Poetry 

Where did everyone learn “normal?”

Did they have a day I missed

where everyone observed the life

of the perfectly average human?

Has your flow been normal,

light or heavy?, the doctor asks.

I don’t know. I don’t make a habit

of watching others menstruate.

Am I aphantasic? Can others really see

apples and chairs and faces

inside their minds, with

colors and textures and movement?

Is this executive dysfunction,

or just weak will, or laziness,

or something wrong with me?

Could I really be different?

How can you know “different”

and “normal” and “fine”

when the only experiences

you’ve had are your own?

_________________________________________

Hygiene Tips for Depressive Episodes

October 31st, 2025

Sit on the counter to brush your teeth;

then it seems different and doable and fine.

Wear your hair under a scarf or bandana

so no one can see how greasy it has become.

Then, it will be so flat and unpresentable

that you will just have to shower tonight.

And if you just can’t get yourself in the shower,

at least wash your hair upside-down in the tub.

Keep enough pairs of socks in your drawer

so you can last between the rare laundry days.

Always keep your medications in an organizer.

Then you can remember if you’ve taken them

and it can be a reminder of what day today is.

Refilling it on Saturday night is your reward.

You’re absolutely not allowed to lie in bed

unless you’ve closed your curtains for the night

Buy a plant and become maternally attached,

so you have to stay around to care for it.

_________________________________________

The Skeleton Inside Me

October 31st, 2025

The skeleton inside me

sometimes wants out

He itches and squirms

and tickles at my skin,

hoping one day

for an opportunity to show. 

If he had his way,

We would never sit still.

We would dance and prance

and spin and twirl

and stretch and bend and run.

But he doesn’t have a job,

he doesn’t pay the bills,

he doesn’t understand

that sitting still must be done. 

But sometimes when I feel him, 

extra restless in his bones,

I give in and we go

frolicking and skipping

around and around

until I grow tired

(he never does, since

he doesn’t breathe or eat)

and insist once again

on quiet, settled sitting.

I hope he never tries

some grand, pre-planned

escape, because I don’t think

I’ll live without him

keeping me straight.

I can feel him now:

creeping deep within,

squirming for some comfort

as I sit and write.

I must keep him subdued,

And keep him locked away,

because what would happen

if the world met him bare?

They’d put him in a show

and make him dance for pay;

I’d probably be there too,

pinned up to a frame.

And so I keep him satisfied

by dancing all about,

and he keeps my fingers moving

so I can share his tale.

_________________________________________

Are you okay?

October 31st, 2025

Are you okay?

You don’t do things anymore.

Socialize,

shower,

cook, 

sing.

Do you find joy

in existing?

If so,

why don’t you do

joyful things anymore?

If not,

why are you 

still here?

_________________________________________

Nothing Matters

October 31st, 2025

Nothing really matters.

No one cares

what clothes I wear,

how my hair looks, 

what I do.

Nothing really matters.

Nothing I do

will change the world,

my world,

my life. 

_________________________________________

Main Character

October 30th, 2025

Death is the end

only if you assume

that you are 

the main character.

What right do you have

to fear the end?

The world will not cease

when you do.

Your story is only

B plot to the tale.

You are simply one

In 8,000,000,000.

But don’t be disappointed.

Every story needs

hundreds of people

to fill out the background.

Maybe you’re even part

of an interesting one,

but don’t get excited.

You are not the main character.

_________________________________________

Changing the Calendar

October 29th, 2025

Somebody keeps changing

the calendar while I sleep.

I’m not certain who, 

or why, but I am sure

that someone is.

I try my best to find them,

pretending to sleep but peeking

when I hear a creak. I haven’t yet,

but someday soon I’m sure

that I’ll catch them in the act.

I don’t know why 

they feel the need.

I would be perfectly fine

to stay at Today forever

instead of relentlessly

charging forwards.

I get anxious when I see

the numbers and months

flying by and by,

with no regard to me.

I feel left behind,

stagnant in the stream of time.

If I ever catch them, 

I’ll politely ask to stop.

Please let me move 

at my own pace, and stop 

changing my calendar.

_________________________________________

Caramelized

October 26th, 2025

Caramelized.

