Orange skinOrange skinMy dearest,Your orange skin makes me warm in Decemberlike the Sea is a blanket to the sandand the Sun nurtures youth to our landi'll be Your pocket -You may keep all Your secrets inside of mebe shy and be notthere's nothing You should be afraid ofwhile You're here, with meon this Pale Blue Dot.
A Shoe TaleMister Lacey and miss Ribbon were a pair of red shiny shoes living in a boxful of dreams, on cloud-coated linens. One May day, a little girl found them sleeping next to each other, and she loved them so much that she took them out for an afternoon walk, sometimes tituppy, sometimes gingerly, on the sundressed alleys. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were cheerful, as they had never breathed such a crisp air before, and the chill of those spring days, after a good sturdy rain, was daintly tickling their soles, growing goosebumps on their skin.The little girl was bursting with fidgetness. When she stopped to bathe in a tiny oasis, she briskly took off her shoes and left them on the dewy grass. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were slightly afraid, as gloomy spiders and frowning mosquitoes were tamelessly rumbling around them. They cuddled tightly, to make the fear go away, like salt in a desert storm. The fear started to vanish itself, as the two realized that they were not alone. They were a p
You'll See MeYou don't know meYou just think you doYou think you've figured me outBut you're not even close to...Seeing meFor who I really amMaybe if you spin aroundAnd tilt your head to the sideAnd look at meThrough someone else's eyesYou'll see meYou'll see meMaybe if you forget the worldAnd look at the starsAnd take a moment to rememberJust how small we areYou'll see meYou'll see meYou think you can seePast the mask I wearBut I don't need helpI just need someone to care...So take your charitySomewhere elseMaybe if you spin aroundAnd tilt your head to the sideAnd look at meThrough someone else's eyesYou'll see meYou'll see meMaybe if you forget the worldAnd look at the starsAnd take a moment to rememberJust how small we areYou'll see meYou'll see meGive me a chanceTo catch my breathTake a step backAnd see what I have left...I'll make you see thatThere is a differenceBetween looking and actually seeing...And I'll make you see thatThere is a differenceBe
centre for psychological healthit is three daysuntil march falls again,false promises of springkissing the airuntil it begins againfor winter;three hoursuntil i feel my heartbeatfind its wayinto the oceansmy blood spills,poetry,across porcelainand skinmirroring it;three minutesuntil i shift,unbearable,in a crimson chairthat begs for me releasing;three secondsuntil i swallow,a bird,sticking bones,and pray for atooth of glass,a jaw of metal, ofsharp,kiss me,an instant,the wayyouonce did.
something i should've written a year agoare you happy?you hear that, but you don't actually ask yourself if you're happy.you assume you are,you expect yourself to be, you should be,it's not important enough to think about-because what if you aren't?it's last summer again.you've locked yourself out of your carand we're sitting with our knees crossedon the pavement in front of kate's house.somewhere, you can hear fireworks,but you know they're illegal because the town is too broketo put on a show this year.you know no one minded.look at me now-what if you're miserable?july cruises in like a convertible or some equally hot shit.standing by the sealit water,i watch you roll down your windowto let the heat fall in.that was the night we were under the starsand in the sand, despite the poor blanket's best efforts.we drank italian sodas and blew straw wrappers at each other.we ate too much and i didn't cry.crying came later. maybe a couple weeks.crying came in your car when you told meyou swore to yourself
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.i am a whore for having premarital sex.i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth - but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:"you are not a slut."
7.I ate your absence for dinner.
Carambola [HI 7.31.13]The star people came from somewhere beyond Alpha Centauri, in their delicate and pointed starships. They were an old race, and a bold race, and starflight was nothing new to them. Yet again they had been uprooted from their home, and they traveled across the galaxy looking for a new place where they could settle.It was the youngest pilot, whose name translates as Galaxy, who first sighted the new home planet. She pointed to its gorgeous blue-and-green patterns, and chittered excitedly about the white swirling across it. This was a sign of atmosphere, she enthused, and where there was atmosphere, the star people could live. So the fragile and graceful ships of her kind set their courses for this new planet, full of promise, and resumed their journey across the vastness of space.The star people landed in new, rich soil, and as they emerged from their starships into the daylight, they marveled. Here was a place that had been left untouched; here was a glorious, gorgeous, wild place wher
the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseI find itdisconcertingthatyou are the Kingof my own Head& that I amsubjugatedby my owntemptationMy bones, yourwelcome mats,cushionedto your insatiablesatisfaction--I find thisdiscomforting,your constantrebirths in mylibido, despitethree years ofsilent therapy,false recovery& worshipping the wrong godsyou are the best musefor struggling artistseverywhere & worstcase of the bubonic plaguesince the bubonic plague--I find youdisenchantedin the middleof any where,peeling flesh,lulling sullensirensongs at3AMI shot a flockof phoenixes& ate Adam'spoison appleyetI remain ignorant and ignored by you--I find Nothing-decontaminateyour stovepipe& leave me be.
to be sadto be sadwould to befeeling fresh airin withered lungs.instead i sit,atrophiedin stagnant misery,festering woundsand weeping woundsand opened woundsand clotted blood.to hear the wallschatter with criticismsis an ache in my heart,to know that i am ofempty worth in the eyesof others.my efforts are passed byunder the single blue eyeoverseeing the universe.i am unknown,unseen,and unbeautiful.to be sad with my tears wiped awaywould be the kindest motionthe fates could bestow.
