internal destruction breeds
and precedes life, yet
I only ever noticed the beauty
each flower had to offer
forgetting the traces of time
embedded deep beneath the surface

do the soils feel such pain
as I do as we carry the future within us
together as unwilling hosts
to the beings not yet birthed
not yet breathing air alone

or do the plains of dirt
long to contain the procreation
of a waiting womb
searching for fertilizing substance
to fuel some future, unknown and still

an egg planted within
that never asked to be ignited
into pains of interior reconstruction
to accommodate another

the smooth, skinny flatland
not yet showing physical sign
of the rooted stem
but suffering sore consequence inside
is rid of its intruding plant
flushed out in pools of red
relieving the earth of mistaken obligation
free to remain
simply soil





Angela Bachmann

Bedtime Stories

words spill out of my body
only in the hours in which I am so
sleep deprived that my senses
do not filter out my authenticity
with an anxiety to write something
beautiful, instead my insides turn
out and I am exposed for all
that I am in the least poetic sense

I crave being pretty poetry and yet
my lines only ever align in the time
which I am barely even conscious
breathing heaviness behind my eyes
forcing my hand to stroke the page
for only a few more words written
before I fail to stay awake
trying to grasp my aching wonder
suppressed into a sleepy mind





Angela Bachmann







skin stretches and pulls against the bones
protruding through my figure, plunging
out like a swan dive
off of the quarry’s edge, elegant and yet
because the starvation is tiring
and the will power left to fuel the swim
to shore is waning away
with the rush of the water against the winds of the land
and each meal mixed up in the blender beneath my ribs
before resurrecting to the place it once began
only this time leaving violently
between convulsions of hurling motions
as my head whips down as a finger
slips free making way
for the stream of self-hate to erase
itself from my body

only it is always there

with each glance at the slim reflection
rippling into the lake
pushing and pushing and pushing and
distorting the reality of my image and
as my figure dances with the waves
I can’t help but to believe
this fragmented, broken being
is the most accurate evidence of my appearance
that I have ever seen





Angela Bachmann







no wifi on the plane

things to Google later –
airplane flight routes
do planes fly over big cities
crop circles
Denver airport conspiracy
how to get ears to pop
how do clouds form
air plane crashes
last time an airplane crashed
Bermuda triangle
how to tell if earth curves
what does burning fuel mean
flat earth
how high do planes fly
who invented skydiving
death count via skydiving
how do planes fly
how many lakes are actually in MN
pilot average annual salary
50’s pop singers and racism
earth population
can you die from turbulence
Borns music
is gum bad for your teeth
is gum bad for your jaw
chewing gum to quit smoking





Angela Bachmann

skinny dreams

skinny dreams
(recurring nightmare)


night 1:

water, water
water, water
eating air instead of meals
hotter, hotter
hotter, hotter
sweating until i can’t feel
pretty pink and
pretty poison
sleeping right inside my brain
baby, baby
baby, baby
live this life like i’m in pain

night 2:

water, water
water, water
wash it down with pills like rain
hotter, hotter
hotter, hotter
guess i’ll always be the same
pretty pink and
pretty poison
blood on my red comforter
baby, baby
baby, baby
like i forgot how to care




Angela Bachmann

On Being Bulimic

to vomit is really quite simple
when you normalize the feels
of the finger pushing further
down your throat to reach the meals

that you hate yourself for eating
but you couldn’t stand to starve
so you gorged yourself in garbage
until your stomach was enlarged

so commences daily actions
following three meals a day
jumping jacks to get you going
then your head whips down to pray

to the toilet as you’re hurling
waiting to start to dry heave
then you know that you’ve succeeded
and got all the fat to leave

over time you begin shrinking
but you never tell your shrink
wearing baggy clothes to hide it
growing weaker than you think

reading blogs on how to puke
but not following the advice
so you know it’s not a problem
tell everyone that it’s alright






Angela Bachmann



unsung lyrics

ask me if i care
sit and stare
in the other direction

this life isn’t fair
be aware
of your own perception

killing you inside
you can’t hide
from your inner demon

take life for a ride
to confide
find your inner meaning


too much on my plate
isn’t it great

too much on my plate
i can
barely breathe)






Angela Bachmann