loser-archive

[loser-archive]

[03/30/24]

[loser-archive]

'requiem for roadkill'

[04/28/23]

[loser-archive]

'remourning'

[ 04/03/23 ]

[loser-archive]

'but are you really?'

[03/13/23]

[loser-archive]

'hestia'

[ 01/22/23 ]

[loser-archive]

'take a card'

[01/20/23]

[loser-archive]

'hemispheres: a two act play'

[12/12/22]

[loser-archive]

'frozen sclera'

[04/06/22]

[loser-archive]

[03/26/22]

[loser-archive]

there once was a beautiful baby girl with eyes all wildfire and voice exhaling billowing smoke every time she spoke.

that's all you remember of her.

you see her in old photographs and the cinders spilling from her pores are evident but you hardly recognize it.

you were once that little girl, but nobody believes you.

nobody remembers her as you did because she was small and fragile and caring

and your father's flames always swallowed hers up whole anyways

overshadowed by great raging and cracking,

while hers was barely ever heard of as more than a hiss.

but that doesn't matter anymore, you're all grown up now anyways.

and there is no more burning hole in your chest. the flames that once licked up your cheeks and set your stomach melting are suffocated, stomped out.

you miss it, so very much.

in place of the burning hole is a new kind of emptiness,

in its place there is only icy stagnance, shallow breaths and condescending apologies.

a cold stone sinking deep into that scorched hole and seeping out all remaining warmth

it fits quite nicely in that empty space,

but it's rough edges scrape at your soft insides

it's uncomfortable but you dare not remove it,

for fear of what will follow it out.

for now you roll old char and ash between your fingertips,

crush it and flick it away and then regret it

having just discarded a piece of your flesh and soul.

but you forget about it just as quickly,

disconnect even more from the burning girl,

and sigh out frigid fog.

[10/19/21]

[loser-archive]

i once wanted to write stories

long, complicated tales with neverending lore, a dream of heroes prevailing

and a perfect happily ever after romance at the heart of it all

at fifteen a switch was flipped inside of me

a knot was pulled loose

and what overwhelmed my senses and thoughts and my very being

was the need to be desired

it was an aching,

something born of natural chemistry and years of social rejection.

i wrote a story for myself, i picked up my dusty pen and scratched out old fake names on the yellowing pages

covered them in layers of white-out and desperation

and carved into it instead a name more akin to my own

after all, the best sort of dreams are all plagiarized

from the childhood you are about to leave behind

live out your own fairytale, tap your pen against the desk,

slay a wretched beast, remember that you have to do laundry

save the princess, become infatuated with the new girl in school

pretend they're one in the same

let yourself believe that the valiant hero and you don the same personage

live happily ever after,

ask the girl on a date

smile when she says yes

i try to suffer through my happy ending

let the hero have his glory

the high of validation and wonder ebbs away,

becomes monotonous victory

revive only with careful palms at the waist

a hero's return when fingers tremble up the spine

feel in control,

feel powerful once more,

lose that all when she breathes out my name,

a children's storybook now sits under pages of notes,

scrawled pencil scratchings trying to create the formula to love

books on antidotes to curses and hexes

find a solution to the aching that never went away

i shake out the tears from the hero's armour and visit the princess' tower once again,

though i have always been afraid of heights

we both try to hide from the dread in our stomachs when we meet eyes

she's known of my hesitance for too long

the hero knows you should never keep a lady waiting like this,

and a lady she is, all dainty features and shades of pink and flower petals

aphrodite's eager disciple

i lie and i lie and i lie

wearing the hero's face, i adjust the breastplate that digs into my ribs

she too, smooths out her heavy gown and balances the silver tiara on her head

and then she tells me to remove the armour and get out

i breathe a sigh of relief and sob in agony

i ask her if she blames me

she says she feels pity for the hero, not the dragon

i weep harder

there is no hero, no knight in shining sympathy, just a pillar of hollow bones

i am stripped bare by my own admission

i am heartless and i am pained and i plead for salvation

i flip through the pages of a childhood fairytale and read the ending over and over but i can't find the happily ever after of a valiant knight

only a princess who frees herself from the tower she's trapped in, fleeing from a green scaly monster

i tear out the pages, make them into a quilt

i wrap myself in the symbol of my own anguish

and try to take a little comfort

in how snugly it fits around my shoulders

[11/07/21]