Foot tapping and nail biting

Are habits I’ve picked up

From being surrounded by walls that seem to close in

Cutting off my oxygen like a prize ribbon

Squeezing out sweat like a rubber ball

Crushing my skull like a gladiator

And just generally triggering the(my) claustrophobia

I never really learned how to deal with panic attacks.

So I don’t.

I completely ignore whatevers bothering me in hopes it...

I don’t talk to waiters when I take a seat

Cafes aren’t for coffee they’re for poetry

But for some reason, by some means

He didn’t say, “Your order please”

He started with, “How’re you doing?”

And honestly,

not good.

See the last time I wrote a poem I liked was-

Well, I can’t remember when

But I remember how

Staring through tears at a page

Swimming before me like piranhas

With arms a-disgrace

An...

See I’ve never had a therapist

Or a therapist friend

Or a parent with an attention span wide enough to hear my cries

So what was I supposed to do when he asked something so mortifying?

“I’m fine” and “I’m dyimg” are practically synonymous

I could have said either and my meaning’ve been obvious

But something slipped, or clicked, or finally went out of place

And I could almost see the twitch of m...

Night drives are only nice once a month

When the moon is full

its swollen white belly bulging in the sky

The night air is crisp inbetween your hair

And your fingers and on your skin

And life feels infinite

Until there is nothing to light your path

No glowing orb

Hovering ominously over your shoulder

What happened to tranquility?

But we still take our night drives

East of Brooklyn

Like nothing e...

Trigger words

Everyone has them

Mine consists of a long list of things I typed into YouTube

and Google

and Quotev

and Spotify

and Libby

and pretty much anywhere with a search bar

It’s self-destructive

I know

It’s counterproductive

I know

But it’s also addictive

The most slowly self-degrading coping mechanism I’ve ever discovered

And for me, that says a lot

And yet I still wonder

Why the episod...

I tilt my head back

That sigh of exasperation

Thats been bottled up and stuffed between my ribs

Finally bubbles out

My thumbs are sore from all this tapping

The clickety-click of their polished tips on this polished screen

That stares at me

It has my eyes

They look more empty than alive

But when I took this phone

I wished only to feel alive

To write poetry

The only art form I ever spoke to that ...

It was a small town,

The type of place where everyone knew everyone

And every father had a gun

And every wife wanted a son

It was the kind of place where heroes grow up

Then run away from what they’re made of

Because the pressure gets too much

It was the kind of place where I grew up

But I aint no hero

I was the one everyone looked down on

So I ran away from what they said I was made of

And found...

I like the way she loves him, despite all that he’s done

I like the way she loves him, like he’s her only son

Her gentle caresses

Her sweet doting talk

I watch them from a distance

My face permanently stuck

In a twisted look of joy

As fake as vegan leather

I’d do anything to please her

She only has to ask

I’d slit my throat to grant her peace

If only she handled me with care

And brought me back ...

Lately, I’ve been looking up “anxiety”

So I can figure out why my head’s buzzing

Everytime someone texts me

And everytime I go out

There’s this impending doom

My personal rain cloud

I read I should breath

IN

then breath

OUT

To help me calm down

But my hands are still shaking

Could someone help me out?

They say change your thinking

Be more positive

If I were an optimist, I wouldn’t be jotting this...

I’m afraid I’ve become weaker

Please pardon me

I recently relapsed (again)

But not quite as badly

There wont be any keloids

Or infections

There wont be enough scars for an intervention

Which makes it more tempting

Than it was last month

After all, I didn’t get it right

Why not try again?

But I have my pretty plans and my petty rules And all my suicidal thoughts of “screw you!”

But in the end t...