the anatomy of my mayhem 

1. she holds her pencil in the air

like a cigarette.

breathing in the poisonous lead and

breathing out a years worth of pain.

“god, it’s hard to quit”

she sputters as ink starts to dribble down her chin

2. “I hate what you’ve done with the place”

the girl was huddled in the corner, coughing up cobwebs

why are you here?

” You needed me.”

i don’t need anyone except for him

Not even yourself?”

i’m not ready for you

It’s no fun being a badass in your dreams. How about we try it in real life?”

that’s not who i am

You’re a sad heartbroken girl. I’m going to show you what a woman looks like.

And with that, the girl started to fade into the wallpaper of her heart, watching the mayhem unfold.

3. we search for ourselves in others

without searching in ourselves first.

it’s a lot like looking for change on the road

rather than checking your own pockets first

((((((I promise something’s there. I promise someone’s there))))))

4. To Pro-Anorexia Blogs:
How does it feel to push another

helpless teen under the influence

of a mental disorder?

How does it feel to bring toxicity

into young people’s mind in order

to make your ideals some sort of

sick reality?

Do not tell me that it’s a life style

Or a diet plan,

it’s a mental illness.

Don’t take innocent and healthy

people and make them victims.

Pick up a fucking therapist card

instead of writing on your piteous

Maybe what will help you be

content is flushing out all that

bullshit and not planting sick ideas

in 10 year olds that they need

to start dieting.

and one more thing,

to promote anorexia isn’t pretty

pretty is pretty,

and i’ve never seen uglier people

5. what are you staring at?

is it the curve of my crisscrossed

legs that intertwine like butterfly


is it my eyes that reflect light

sprinkled with dust and flakes of the

literature in front of me?

maybe it’s my lips that are tainted

with kisses and ink

that have got your attention?

or can you see my intergalactic

mind cascading onto the journal

placed in the core of my wings?

(((((it’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it)))))

6. I like how discreet you think you’re being.

as if I haven’t noticed how much

you’ve been scrutinizing me.

there’s no point in picking up the

book, if you’re not going to read it

(((((((take it or leave it, my time is precious)))))

7. how I hate my own


it’s as if the type writer in my brain

is jammed and the part of me that

cares has suffocated under the

weight of my own mundanity!

8. I lounge upon a dusty divan

and count the curves of my body,

loving every swerve and soft edge,

“disgusting pig,” the cobwebbed girl spits from the wallpaper

I blow gently upon the wall and she crumbles a little more.

” it hurts doesn’t it? to still be hungry after licking up all that venom. ”

9. there is no heartbreak more

painful than the heartbreak of

learning that you don’t love


that underneath the show that you

put on for other people is a way to

look in the mirror and love a

stranger that runs down your face

after it touches water.

self love should not be so fragile nor


do not let the cobwebbed monster

break your heart again and again.

find a new love within yourself, that

isn’t shrunken and littered with


(((((((((maybe one’s soulmate is just below their heart and right in front of them))))))))

10. you wouldn’t let your ex or the current president speak to you like that,

so why speak to yourself like that?

(((((you’re more important than you think)))))))

11. dear big boys,

I am so sorry that you are pressured to look like a

Greek statue for you are already Atlas, carrying society’s expectations

upon your broad shoulders.

I see you ,big boys, with empty stomachs and rejected hearts, and you are worth more

than a three digit number, worth more than a girl/boy who can’t appreciate your velvety loveliness.

I want to remind you that just because you take up more of the world’s space with your magnificence doesn’t make you less worthy to be human.


a girl who loves beautiful boys

12. dear skinny boys,

it always amazes me with how much charisma your important bodies capture,

how much power you harvest underneath your skin that makes your movements so elegant.

your arms lift in the air and resemble bird wings as society pushes it’s bitter wind towards you, trying to make you fall over or thrust you into a pit of self-loathing.

though, you stay planted, growing  lovelier rather than bigger.

for there is enough in that capsule of yours to fill galaxies.


a girl who loves beautiful boys

13. “living life for the sake of living,”

he says to me.

I glance at all the dead girls and empty gun shells from a bad game of russian roulette around me,

” god forbid I end up like them.”

14. he takes a huff of his cigarette,

“who does your heart belong to?”

