I wonder which voice
my poems sound best in
at what hour
to which person
I imagine they
are most true
always after midnight
and always to people who
only exist as passers-by
until I write them into
man-made memorandum.



Dream Journals

When I first started dreaming that you
never left
you still believed you hadn’t
that partial inclusion entitled you to exist entirely
and somehow the thought of you made it to the top of the stack,
every time
The dreams were warm despite
taking place in an imaginary January
because I was running from your abandonment while carrying you
the additional one hundred and twenty seven pounds of dead weight and
you pretending not to blame me, anymore
I get it
once I became the monster under your bed, and the shadow that a
nightlight makes against the hallway walls
I could never not be just that
even if I slept beside you and we painted happy adjectives on my body
Even in my faintest whimper
you still heard me roar
in the back of your head,
you knew there was no cure for rabies.

The dreams stopped being wonderlands
(although it played in the background
in low resolution)
and began to mimic bus terminals
Our sunrises began to shape themselves into yellow tinted lamps
that collect flies and mosquitoes outside of train stations and twenty
four hour convenience stores
they flicker and die every few months
I swear I’ll replace them
but I’m outgrowing the experience and all of your gifted sweaters
yarn cocoons
I wrapped myself in their knitting and you,
thinking I would come out
still yours
like that was the thing that made me beautiful
in my new dreams
we hold hands at the bus stop
you ask me what song I’m listening to,
but I wipe you off my shoes in the grass




she was a straight-C math student
who hated graphing fractions,
in a flood of A’s and extracurricular
until she started skipping
the excuse sounded something like
the half an hour to do homework
was more mandatory
than the menu
in two months she brought her
math grade up ten percent and dropped
ten percent of something else,
the way she was
learning to divide her body
made her understand why she had to find “x”
each meal taught her to add
and she invented new ways to subtract
in five months she
became the fraction
and the only thing on the graph
was two digit numbers
and red circles to mark


(Indubitably, this is not my strongest poem. It will need workshopping. But, here I begin!)


I am a collection of dismantled almosts

Hi everyone. My name is Angel and I’ve been writing poetry for my entire life. I’m super excited to do this marathon. I haven’t decided if I want to do themes or styles but I think I’m going to write about a few specific things from different perspectives.


Can’t wait!

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