The Monster

There is a monster that threatens to swallow me

And it comes by every day

Sometimes it hides deep inside the closet

And sometimes it sits in my way

I feel the pressure its claws press

Upon my shoulders until I carry it

The monster whispers wicked lies into my head

Until everything feels like shit

The monster spreads out days to weeks

And crunches hours into a flash

It turns compliments into whispers

And reprimands into something rash

The monster causes tears in my eyes

Which drown the back of my mind

In between that and the days I’m barely swimming

And I just want to leave it all behind

I’m scared that I’ll give in like I did before

And let the monster eat me whole

I worry that my days will be months

And I’ll lose a part of my soul

The monster scares me more than a failing grade

Yet it exists inside that too

Along with disappointed sighs and missed out meetings

And uncertainty of what to do

There is a monster that threatens to swallow me

And for now it sits in my heart

I can hear the beat ba-bump away

But what about when it won’t start?


I’m trying to get back into rhyming poetry, and I apologize for none of it being positive. I hope to expand my portfolio of subjects soon, although life is busy. We shall see.


The Future

I don’t know what the future holds.

I just hope it’s quiet

And holds a little more peace

Right now, I’m in pieces

Scattered across the present and the future

Present quickly becoming past

Hindering progress

“That was yesterday’s news”

“What’s new today?”

What holds true today?

What’s in view today?

Because I feel like I’m looking years ahead

And not seeing these ones here at all

I feel like I’m stuck in my head

Lying in bed

Feels like a pause

A comma between the clause of

“If I get a future”


“When I’m perfect”

Perfection has led me in a downward direction

Spiraling my thoughts

Tiring my heart

I don’t know where to start.

Do I quit my job? My school? My classes?

Do I give myself free passes on skipping work?

Do I work myself down to the bones and wonder when I’ll have no marrow

To harrow out from the inside

Pride is a terrible thing.

It holds as a good name for what it brings

But I don’t think it’s pride that made me work

It’s fear.

Fear that I don’t deserve to be here

That I can’t survive if I don’t strive for something better

And greater

And faster

And later

When I’ve done all that I can and achieve all that I could

I’ll wonder then,

Was my future really any good?


Apologies for my hiatus. I lost my sense of time, and when I regained it work just didn’t allow for poems. I wrote this one awhile ago, but I enjoy it immensely. I hope you do too.


Imagine It

I can see it

I can imagine it, at least

I can imagine walking up to you and telling you the truth

I can imagine saying I’ve noticed you for three years

I’m too scared to say the word “like”

I’m even more terrified of the word “love”

I can feel my stomach knot just writing this

Just thinking about it

I can imagine trying to start with a smile

Then remembering that if you say no

If you walk away

There will be nothing to smile about after that point

I can imagine stuttering over my words

Trying to conjure a reason for talking to you

When there’s nothing I’ve wanted to do but that

I try to tell you a joke

But the delivery comes out a little wrong

And it turns out you don’t like jokes anyway

And we sit in silence before I finally just blurt out what I’m thinking

“I’ve liked you for three years

And there’s been a lot of searching in between that

And part of that searching is finding out that I’m not the person you thought I was

And I know that this means nothing to you

Because you don’t want to know anyway

But here I am”

It’s a lame finish

And you walk away

And I just stand there

Wondering what went wrong.

Was it the joke?

The delivery of my messages always comes out a little wrong

Sometimes I don’t think I deserve love

And my brain reminds me exactly of what rejection looks like

And I am so terrified of that rejection

And so I picture you walking away

And I picture watching my tears fall

I can feel my tears fall just writing this

Wondering what went wrong

And how I went wrong

And the worst part is that sometimes my brain allows you to stay

And you just look at me and smile

And I smile back

And I know this is such a hopeless fantasy

But I can’t help imagining it

I can see it.

And that terrifies me.


I meant to post this sooner but I couldn’t think of a fitting afterword. I still can’t think of one. Perhaps, just a thought then; I wholeheartedly believe that people do not feel their full range of emotion until they want something. Or in this case, someone.


