you are your home


the dress i wore on our first night
the shadows playing with the light
your body and mine

like your piercing eyes
you wanting me made me feel alive
i swear on the sparks between my thighs

white and grey shirts you only wear
folded away neatly over there
black like your silk hair

like my beating nicotine lungs
struggling for air when you use your tongue
our bodies dancing to a song unsung

-Hailey Bailey



note: hi guys!!!!! it has been awhile. My life’s been a whirlwind of distractions and depression but I am trying to get my life together again (for the millionth time) I feel like this poem is incomplete, I might be editing this and posting another version of this one. Btw that is my boyfriend’s eyes, aren’t they beautiful? Expect more posts! sending you love and peace xx


to my drug dealer

i miss you and everything is grey
but the saddest part of all of this
i could not make you love me
as much as you love your sadness

i realized you loved being alone
when i called you three times in a row
three days but no show
you said you were going through a lot
i said you didnt have to go through it alone
you thanked me
and denied my company

a month has passsed
and i now moved into my new place
it doesnt feel lke home yet
because home was the place i was staying at
when met you
but we all make a home within ourselves
by ourselves
because we are the only thing we knew

whatever you think of me
you have the right to
at least i hope you think of me
the way i think of you.
in the morning or in the afternoon
staring at the view
smoking my cigarrettes
and you managed to quit it
but did it even mean anything to you?

by Hailey Bailey 


visit more of the featured artwork


Life is a circle, it’s true.

It’s a circle and we all go round and round with hope, faith, lost and love.

We even go around with our questions of God and the purpose of our existence.

Around our addictions, they are a cycle of purging your habits off just to relapse and purge again.

Life is a circle until someone breaks it.

I thought about how we’ve been going around with each other.

How we confuse lust with love.

How we’re cigarettes we can never keep off our lips just to throw away when we’ve had our fill

How I never know what’s going on in your heart and you don’t know what’s going on in my head.

I think I am tired of circles.

The same way I grow tired of a carousel before the ride ends.

Like a dog chasing its tail, I’m tired of chasing you and you’re probably tired of chasing me but we’re always right there next each other.

My attachment was stuck on you like glue and nowadays it’s seems like the only thing keeping us together is sex

And once I’ve had you in my bed the way I had you in my heart

I don’t want to own you anymore. I don’t want nor need anything from you.

You have nothing left to give

And no, I don’t feel like I lost a part of myself when I gave myself to you because I lost myself long before you.

I’m tired of going over and over back to you again.

I know I might find you in other people I’ll be with someday but at least I’m moving forward than staying stuck in the same place, same eye, same mouth full of lies.

Life is a circle until someone breaks it but that someone has to be yourself.

by Hailey Bailey

– inspired by A Vision by WB Yeats




You were starting to become like my silver slit dress

that got a stain out of nowhere

And I cannot bleach it clean no matter how hard i try

I keep it anyways

As a rag to keep my white tile clean

and eventually

not at all.


My new favorite thing

My food cravings

My new addition to my addiction

When a wave of want overcomes me

And I quickly get sick of once I find something new


My coffee in the morning

that hits the depths of my soul awake

and warms my heart

at my first sip

as I cup my hands around you

and breathe you in.


But you were once my favorite t shirt

And you gave me yours

just to take it back again

My happy pill

I swallow just to forget

What never happened.


by Hailey Bailey









Yes is yes. No is no. Not yes is yes. Not no is Yes.

Add Sexual Consent Education to Wisconsin High School Curriculum


“Sexy” clothes means no

“I’m not ready” means no

Unconscious means no

Intoxicated means no

Pushing away means no

Yelling means no

No is no .

Clearly stating yes means yes.


Learn sexual consent.

Donate now.



your love feels like a Sunday

the way my body feels when I stretch in my bed
and the day stretches before me

it feels like the lazy beams of light from my window
filling my room with a holy glow

the tempation to stay in bed so strong and never
wanting to separate from the arms of my duvet

it feels christening as the way I shower
washing all the sins from yesterday
being pure for tomorrow just to get dirty again

the way my heart feels light and comfortable
it wants to stay, it wants to be moved
and show the world what it can do

it feels like the blue light slowly turning to a mirage of red
it’s beautiful to watch it go
knowing I spent my heart the way I knew how
on something as good and classic as a Sunday love

-Hailey Bailey

Just a Kid

I’ve got a cigarette and a half
waiting for me
just in case you ruin my night
and I used to cry about you
I used to cry
but now I just smoke those cigarettes

you say you’ve cut down and use the e instead
when I said
I like guys who smokes cigarettes
but I have a feeling you never liked it
because you’re just a kid
I forget you’re just a kid.

my body is weak
my fingers are shaking holding a stick
I haven’t written a piece and I barely eat
pretty boy, you’re just a kid
how did you learn to say such pretty things?
oh you’re just a kid.

I’ve been running on chocolates and nicotine
I’m seventeen but I stay in
you’re out kissing other girls
I’m sleeping in
I’m running on sugar and nicotine
you’re going out, I’m caving in.

-Hailey Bailey


Stop stop stop

Asking me what I want

When I dont know what you would

I can’t answer for the both of us

When we want two different things

You’d like to go west, I dream of going east

You’re always right and I’m always the one kicked to the streets

Opposites attract like magnets

Like jigsaw pieces

You are sane, I am madness

I cannot make up what you lack

When you are already whole

And I am always one step behind you

You are becoming like who I was

While I am becoming so much better than me

I think you have everything packed in your bag

And I am not what you want nor need

You can’t zip your bag shut and it is sad

That you left me with all that we had.

Face Lift

You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I’m all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist
Fed me banana-gas through a frog mask. The nauseous vault
Boomed with bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.
Then mother swam up, holding a tin basin.
O I was sick.

They’ve changed all that. Traveling
Nude as Cleopatra in my well-boiled hospital shift,
Fizzy with sedatives and unusually humorous,
I roll to an anteroom where a kind man
Fists my fingers for me. He makes me feel something precious
Is leaking from the finger-vents. At the count of two,
Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard. . .
I don’t know a thing.

For five days I lie in secret,
Tapped like a cask, the years draining into my pillow.
Even my best friend thinks I’m in the country.
Skin doesn’t have roots, it peels away easy as paper.
When I grin, the stitches tauten. I grow backward. I’m twenty,
Broody and in long skirts on my first husband’s sofa, my fingers
Buried in the lambswool of the dead poodle;
I hadn’t a cat yet.

Now she’s done for, the dewlapped lady
I watched settle, line by line, in my mirror—
Old sock-face, sagged on a darning egg.
They’ve trapped her in some laboratory jar.
Let her die there, or wither incessantly for the next fifty years,
Nodding and rocking and fingering her thin hair.
Mother to myself, I wake swaddled in gauze,
Pink and smooth as a baby.

-Sylvia Plath

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