things can
look extraordinary in the right slant of light.

in my defense, i wanted to be a hero.
i thought i could save him so i used my
body to cushion the impact when he
crashed into the earth. in my defense,
his burning mouth. in my defense,
the craters he left in my skin.

Loneliness dealt me the cards

One thing you have to know about me is that I am deeply unhappy. You can’t dip your hands inside me without corroding your skin. Once, I tried to sing for the moon but all I did was howl until it buried itself beneath its bed of night. I didn’t see the moon again.

I crack book spines and pluck flower petals and pretend there’s no blood on my hands. There’s desert in my bones thirsty for rainwater. Deserts are so lonely. It’s ironic they shine golden under the sun. I wish people aren’t so deaf. They couldn’t hear the screams in my laugh.

Sometimes, I wish my shadow would get up and hold my hand. But the darkness will just eat her up.

Octavia E. Butler
“You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it.
That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.”
Caitlyn Siehl, On Healing
“Howl when the pain comes.
Wake up the moon.
Send her hurtling towards the ocean
until she emerges orange and burning over the water.
Break the earth’s eardrums.
Scream so loud the sky bleeds.
Stomp your feet until the ground
moves from underneath you.
Make it take you somewhere
without a fist.
Do not let the sun fall asleep
until you have found your own.
When it all finally goes quiet,
listen for peace.
Run your hands along the silence
until you find an open wound, then
see if it matches your own.
Keep looking.
When your eyes close and you
still feel it, set fire to the stars.
One day, this will be easier.
One day, you won’t have to do this.
Until then, be loud.
Stay loud.
Don’t apologize.
Scare the ghosts out of the sky.”
k.p.k, this again 
“I’m just bad thoughts rolled up in skin, trying to love people like I’ll be more than that tomorrow.”

I want to be on your lap,
kissing you hard.