Get Up

Warning: profanity

Get up Alice

Get up and wake up

At a reasonable time

Make up that bed

And ugly face

A face that has no place with such a wide mouth

Stop letting stuff just spurt out

Think about what you say

And think about it again

No wonder you don’t have many friends

Do you think that this speech is a cry for help

It’s a cry for attention

Pay attention, Alice

Pay attention to what I say

Pay attention to the way I want this done

Do it exactly how I want it done

Why do you never have fun?

Lighten up, Alice

Take a joke

You do not hold the world on your shoulders

You do not shoulder substantial burden

Learn and know that more people have it worse than you

Stop acting like everything is just so blue

Do it with a smile

And a happy one at that

Then again, every smile you’ve given looks like you just spat

Stop looking so pained

Stop being so drained

And for God’s sake, stop pretending that you’re so busy

Everything you do should be easy

But you can’t do that if you don’t get up

Get up

Get the fuck up

Wake the fuck up

You don’t have time to be lounging about

You were supposed to send three emails out

And I don’t want to see you pout

I set an alarm for six in the morning

That’s not an alarm, it’s a warning

If you don’t wake up now you’ll never wake up

And get up

And make your breakfast

And make yourself workout

And make up yourself

Because you don’t have time to be sad

You don’t have time to say how you feel

You don’t have time to call your feelings real

Because you need to get up


I apologize; this piece is angry and violent and probably one of the best things I’ve written. Heavily inspired by spoken word poet Maia Mayor’s “Perfect”, this poem draws from the element of internalized perfectionism, with a dash of content. I pieced it together in my mind through these last few months, but the entire thing came to fruition quite recently. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be shared. But if it was, and there are people like me who understand this poem to its core, be glad that you’re not alone.



Doubt is the thing that eats me inside out

Questioning the life I live

What I did

And who I am

This is a question that makes me understand less about myself

And more about society

The variety of people makes it harder to choose

There’s more to lose

When you are expected to pick one out of a million

A billion stars in the galaxy

And only one supports life

But I don’t know if my life is worth the energy it took to create me

I can’t see myself in the mirror because all I know is my present

Which is weighed down by my past

I feel my life moves too fast

And slow at the same time

I can’t tell people what is mine

Because I don’t know what I possess

I like to digress from the natural path

That only makes it harder to exist

Yet I persist and hope that what I have is right

In hindsight

I should’ve played mute


I am at a very uncertain time in my life, yet I feel as if this is the path I’ve chosen to walk from the beginning. I have a hard time talking to other people, to communicating with friends and family, and even reflecting upon my own past. I hope that there is a viable excuse for this state of mind, and I believe that it will disappear eventually. The style of this poem is a little different, yet I enjoy writing like this because it feels halfway between a couplet and a spoken word. One of the most important things to know, my friends, is yourself. Everything else is only a consequence.



I don’t know what to do with my hands

I feel like my back is against the wall

I lost my logic, yet doubt grows tall

My fingers fumble for a grip

Every move just makes me slip

I wish I didn’t have to fish around

Waiting to hear a sound

Or a reply from you

All I have is what I write

A regrettable choice, and in hindsight

I wish I hadn’t said yes

Maybe I wouldn’t lie here

Wishing I could disappear

Back to the year

Before the tears

When anxiety filled my head

Laced with fist fueled dread

At least he was sweet and kind

At least he didn’t toy with my mind

Or make me cry

Our goodbye was short

The older I get, the more I know

Yet why doesn’t this help me grow

I’m still stumbling like a bumbling fool

My heart leading like a stubborn mule

I used to clasp his hand in mine

I don’t know what happened with the time

But now there isn’t any left

Now I just heft regret after regret

I bet this wouldn’t be so bland

If I still knew what to do with my hands


What started as a midnight thought quickly turned into a poem that went down a road I didn’t expect it to. A long time ago, what feels like ages, I had a relationship with a boy who treated me extremely well. Although the relationship made me uncomfortable (luckily, it was short), I still remember his gentility. We don’t keep in contact, but I see him once or twice and know he’s doing much better. Every relationship teaches a lesson, and that one taught me not to dismiss someone’s kindness. It also taught me to say no to people I have little interest in.