” you don’t know him.”

he shakes his head with a chuckle,

“if I don’t know him then he’s not fashionable enough.”

he offers me a huff of his cigarette,

” and what about your soul, dear? who does that belong to?”

I accept his offer and breathe in,

” the Devil.”

he begins to smirk with a slight twitch in his eye,

” ah yes, now him, him I know.”

I breathe out and the smoke begins to spell out my name as he laughs and collects the letters on his tongue. he’s always had a taste for the unruly.

~for o.w.

15. at 7 I learned to put on my big girl shoes and start acting like an adult,

at 10 I learned to tighten the laces because my journey to womanhood was just a couple of years away,

at 3 days from 16, I’ve learned that no matter how big my shoes are, I will always be measured by the distance between my moth bitten socks and the toe of my shoe

(((((((the space between a girl and a woman:empty))))))))

16. my father left me with so much love with no place to go;

which is why I spoon feed it to anyone who goes near,

hoping they don’t mind the taste and that they won’t disappear

((((((((what else can a girl do with so much love?)))))))

17. hands at my side, I sit and wait

for age to grip me and time to inflate,

since it is too late for my youth and to early for my fate

and all I really want is a new day

18. it’s funny how it took three women to replace one man

three mothers to replace one father

three souls to mend the hole he singed into my heart with a cigarette.

I’ve never felt so loved

for v.d, a.o, and p.h.

19. there is not a season I adore more than fall,

for it is a constant reminder of how I fell and got

back up.

like the way leaves descend from their branches

and become something new in the dirt

((((decomposition and rebirth))))

20. in autumn, I seem to see the beauty in everyone;

the decayed, leaves writhing in the grass

the lost, newspapers drifting in the wind

the vulnerable, branches in the clouds

the warm, colors of the earth.

october has always been the most romantic time of the year

21. little girls like to think they’re all

grown up by wrapping their little fingers

around the stem of a wine bottle

but those little fingers, dear, can only reach so far around the romance you’ve associsated to destroying yourself

((((((maybe when your older))))))

22. there is a boy that I love.

but not like the mad poetry boy, no.

I love this boy in a different way that makes me happy in a different kind of way and the best part is-

he is not afraid of me, rather he has looked into my deranged eyes and held my hand, out of danger’s way.

I wish I could thank this boy with a million forget-me-nots all tied in a bow because I sure hope you don’t when you show the world your great big heart

and know that whenever your wings get tired or bruised that my nest is always open,

brother crow

-for d.a.

23. I stare at the wallpaper and pick

at the residue left from my secret love affair.

who knew that a bullet could travel so fast

and words splattered so easily

((((((miss you))))))

24. I look at the girls with half empty plates and half empty caskets

the girls with bruised lips from kissing too hard or not hard enough

the girls who were reborn as boys but are still treated like they’ve died

the girls who are a little too much for everyone or just not enough

~protect my girls 

25.) oh! do not tell me stories of

great heartbreak and of regretful


do not spill your pity into my glass as we cheers for joie de vivre!

do not stand in front of the sun depriving my flowers of light and do not dare blind me by shining in front of my reflection!

I’m much too busy admiring the ones in front of me to look back and pick you off my shadow.

(((((((depression and her mistress))))

26. it was the best of times,

it was the worst of times,

it was the age of judgement,

it was the age of enlightenment,

it was the epoch of individuality,

it was the epoch of constraint,

it was the season where men sat honourably reflected in the vulnerability of their White wine hidden in their Black coats,

it was the season where men delved in their pleasures and sat comfortable in shades of Gray.

26. as I take the short cut home the

wind crashes into me and I






and I think, “this is how he leaves me”


27. he loved me like a pomegranate:

peeling away my thin, transparent,

veiny skin and devouring the

bitter seeds of my protruding insecurities,

leaving me jarred and sticky with regret.

((((((((forbidden fruit))))))))

28.him and I, we’re time travellers, you see?

whenever I look at him I see the


and when we are together,

he takes me to another world


29. so we cut off our palms and

pinned them to the wall

and sat, painting road maps in the



30. I think I’m going crazy.

seeing things that aren’t there.

like your love for me, and the

sliding of an empty chair


31. we hold our flashlights in the air and send each other messages.

that’s how we communicate;

through sparks of light

how will I know that your flashlight died?

or have you gotten used to the dark?

