i text dead people for advice.
not because they answer—
they don’t—
but because they never interrupt.
i tell my grandfather
about the boy who left mid-winter
and how my ribcage still
clicks shut like a locket
when someone new gets close.
he was buried in silk,
but i like to imagine
he’d wear combat boots now
and tell me to run before love
swallowed me whole.
i ask Sylvia
what to do
with the hurt that has no name,
the ache that sits like a houseguest
i never invited.
i send her my poems at 3 a.m.—
the ones with too much blood
and not enough metaphor.
she doesn’t reply.
but somehow, i feel seen.
sometimes i text
my childhood self.
she’s dead too,
in a way.
i ask her if the monster
was really under the bed
or if it slept in a room that never unlocked.
she sends back
a drawing of a girl
with no mouth.
i know what she means.
my inbox is a graveyard.
a collection of ghosts
who hold more kindness
than most living hands.
they never leave me on read.
they never ask me
to explain my sadness
in bullet points.
i text dead people for advice
because the living
tend to offer solutions
when all i want
is for someone
to hold the question.
Categories:
houseguest, 12th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form: Free verse
The House Guest
You found yourself in a bind
and ask me if I would mind
You say you need a place to stay
it would only be for one day
The day turned into nights
the nights turned into days
Your entire family is here
and drama is all that I hear
No room left for my thoughts
my stomaches tied up in knots
Kids screaming they want fed
and you never put them to bed
You show up with your brood
didn't even bring your own food
I run out to the store
but you want even more
Fighting you are up until dawn
oh how you carry on and on
No offer has yet been made
I am the only one who has paid
Before it was just me
now it's me and you times three
The place is such a mess
I don't need this distress
Expenses explode once more times four
Let me show you to the door
Dysfunctional you are with your spouse
Just get your family out of my house
Categories:
houseguest, anger, break up, character,
Form: I do not know?
Visions of illustrated forks
Pointing your direction
To the far away mystic night
Where the werewolves howl
Guiding you to your room
Filled with lights and sorrow
The same fearful sound
Of clicking, like an unwanted houseguest
Or a stray dog with no name
Piercing the hallow depths
Of your pitiful imagination
Let your cranium run wild
And point you to somewhere new
Categories:
houseguest, life, peace, sad,
Form: Free verse
Pickled percolating bile
Prances up my prickled throat
Whiskey guides my exile
While arrogance digs a moat
Brain reeking like a dog pile
Mighty flush to spin that float
Jackhammers ravage my brain
As my eyes toil to flutter
Elements of vast disdain
Yelp out within this clutter
Bacchus yanks me on his chain
While I glide in my gutter
Bruises pop out everywhere
Witnessed in that cracked mirror
Vomit caked-up in my hair
Revolt doesn't flash clearer
Locked within my distressed stare
Oblivion creeps nearer
What is this taste on my tongue?
Flavor sticks like a bar floor
Profusely coated in dung
Or perhaps scattered with gore
From my decimated lung
Snubbing to fight anymore
Heaves wobble within my chest
As my legs buckle under
Intestinal aches protest
My ever-loving blunder
Jameson's uncouth houseguest
Possesses me to plunder
I lack triggers of restraint
Base urges strive to throttle
My dim sanity's complaint
Longing shrivels to twattle
Before my spirit grows faint
I reach out for that bottle...
Categories:
houseguest, angst, confusion, lossme,
Form: Rhyme