Ode to My Orange Tree


Taller than a mountain my body is constantly treading hot, salt water,

unsure of what it thirsts for.

my feet always swallow me whole,

each step an earthquake compromising my orange sunrise.

how can i taste the sky if i’m so far away?

i’m asleep,

yet i can always feel the sun crowding my eyes like flies in summer.

my heart is anchored to this boat, forever searching for my soul

spewing and crying out dry sand from its sides as the tide breathes in and out.

i cannot locate the balance between head and heart,

my insides a battleground for my inner chaos.

i float mazily, leaving pieces of myself behind,

like my teeth on the park bench or my eyes on the pole of a street light.

i come to my mattress less of myself every day, my soul constantly peeling like an orange on to the pavements beneath me.

people i knew are now strangers i brush up against as i walk,

seeds of my happiness buried deep within their pockets.

birds peck at what’s been left of my fruit, their beaks stubborn and implacable,

my remnants dissolving like a whisper in the back of their throats.

but maybe one day i’ll make it back to my beach

and it’ll all happen in slow motion–

i’ll see myself covered in ivy,

my veins feeding the thick roots to a whole and proud orange tree.



even at 16,

i made the big boys cry.

my teenage self a confident liar in lust and love.

i belong at the park or museum,

all by myself

so i can scare away the blue birds

and overdose on shitty coffee.

i took all the lies they painted to me

and made my own art;

i really have become quite a piece of work.

i have become

what i always hated,

using dry phrases,

“inspiration, soulful, beautiful, creative”

and made you believe that is what you are too.

don’t you know i’m a fucking liar?

16 with no prospects,

21 with no morals,

a congenital liar before my first period.

Nov 2015



I wonder what the mountains of your back would look like on my sofa.

You sit in front of me now,

Fingers running in circles around the coffee cup’s rims.

I want to eat the olives of your eyes like the way I breathe air;

Fast and familiar.

Now a days, my legs open more often than front doors,

My heart a poor example for purity.

But with you,

I want to eat the olives of your eyes like the way I breathe air,

I want to keep you for coffee in the morning.



The first of every new season,

I fall drowsy in-between the grasses to see you again

And I wake to find myself wrapped in ivy,

Your earth eyes, milky and intertwined with green.

My dreams are poison, slowly destroying all functions in my body.

The thought of you only stings me,

Your words creating the undertow of branches that trap me,

And yet I can’t help but return to the poison ivy that cradles me so close in my dreams.



She sits, now only dregs

Honing the blade over time.

She is his vigil,

But he is not hers.

He feels my heat,

Sparks festering at the linens of his bed.

He can give me nothing

Because I am the fire.

I am the light.

My branches are far too grand,

My hair far too writhen.

Do not fucking touch me.

She continues to hone.

He gawks like a dog, tongue out.

My hands are made of tree bark,

My kisses leave embers.

You are catty,

And I am flames.

So why the fuck do you get near me?

  • livia