32. and there she lay

wearing a crystal foam dress,

bathing in rose water,

seeing lavender,

listening to amurado;

god she was so beautiful,

and much more than he deserved

33. you had my hands tied behind my back

except now you’re tongue tied,

and my fingers extend past my bones, interlocking with my mothers and friends.


34. isn’t it funny how it snowed the day after I burst

candor falling from my lips as

the snow drifted from the sky.

I wonder how long the clouds were bearing the snow,

as I was bearing the truth.

35. yes, I was blinded by his charm,


and allure:

however, I was not unaware of the consequences and my actions.

it makes sense, really,

I was able to reach out into the darkness and feel those factors in the air,

but like depressed, blind woman I identified the gun, but still put it in my mouth like a spoon.

35. dear grey girl

you were right all along, about him,

except you were much smarter

about it,

and I look up to you in many ways for being able to see through his lies and soft words whereas I ate them up.

I’m sorry for the tension between us, for I wasn’t doing my duty to you as a fellow woman,

for when I look at you, I see all the strength I didn’t have to say “no”


a girl adorned in crow feathers and poetry

36.I will forever be grateful for what has happened,

for you were the droplet of water that almost extinguished my flame.

but I have made it out alive, ready to burn the next man who decides to feed my fire with lies.

((((candle in the wind)))

37. do you miss me or the thrill,

the heat,

the dark?

do you miss me or what I gave you?

38. I asked my mother why she keeps all her expensive jewelry in locked drawers.

((((((like how you hid me)))))))

I said, “it’s a shame isn’t it? all that beauty hidden away.”


she shook her head, ” they are too nice to wear out. what if they get stolen, lost, or broken?”

((((I’m too good to be kept low key))))

“but if you’re not going to wear them then what’s the point of having them?”


“It’s just jewelry, love, it doesn’t care whether you wear it or not.

((((((I cared)))))

39. dear, I want you to grow from this.

I want you to blossom,

and learn,

and change,

and help yourself.

please,this gift is better than love,

and lust,

and comfort,

and everything I once gave you.

trust me, this may not be farewell

for I hope that a better me can meet a better you

all because of some distance.

40. from now on I am no longer the

light emitted from the lighthouse

but the structure itself,

I hope you find your way through the fog,

without me.

((((a push in the right direction))))

41. I’ve been massaging the knots in my tongue

trying to figure out a way to say

what is clogged up in my brain

without bleeding out

and choking on the clots

of all my built up thoughts.


42. I got lost in the road map creases of your palms,

and the stromatic streets of your irises,

and the bar needle, compass cracks of your lips,

and as I looked for shelter, I found myself walking in circles; wrapped around your



43. I hope that your little pursuit of

breaking into people’s hearts when their

doors are wide open is done.

I hope you’re finally satisfied with yourself and

I hope that every single time you look at my paintings

and my words

and my success,

you quiver.

maybe then I can forgive you.

44. I take back my sympathy

that I sang like a symphony,

I take back my support

that I sacrificed for your salvation,

all the sculptures I slaved over for you,

I take it all back for it was meant for the man

I thought I knew,

not the satyr that you are.

45. my patience is running as thin

as the ice surrounding the Arctic,

the heat of my wrath warms and

melts the very shard I stand on,

and I see you paddling with cupped hands,

away from the consequences anchored to the icebergs.

I see you’d rather drown than face them.

46. black eyed boys

carrying black fried hearts

from black speckled spots on their

too young brains,

and with their black dyed toys

splattering young bright brains on

cold white floors as the

governments close their doors

to protect their stupid shooting


(((((((voting season))))))))

47. my body; an instrument

unlimited to one note,

a symphony of string

falling against my shoulders,

woodwind in my wind wipe

blowing low chords and

brass in my belly taking

place of my lungs and

percussion against my chest as

my heart thu thumps, and

keyboards for hands,

each finger representing a

different key.

not many know how to play

me right, in the right octave,

in the right tempo,

and sometimes their intonation

ain’t right,

so off I go swaying to the city,

being my own musician,

singing my own song.

it’s awfully nice, too,

not having to be tuned

all the damn time; and

I’m left to write my own



48. my tongue is not razor edged;

it is blunt like the steel used for

sharping knives, sparks flying

off my teeth,

burning everything to the


49. people have started to

notice that I’ve been acting


I promise I haven’t shed

skin or

slipped into another;

I have simply stopped

playing dress up:

no more pearls for my


corsets for my

character, or

silks for my


I am different because

I have found freedom

in my innate

identity, while others simply see

an impoverished soul.

how could they understand


I’ve always known that I would

only be judged by my attire.


