untitled, 01.01.23

i was fine

in every crevice

filled with appropriate fluids

blood pumping,

organs throbbing (?),

oxygen doing whatever it does

getting along.. just fine

now I am weeping over your tools

your beautiful fine, handmade tools

i am distraught at the realization

I will never be fine again

jesus christ,

this will be ceaseless joy

or unflinching agony

I wipe my snot quietly,

in the kitchen.

I grind the coffee beans,

heat the water,

aerate the milk,

whip honey & cinnamon into a paste.

I bring your mug to your hand

and i linger when our skin meets.

I sit next to your knees

and forget the thought

in one of our breaths

I laugh and hold your stare..

as if I could do anything else..

– sheila c.

a quick incision

there is a place in the outskirts of La Mosquitia that smells like my grandmother’s embrace

it is indomitable, it is unshaken, it is unmoved

virile roots break through acres of dark soil and replace it with breathing spirals of greenery that could swallow this world

that wild lives laced inside of me and I carry it everywhere

it’s true you’ve never seen it

but I hope you feel it in my absence

shei c.

May, Lancaster, 2020

i fold the laundry

i dry the dish

i open the carport

i close the door

i type the words

but the words own me

the world owns me

the very beating of my heart owns me

it’s all very troublesome

I claw at freedom

and freedom pushes back

“don’t claw at me” she says

well, fuck.


– sheila c.


Brooklyn, April, 2020

it’s night here and

the ambulances are blaring

one after the next

i wanted to give you this

in case time gets in the way

take in the air

like the first

like the last

fill your hands

with clay

with sand

with paint

fill your mouth

with lovers

with drink

with rage

but never default to revenge

eat your words

when you have to

(if you have to)

and don’t let them forget

you’re from the jungle

born from dark earth

the very clay dirt

formed by singed hands

in a coral hearth

what the fuck do they know?

-sheila c.


the cardinal came by today

little flash of red pulsing life

i am jealous of his vigor

his will..

long ago I told a myself a lie

and I told it so often

i began to believe it

it exists now in the space between dreams

and stillness

a silent hum I can’t escape

respite exists only in the seconds

the second I open my eyes

the second I smell the citrus in my panicked tea

the second I type the words I need said

the second I imagine taking a last breath

and being born again

a red breast and beak and vigor

there is no respite like the seconds

but there is no punishment like them either

– sheila c.

all flowers are dying flowers

I wanted to complain to you about Werner Herzog,

you’re the only one who would understand

but I’ll settle for picking up my phone

and pretending I’m not hoping

the algorithm will work to populate your name on my screen

I actually really hate your name

I also “loved” a dude in Germany by the same name

he’s also a heartbreaking cunt

I’m sorry, that’s actually just the hurt

lashing out

It’s been days and the change of heart that’s been keeping me sane

has not happened.

I’m starting to believe I invented this tragedy

like I do, all my tragedies

fuck it, I’m floundering, right now


In 3 weeks, I’ll move faster

I’ll have new limbs

and they’ll be so fucking dope

you won’t be able to look away

I mean that sounds pathetic but it’s not

I just want you to know that

i’m not pathetic

– sheila c.

wednesday songs

I can hear the city bellowing outside

and Wednesday is groaning out

a lingering goodbye

I am watching your breath rise,

grateful for the air in your lungs

they sing the sun to me

they sing

and there is no longing here

not now, in this calm

there is only the bliss

etched on your skin;

permeating my own

and the sinking feeling disappearing somewhere within

I pour my hopes into a


I let it sit

and learn time does stop

after all

– sheila c.

untitled 08.01.19

i don’t have the words

i only have a blue so wide

and alive

that it breathes on its own

this is the part i don’t like

where Bonnie sits on repeat

where day dreams are nightmares

and memories are knives

digging deeper every time i forget

to forget

I can feel the depths of estrangement pooling

in my guts

it seems

i would be the mass

and you would be the gravity

after all.

– sheila c