Super-heated,

Simmered,

Slowly.

For a time, 

A while, 

Uncomfortably long.

Broken down,

Transformed, 

Into something

On the brink

Of bitterness, 

Almost burnt,

But perfectly molded

Stretched and folded

To be sweet, 

Appealing, 

Likable.

Not what I once was,

But I now am

Caramelized.

_________________________________________

When I Am Not a Person

October 26th, 2025

My handwriting remembers more 

than I do at this point

My a’s give hints to 7th grade

to when I tried to learn

the double story a,

with the little hook on top.

My b’s and d’s are 

not mirror twins;

d has a loopy stem

and b does not. 

I always write a cursive f

even in my print, 

simply because

I like it better.

My h’s always have 

a little upwards turn

at the end of the arch;

I cannot remember why.

My q’s are also cursive.

In fact, I cannot recall

what a normal q 

looks like anymore.

Cursive r’s make me upset.

I cannot write them right,

their shape makes no sense.

I avoid them at all costs.

I do not write the cursive s

the way I was taught in 3rd.

It makes no sense as well,

so I picked a better way.

My z’s are unfinished without

a little crossbar, like the number 7.

That’s the way my mom writes them,

so I picked it up along the way.

I know the shapes of calligraphy,

and I own a set of pens.

I don’t use that skill often anymore,

but it’s waiting, still there. 

_________________________________________

draped in blue

October 31st, 2025

The mountain faces are 

draped in blue, a velvet

gossamer cloth that

spills from the sky. 

The silky, shadowy surface

hugs each cliff and ridge

and keeps the frost blooms safe

from the sun’s hunting rays.

A pool of golden fills

the valley down below.

It touches each warm stone

and whispers through the hay.

The ripples reach my window

and bathe me in their light,

but I can never catch one

to study or to sell.

A painter’s brush has left

messy, unfinished streaks

of white across the sky.

They want me to complete

whatever masterpiece

might have been,

but I don’t have the brush

or talent to heed their call.

_________________________________________

God is Watching

October 31st, 2025

Do you think

God is watching

the world burn?

Do you think

He knew what would happen

when He put us down here?

Do you think

He cries as His children 

wreck His masterpiece?

Do you think

He mourns each sparrow

whose home is turned to scrap?

Do you think

He sees our weapons

and wishes He had stopped?

Perhaps the rain

is drops of sorrow,

grief, and loss.

Perhaps He tried 

to stop us,

to show a better path,

But we just

killed His Son

and went about our ways.

_________________________________________

Sounds of a Writers’ Retreat

October 31st, 2025

Clicking of keyboards,

Others’ and my own.

A faint conversation

In the loft above.

Someone knocks over

A poker, or something metal:

A comedic, cartoonish clanging.

The heater kicks on,

A low and steady hum.

Someone shifts in their seat

And scrapes against the floor.

Zippers open and close,

Scissors cut somewhere.

The occasional yawn,

Sniffle, or cough.

Tin foil crinkles

As breakfast is put away.

A wooden rafter creaks

And someone’s knuckles crack.

But mostly, the sound of keyboards

And quiet ideas put on paper.

I slip on my headphones,

Quieting the soft noises

In hopes to coax out

A few ideas of my own.

_________________________________________

The Face in the Mirror

October 30th, 2025

I know, logically, that

the face in the mirror is mine.

I find, however, 

from time to time,

that she’s unrecognizable.

I forget my height

until I’m photographed.

Sometimes my arms and legs

feel disconnected from my brain,

like plastic from a doll.

Is my hair really that long?

Or that dark a shade?

When did my eyes become

Such a deep and cold

and rich tone of brown?

I’m almost certain that 

my jawbone is not 

that heavy and rounded,

but the figure in the glass

tells me I’m wrong.

I stare into her soul

and wonder if we match.

Am I really such a stranger

that I don’t recognize

myself?

_________________________________________

Sestina 1

October 29th, 2025

When will I understand

The being that I am?

I am a kind of person, 

But what kind, I am unsure.

I guess I’ll just keep looking

And hope someday I’ll know.

Will I ever really know

What it feels like to understand?

I find myself looking

Int the mirror, at what I guess I am,

Although I am unsure

If that thing is a person.

