Always

you, like me, have things you want to say but can't 

so you say them into someone else's eyes

when you know that I'm listening

because I'm always listening

Object

“Little deaths begin


to pile up


inside me,


inside you

I was a


tender object


living in your house”

Painfully Internalizing

"From time to time I find myself mentally flailing in a way that is undetectable to the people passing by me on the street or sitting next to me on the train or even the people I drink with after work and also probably the people I live with too

I’m flailing internally and desperately and if you look closely enough
I’m flailing in the most embarrassing way

I remember I haven’t been loved by a good person in a long time
and I remember I haven’t not eaten after midnight in a long time
and I remember I don’t know how to have just one or two or three drinks
and I remember I forgot to get my nephew a present for his birthday
and I think about how he is my only nephew and I am doing a bad job

I’m flailing in a way that seems irreparable but
of course it’s not

and I’m flailing in a way that’s just lazy

It’s just lazy

Okay nevermind

I didn’t mean to say all this

What I meant is

I can’t stop telling my new deskmate that I am going to kill myself soon
while laughing hysterically and then falling silent for hours

I’ve only been working next to her for a few weeks and I am not sure
if she’s uncomfortable, or too nice to me, but probably both

Also I can’t stop writing poems about her
and then telling her about them
and basically I can’t shut up
because when have I ever

Nope not that

I didn’t mean to say all of this either

Remember when I sat on the outside ledge
of the 6th story window in Tribeca
and you held onto me by the belt loops
and pulled me back in

Well I definitely didn’t mean to say that

What I meant is

Sometimes you just wanna sit on a face
because you know you’re the perfect size

I feel turned on by the idea of scrolling
through the Google doc
where you put the thoughts
that turn into drafts
that eventually become the poems
that are absolutely not about me

I feel turned on by
painfully internalizing
what that means
for eternity

I feel turned on by the idea of reaching over to the empty side of the bed
and jerking off the memory of your dick

Since it’s just a ghost
now I can decide when it comes
if it comes
I don’t have to wait for you
I don’t have to decide which part of me should take that blow
I don’t have to hear you say
oww that hurts

Your dick is just a ghost dick now
I can rip it off and you won’t even die

Okay nevermind

What I meant to say is

I fucking miss you

And this poem isn’t very good

I know it

So instead I’ll start over
with this one

It’s called

“Grab my ass inside of a Dunkin Donuts”

You fucking fool

Why do you think I came in here with you
in the first place"

Mollie Puts Mollie in The Corner

Should I take the desk

Everyone is recommending

"It has a window so you can see what's going on"

It has a shelf, for personal pictures and small plants

Nobody puts Mollie in the corner but me

And I know just what the corner means

Just like I know just what the corner desk means

Settling

Settling in

Staying

I'll take all of your best accounts because I hate you even though you never told on me as you watched me steal so, so many toiletries and office supplies

I will single-handedly plug the holes in the sinking ship

Cause I'm on it and it's familar

Austin said last night what is the point of living if we will forget what a nice dinner we had

Within a month

He said why do anything

Because with you around

I finally 

no longer feel like a pity fuck of a friend 

When I tell you I'm awful you agree and it's okay because you are too and we don't like change

But I want to change

I think I want a corner desk with a window 

And in a few years I will forget this place

I will forget nice dinners and nice walks and nice nights and conversations

I will die and forget sleeping next to you and how I stayed at this job and left nothing for my grandkids 

Because I spent what little I made

On the roadside succulents I got with you

Before our nice dinner

We will both forget in November

When the small plants and personal pictures of you will be on my new shelf

Until I die

""

Hi.

"Push down hard because it hurts.
Then relieve the pressure a little bit.
It's like a dance.
As you watch it fold in on itself.
This is stomach.
This is heart.
What color is it?
This is words because you're not that good with your hands.
This is words because you feel compelled to examine your failures.
Like a stomach.
Like a heart.
Watch it fold in itself.
Relieve the pressure a little bit because it hurts.
It's yourself."
-jg

Bed Recording.m4a

Bed Recording.m4a

The dishes lay

Scattered and dirty in the sink for endless days

She said the tension that he felt

Between he and I

Was only due to my depression

That I had been feeling, of late

She called me from her cellphone around 9pm

And told me that she appreciated the fact that she felt safe enough to walk home from her car to her apartment

I wanted to tell her that she could call me any time that she was doing that alone

But I didn't

His rustling in the other room reminded me that I was only just a human 

in mine

She started the conversation by saying 

Everyone's feeling a certain something right now

And it's strong, it's emotional

And it made her want to tell me that she didn't know what I was feeling at all

But she was there for me if I was feeling anything 

When I returned the words of kindness she said

She was fine

Her vagueness intrigued me in a way that was upsetting 

My first instinct was to tell her to just come to my bedroom

But that's what I wanted, it wasn't what she wanted

So I didn't...I neglected to offer

The myriad of pills influxes.. It varies 

Depending on my mood

It hurts to move my body in a way that I know it shouldn't

I still cry for you and

you forgot that I'm still here

I suppose I just wanted to go home

To where I was accepted, thoroughly 

As opposed to here, where I am not anything

Sometimes her voice gets so cold that it makes me sick

Turns my stomach

She said that she would talk to me tomorrow

Which I heard as I could not text her tonight, so I did not

I'm having difficulty breathing 

And although I know it's the common cold 

The struggle for air intake makes me increasingly aware that it is in fact my job that is killing me

I am so young

Yet it never got easier to sleep alone

The Weekend