Copy and Paste Poetry.

I was born with a knack for explanations.

A story. A legend. Let's give them something to write about.

You'll know who she is by the mark on her chest, in the shape of a letter that was too proud to form a word.

Was it all for show or tell?
Self- referential until the world knows my name.

Exfoliate. Slough off the dead. I take it all with a grain of salt, and now I'm begging for water.

Sealed tight.

Goodnight, it's time to go home.

Make me feel beautiful

and document it.

Memories bite like rats.

The past paralyzes me. When I think about my comparitive youth, I am overwhelmed to the point where I question reality. It was a whole new world beyond the confines of my small town. Area codes meant something. People were characters, given names and personas to fit the storybook. The King who fell from the throne, the minions who moved and dressed as one, the jokers, and the Killer Queens.

I wanted so badly to belong. I became a nomad. No town was my own. I would disregard logic for the sake of relationships with those who embodied what I wanted to become.

I don't know how I crossed the line. I'm hazy as to how people learned my name.

Exits mean something to me that they would never mean to you.

Trying to race the clock. Lying to our parents that we didn't have school the next day. Belonging to something that we created.


Does anyone else feel robbed?

Does anyone else feel lost?


How quickly they forget.