I have never met a person

Who thinks that they don’t know

All they need. They stop feeling unsure

When they think they understand,

And who am I to say they don’t? I am

The only one still looking.

I often caught looking

At each and every person

Around me. I am

Trying to figure out how they know

What to be, to understand

How to be never slightly unsure.

To this day I am still unsure

Why I keep on looking. 

I know I’ll never understand

How to be a person,

And I guess I already know

What kind of thing I am.

You ask me what I am?

Now you are, finally, unsure.

You don’t ever really know.

You find yourself looking

At what I have become: a person

That you cannot understand.

You are looking at what I am.

I am simply a person, unsure

If I understand what I know.

_________________________________________

Walk Alongside the Dead

October 26th, 2025

Walk alongside the dead

And listen to the tales they tell.

They never left us.

They’re right there, 

Hiding behind reality, 

Walking beside mortality.

_________________________________________

How Far

October, 2025

It’s isolating to be

The only one who sees. 

How far I would go

To find someone else who knows.

_________________________________________

Proud & Impatient

October, 2025

I do not want to appear

“Holier than Thou,”

but how can I know

how far above

my peer’s I’ve gone?

When can I 

stop pretending

that I haven’t known

these things

for years?

When can I move on

and up

instead of being 

held down

to wait for everyone else?

How can I really know

if I have some substantial amount

of some sort of gift,

or if I’m just

proud

and impatient?

_________________________________________

empty spaces

October, 2025

I want to be

a poet

crafting words

that make people cry

and consider

their world.

I want to be

a muse

seeing myself

in the words of another

and feeling

understood.

I want to be

an artist

capturing beauty

in brushstrokes & canvas

and just 

creating.

I want to be

a model

immortalized

exactly the way I am

and seen as 

beautiful.

I want to be

a poet

a muse

an artist

a model.

I want to create

and to inspire, to be the reason

for a little more beauty

in this world.

I guess

I will go on

wanting. 

_________________________________________

Only What They See

September 2025

At first I give

my highest effort

my deepest thoughts

my extra time.

Eventually

I only give

what they think

is my highest effort.

_________________________________________

some days.

September 2025

Some days I feel

on top of the world.

I put on makeup

I wear the slacks

that show off my figure

I put myself out

to be perceived

by the world.

Some days I feel

too heavy

to open the shower curtain

to brush my teeth

to turn off the light

at night

when I have no motivation

to even fall asleep. 

_________________________________________

Reading Out Loud

September 2025

How ironic

to score

at the top of

every test

every class

every year

but still

read out loud

to force

focus 

comprehension 

attention

meaning. 

_________________________________________

On the Plane Where I Exist

September 2025

“What if

the Big Bang

was God’s gun 

going

off

in His mouth?”

What if we are

God’s Debris?

bits of celestial

matter

floating

and creating

in the wake of

a Universal

destruction?

Of God

but not

By God?

Based on “God’s Debris” by Scott Adams

and an Instagram post by Unknown

_________________________________________

What a World

September 2025

What a world

we would live in 

if each and every

citizen of this country

were equally sorrowful

to hear the news

of their President’s death.

_________________________________________

Despite My Efforts

September 2025

The things I do feel

final

despite their inherently

temporary nature.

It feels like I’ve

won a battle

every time I step out of the shower,

but two days later

my hair is greasy

again.

I check “laundry”

off my list

and feel accomplished

and done,

but it shows up

again

despite my best efforts.

Why must my mind

trick me

with that feeling of

finality & doneness

when I well know

that these things have to be done

again

and again

and again?

_________________________________________

Falling Silent

September 2025

My brain is

a loud & busy place.

It talks

when I try to listen

and falls silent

when asked a simple question.

It makes music

and memories

and feelings

and futures

that will never occur

that will happen without my obsessive planning

that don’t matter

but never a word

to pin down

to speak

to express

the reality

inside my head. 

_________________________________________

Pill Bottles

September 2025

Every day feels

the same.

The only proof

of time passing

is my pill bottle

becoming lighter

and a reminder

to pick up my refill. 

_________________________________________

Confronting Time; or, Another Day 

September 2025