49. someone spectacular

has caught my eye;

shiny object

(((((crow girl)))))

50. how is silence easier than


in fact, it’s two letters more.

(((((no excuse))))

51. butterflies in my stomach,

butterflies in my eyes,

butterflies in my palms.


52. he likes sunrises more than

sunsets and

radiates tranquility and


he likes sunrises more than

sunsets and

brings colour to my

previously grey world.


53. i like you because

you make me nervous.

not in the way he did,

where I was scared,

but in a way that makes

my eyes widen and heart

flutter and I feel

happy again

54. at the end of the day,

all I needed was


55. the coast is clear,

the boats are in,

the salt water air cycles

round my lungs,

the sand molds to fit

my figure, and the

sirens have lost their


although I am shipwrecked,

I am at peace.

56. I do not cry in front

of people I

care about.

always hiding under covers or

behind stall doors.

I do not cry when I  am sad.

only when I need to cool off from

the fire in my blood,

or when my faucet eyes

leak from the effervescence clogged

within my funny bone,

or when my dam(n) heart cracks and

creates river streams in my chest,

but when I am sad, I become



to my surroundings.

too burnt to feel:

emotions dull.

a river of tears is too

basic to repair me.

57. what you break,

you must restore.

that is love’s way.

58. heart of fire,

fingers frost.

that is what I am.

it is known where the

frost comes from,

((numbing love)),

the fire, though, remains a


however, I shall reveal it to you:

it is internal.

like bleeding

when an organ is

punctured, and the

stringy crimson fluid

diffuses through the


sometimes, this is due to external forces,

but there are times when it is simply



I, however, have been

pierced by


and I lay gasping,

smoldering from the


on my bathroom


and no one

can figure it out because it was so


not even ice baths can tame my

adamant fever,

and I become a famished


heart of




59. mis. guided and

mr. mindless

met in the bus window,

she pressed her palm against the


and he nearly tripped over

nothing as he shifted around her,

to see his own reflection.

60. I’m not much of an artist,

but, oh,

can I draw attention to


61. why am I so afraid to be here?

this is my domain,

I made this;

I am its mother. 

but sometimes even parents

become weary of their children,

because to be young again is to be naive,

and that is a risk I am not willing to take


62. I like it when you’re feisty.” 

I would like it more if you were dead. 

63. You need to put yourself together;

I am not adhesive.

You need to find yourself;

I am not a lost and found.

You need to give yourself a break;

I am not a vacation.

You need to find beauty in yourself;

I am not a mirror.

You need to make yourself whole,

because I will never love two people


64. dress me in heaps and heaps of fabric,

corsets, hoops, shawls, bonnets, and 


make me the Marie Antoinette of the 

modern age,

place me on a pretty platter,

serve me to the dogs, 

make the dilution of my

blood indicate the start of

la révolution.

65. you can break my heart,

but never my focus


66. lost in life,

found in literature;

guess you could say

I’m well-read but

too booked to study the

world around me.

67. make masterpieces out of


call it abstract.

68. It is 9:30 at night.

I am in the backseat of my friend’s old Toyota,

the windows are rolled down

so far that I am exposed to the

world without the smeared filter

of road trip glass.

We are blasting kpop,

and we can’t tell if nearby cars are

offended by the volume or by the

foreignness; however 

speeding half way across the

world in our little tin can on wheels,

you could say that we were

being unsafe or 


but that wouldn’t be true:

I had my seatbelt on.

69.  there is nothing I detest more

than seeing my words spill out of

a man’s mouth as if he came up

with them himself.

my intellect is not a language for

you to speak

without my name accented at the end.







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