poem lit

You could’ve said sorry,
and I’ll forgive you—
again and again.

I could’ve listened.

And everything
still could’ve been
the same.

—  ma.c.a // Wishful Thinking

This is our riot act,
our manifesto,
our revolution:
because the ones
who did this know
we are talking about
their monstrous actions.
It’s time for them
to have the nightmares,
for them to suffer
for what happened,
for them to fear being
named by the same
voices they silenced.

I hope they are
forever haunted
by these two words:
“Me too”

Nikita Gill, Me Too

I’m a perfectionist and yet, nothing in me is perfect. I still think the best solution to problems is crying, I still avoid confrontation and I still write my feelings instead of talking about them but I’m getting better and if I can do it, so can you.
—  giulswrites
I know why losses are heavy; you lose more than a person- you lose places, books, movies, songs, friends, you lose everything they’ve touched.
—  Eliot Knight
The skin that you are in is beautiful. You don’t have to be lighter. You don’t have to be darker. You don’t have to lose your scars. You don’t need to hide your stretch marks. You don’t need to wear make up unless you like it. There is no addendum or asterisk to that statement. The skin you are in is beautiful. Period. End of.
—  Nikita Gill, The Skin You Are In

it is that time of year again,
where we all shed the last
of our summer skin
with the trees 
leaving ourselves bare,
open, vulnerable in a way 
that places fear in our hearts;
we call it letting go,
growing old or growing up
but maybe it isn’t change 
so much as it is honesty
this deciduous me 
being the true me
not as soft as I dreamed 
but bone bare
for the world to see 
how lonely it is,
shivering without its layers
waiting for the new growth
to come shelter it

- sincere self || O.L.


that square peg
into a round hole metaphor
i totally reject.
for one,
we’re people, not pegs,
& nowhere near being square
any way you view us;
there is no such thing
as a perfectly round hole in nature -
it just doesn’t exist.
any space 
we’re destined to fit into or not
hasn’t a definable shape
in time or space 
unless you count the time
i tried to get next to you & you told me
there’s not enough space in the world
to fit between us, & i said 
“how do you know, have you measured it?”
then you said “you don’t have to get all 
scientific, using physics & shit…” 
fine - then just say we’re not good together, 
& my peg won’t get anywhere near your hole
however it’s shaped or something like that -
that, i could accept, i guess;

i ain’t gotta like it, though.
10/17 - lebuc - physicality

or talk about what happened in February,
July, November, or any of the days in between.
We’ll call it toxic, unhealthy, or codependent -
still accurate, but less abrasive somehow;
more amicable and allusive. 

I know that somewhere “I’m sorry”
doesn’t sound like “please don’t hurt me”,
and in that place being alone doesn’t scare me.
That place is not where I am but it is where
I am heading and most of the time that is enough.
Calling this by its name would be an admission
that once upon a time you broke me
and I am not broken any more. 

So, forgive me for framing things the way I want to.
I am not trying to let you off the hook or
make it easier for you to live with my scars.
This is just my way of saying I am not your victim anymore;
and these days, what I say goes.



Out of Practice

padded blankets on plain of prairie grass,
eyes as wide as plated glass, heart beating,
pulse berating me with each stochastic pass,
inspecting every cloth for specks, dots, spots,
obsessing over the food, the color, the place,
and there she was, sitting and smiling,
her face trying not to take in my nervousness,
while all she did was be herself, beguiling,
as I pour her a hearty amount of Merlot,
taking it slow, bottle wobbling in my grasp,
she laughs, runs her hands down my arm,
lingering on a worn spot on my ring finger,
looking at me thoughtfully, “Don’t be silly,”
giving my muddled mind a moment to reflect,
silencing the worry in me with three words.

“Everything is perfect.”


Let me take you down to 
Infinity Land
and show you all the
corpses I try to make wakeful.

In a case you will find
something that is mine;
something in my world
that I could redesign.

Blunt force trauma with
a celebration with alcohol
and a magical feeling
of being apart of it all.

And now that I have freedom
I must confess
I have an apartment 
waiting for your flesh.

I am so lonely 
and when the zombies 
calm me we will control
them as one of us;

I drill holes into my 
friends so they will stay;
I cannot reach the solution
so as their body does not decay.