My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly.

Sierra DeMulder


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Your body is not a temple.
Your body is the house you grew up in.
How dare you try to burn it to the ground.
You are bigger than this.
You are bigger
than this.

Sierra DeMulder


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You are a souvenir shop, where he goes to remember how much people miss him when he is gone.

Sierra DeMulder


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Your body is the house you grew up in. How dare you try to burn it to the ground.

Sierra DeMulder

Stichwörter: love body



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I loved you head over handles
like my first bicycle accident —
before the mouthful of gravel and blood,
I swore we were flying.

Sierra DeMulder


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You wonder why I don’t
answer your 3 a.m. phone calls.

When you say “I miss you”,
I begin to undress myself out of habit.

Sierra DeMulder


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Writing a list of ways I could be better
and writing a suicide note
are the same thing

Sierra DeMulder


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I have calculated the total number of hours
we spend sleeping beside each other in a week

and I wanted to tell you it could be considered
a full-time job. We could be eligible for healthcare
benefits, could probably even pay for a mortgage

by now. I remind myself of this, in daylight, when
I miss you and cannot reach across the bed

for the comforting filling and refilling
of your chest. Such a strange affair
we are having on each other; these hours

that I have not lost but do not remember.
This cannot be the best of love: to drool

on someone’s collarbone or inhale an elbow to
the jaw or be woken by the most ungraceful sounds
of the body. But what is it if not the softening

of grips? A letting go of. Your heart
finally slowly that stubborn, lonely march.

Sierra DeMulder


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I loved you head over handles

like my first bicycle accident—

before the mouthful of gravel and blood,

I swore we were flying.


-Cycle of Abuse

Sierra DeMulder

Stichwörter: poetry



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My sister told me a soul mate is not the person
who makes you the happiest but the one who
makes you feel the most, who conducts your heart

to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling
with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.
It has always been you.


-Love, Forgive Me

Sierra DeMulder


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