The Games

I hate the games

An early evening sky
Nearly covered in dark grey
Pieces of pink along blue

I’m waiting to write

I’m happy when my face freezes
in the winter - I’m winning time

I’m waiting for you to say it first

I hate how it feels like a game

Was I too obvious?
They told me you need to love me first.

We’re not that anonymous

Hush, don’t
I’ll feel it
It’s Christmas
The internet is my hide & seek
I’ve said a lot of things I don’t mean
If you seek me, you’ll know
I can’t open presents
I’ll feel it in my chest
Don’t say it.

True Love

How often you’d wear hoodies
and how often I’d try to borrow them
and how often borrowing would lead to keeping.

Assorted Things

I wrote you a letter
in green pencil
I had to sharpen it
only 10 times

I haven’t sent it yet

You lived your youth
in the 70s and, I, in the 60s
Though we’re of 90s and 00s
80s babies,
10s - we begin to trip

How much longer?
I don’t feel anxiety
but I think it
worry for my face in the mirror
and when I hold a teacup to my chest

Heat feels better
All I have is the heat of tea

To Shut Up

I am a thing that never shuts up
But other people shut up to me
Or I shut up other people

Saying too much
can go unnoticed
by those other than ourselves

My voice is the least interesting
but it’s often all I hear.

I’m looking at unfinished word documents where I rambled while tired

"The ideal view of the self plays into identification. Where you are vs where you want to be, how you envision your perfect self. And the way you would manifest if – unlike the way the physical world happens to be now – you could manifest at any time, in any way you please. Basically, how would you appear? How would you choose yourself to be? (I’m so tired so heavy editing is necessary)"


I would speak as if I had no life beyond the high school years. I had no understanding of which role I would be capable of filling. Surely, I couldn’t get a job, couldn’t have a relationship, couldn’t go to college. I could do nothing because all of these things require an ability to fill a role, to fit a pattern. If you asked me at 16 about my future, I would have told you, “I have no life beyond graduating high school. I am dead after that.”

Turns out, I stuffed myself into “student” and managed to fit, barely. Other than that, I’m alive at 27. But that’s pretty much it.

2009, cheap hotel room, Ikebukuro

2009, cheap hotel room, Ikebukuro

The One Good Thing

Your hair on the floor
Face jagged, lines, teeth
Pools forming on the floor
This, I wonder if you’re the same

In which corner of the world
Could you possibly
Maybe, could you be

Do you cry for the lack of impact
Is it the memory of those feverish
Those days of death smells
of crowds, weapons, dirt kicked up
Somehow you remember my smile

Is it beautiful, then
Only because I smiled once
And so did you.

To give attention silently

Did you only have to learn the alphabet
When did you learn the meaning of altruism

I said that the question mark is gone

People these days
Look at profiles too much, saying nothing
Everyone’s busy
Sometimes I say I’m busy when I’m not
We can believe we’re busy

I would like to be rigid
To follow form
All my lovers do
(I have none)