Everything is pastel,
everything is paint-
my world is made of candy
the structures are of cake.
No one really sees
the rotting underneath-
sugar coated madness
molasses covered teeth.
Everything is always
never, and at once
time is like a fondant
too much, but not enough.
Forever is an instant
and tomorrow buttercream-
an ever tempting moment
in my bitter
sweet insanity.

Tongue and pen

One, two, three
take the high ground morally
turn the wish into a dream
keep your ethics and beliefs.
I am queen
because I’ve kept my dignity,
though all its really gotten me
is self respect and restful sleep.
But I am free
no one has control of me
not a puppet on your strings
I can see right through the seams.
Four, five, six
I’ll never miss this ignorance
never stop opening my lips
I’m a poet-tongue and pen.


And here we go round and round
can’t jump off, can’t fall down-
this world’s turning inside out.
Turn those smiles into doubts,
turn that message into clouds,
can’t remember where we started
now we are just dearly departed.


Tell me who I am
and what I’ll never be
let the story drown
in brilliant infancy.
Tell me what is up
tell me where is blue
and I will walk alone
along one-two, one-two.


I find myself still wanting
beloved and adored
the curse of having fallen
face planted to the floor.
Decades lost to sacrifice
the writings on the wall
just a skip past circumstance
I find I’ve done it wrong.
Never looking back-not a choice
just a fact
cannot turn a neck that’s twisted
this way over that.
I find myself still wanting
singing words of lunatics.
I find myself still haunting
the days old tired myths.


You know
I thought I was a boy:
too big, too tall, not feminine enough.

Looking like my brother
not a single sign of mother.
I’m a little girl but confused about my cover
I have the body-but maybe I don’t?
I think I’ll bleed-but maybe I won’t?

I’m a little girl
my body barely grown
can you fucking tell me;
what story do I own?
What the fuck is female
when dysmorphia is home?
What the fuck is my tale
when anxiety has grown?

You tell me what is female
tell me what to do
if it’s not about my vagina
surely it’s my everyday pursuits?

Yet, I don’t know my face
can’t visualize my body
my mind a mental wreck
plagued by symptoms-mind is foggy.

You know,
I use to think
I was a boy
a girl it seemed to me was void
of everything my body meant;
too big, too tall, too masculine,
but then you see
I found the truth within-
genders just the outside skin-present the way that feels the best
it’s biology that dictates sex.
Tell me what it is to be a female;
lipstick, nice hair, and seashells?

Nature and nurture
the real deal
a concept that saved my life-
so surreal,
despite the lies that have been told-
just females,
my body, my own, so unreal

I am a female.
A mix of masculine feminine freedom
owner of a cunt and reason.
Dsymorphia undone
through treatment.

Seeing behind the mirror

Magic’s in the air
and I don’t even care
what kind of person have I become?
When nothing feels real
and I am numb
to the fire in the sky.
Locked in this tower my mind shines
but there’s an absence of the light.
Everything feels silicone as
I stand ever on my own
with the glitter epitome
everything we’ve painted gold-
platinum, dollars, burns and molds
reaping whatever you own
never travel far from home.
Magic’s in the air
but the world is dull-just there.
I shouldn’t really care
if nothing’s real or fair
human as the system, broken, caught, don’t fix it.


And in this moment
I forget
just who the mirror is looking at
the pieces fall
from frame to floor
the princess doesn’t live here anymore.
Broken all the window panes
stained glass paints
the gardens decay
but all along the corridors
sounds that mark the ghosts love score.
A symphony and nothing more
sounds that haunt your heart forlorn
take the mirror from the drawer
you’ve found who you’ve been looking for.