Just Keep In Mind...Remember,gay isn't all I am.
a pen at a knife fight.there is twilight in his breathing.legs like spiders.eyes of sinking ships,holding onto the edge with shaking fingertips.is the water cold?cold enough to stop air from flowing to his lungs?auburn hair and a heart too big.a pen always enclosed in a thoughtful fist.words spill out one by one,haunted by ghost nouns and verbs gone wrong.the thoughts roam from behind his eyes,make their way down to his spine.there they hang with poems unread,while monsters and verses stay trapped in his head.an empty house can say a lotof harder times and connections lost.there he strums a guitar alone,thinking of the girl he calls his home.where coffee is brewing,and they sleep in the same bed.where together they fight the monsters,that dwell in their heads.
Morning haikuA burning sunriseThe eyes catch fireWash my face in the pond
The Past, The FutureDo you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you assumed would be around forever. You will learn at that moment that nothing true or pure lasts forever. A part of your innocence will die as you cradle your companion for the last time. If only you had goldfish and parents who lied to you about him instead.You will think the worst is over, playgrounds will become a little less magical, danger will b
I Wish You DeadSometimes I wish you dead.I confess it,there are times when my thoughts lose controland cartwheel like a plum blossomthats failing to fight gravity,sometimes I wish you dead.I hope you wish me dead too.I hope that you see my dissected bodywith my rib cage cracked open and spreadlike the legs of a fifteen year old whorewho braces herself against a rapistfor a semblance of affection.I hope you watch my lungs contractand you hate it.Hope you wake up and praythat today will be my lastand that my plutonium heart will extinguish.Sometimes, I wish you deadbecause I know how deeply you sufferand I've seen the decades of painand the broken behavioural patternsthat mean the agony is unlikely to end for youI've seen you,I've seen you dehydrated and witheringfrom crying, seen you wilt.Seen your pulverised hopestruggle to maintain a baselineas your head and heart beg; no more.Sometimes, I wish you dead.I hope you wish me dead too.I hope that you see my veinsare filled
...I like to dance in the sun-kissed fields. andreally, the way it feels is,Warmth...scattering dandelionsacross raysof gold patternedgrass.[whether its bright out or not, you'llalways shine like the sun .]
GoodbyeI want to mutter a million things,but they’re catching in my throatAnd my heart is heavy in my chest,with a weight that holds a heavy loadThis weight is not a pound of gold,but rather a pound of worthless rocksAnd now I’m spitting bits of gravelas I try to talk
A letter I'll never send.The letter I keep writingto my children.'My darlings,I have never told youthat I once lost you to myown sadness,that your tiny flailingfists once made me feel as ifthe world was striking outat me through you.I used to feed you inthe bath tub, wondering ifperhaps I could let yourweight drag us under.I still believe that it wasyou who kept me afloat.I keep writing this letterto keep me calm, to keep me fromhating myself for ever thinkingof you as burdens.And someday I want to tell youthat I once lost myself tomy own sadness, and thatit was you that keptme here.'
Halos are overratedFreedom rings. Freedom waves like a banner in the wind. It's old and tattered. So very frayed at the edges but all anyone can see is the big red letters, so bold they're on the verge of blinding. A mess of scarlet ink is all I could make out, the words blurred from a rush of adrenaline. Some make out a blessing, a soft flowing font spelling out a prayer, but me…I was a bull charging, daring those words to come into focus- challenging my conformity.I was whiskey brave or was it wine? Oh yes, it was a nice Cabernet left to breathe between my lips then a Moscato so sweet I couldn't see past the taste. A glass half full of defiance that left me drunk and enraged, thrilled and almost out of my mind, but it's not what you think. You see, I used to be a coward. I was a being whose self-worth didn't exist and whose voice was never more than a whisper.I was told I was loved but never felt like I was. I wanted to be beautiful but my flaws made mirrors run screaming
Collab: holding starsDid I tell you about that girl?I should have done, always talking of herAlways on my mindRunning Spinning Dancing Jumping on my mindI have no ways to explain how she makes me feel...wonderful, maybe?What words in the world could we use to describeperfectionWhat words could you use to describe how muchyou really love somebody?Maybe a thousand astral cords tied to the tip ofyour tongue, and maybe just one spiral galaxywrapped around your ankles.But what is as perfect as a hundred leaguesunder the sea, that first gasp of ocean and rocksalt, with years of rainwater rushing throughthe gaps between your ribs and the walls of yourveins?Our love growing like the universe, by particle, by stars, by worlds, getting ever wider to line up our perfect future, our world together, her love is my star, the warmth of the sun by her touch, the smile as wonderful as the eclipse but never as rare but still as perfect.The shooting I saw on its path,
Baby's lullabyall of the children went to their beds,a soft starry light guarding their heads;hush now baby, don't you weep,silence is just music put to sleep.