take our composite cables
and insert them while snickering
dungeon haveni've a place i go to
when i search for relief
it's far, far from anywhere
and it's no place to stay
but i go there
and the walls are large stone
cool to the touch
with glistening patches
of wet moss
the above is wooden rafters
with light trickling through
dust glitters like gentle fireworks
and the floor is moss
tender and it feels
like there is no exchange of cold
i go here
when i want peace
and all around this place
there is nothing
no actual light source
and the void is silent
and my ears are almost silent
and i am silent
threshold stratosphereold scars rise up like
ritual heart removal
and I'm silenced
a thief of my own free spirit
the trail of blood is short
to my resting place
i am face first into the ground
surely just tired
let the astronauts driftthe rain fears me and falls to the
earth without dismay,
it shudders and waits like the liquid form
of snow flurries, a supercession of
i cry out and reach to the earth like
it's something i can't dig into
and i'm swimming in the air
unable to be embraced by the
call of loneliness
little dew drops fall like starlight
devol(sol)utionyou'd tell me if i cared too much
or if my embrace was too tight
you'd tap out and reset
and take your fighting stance again
i thought so, anyway
but the walls came from the sky
and like that you're out of sight
but your walls have holes
and you're carelessly happy i'm not a rat
well conceivedi suspect i've always had this feeling
that the reason we all disappear at the end
is the same reason in many disguises
and we hold each other like a fistful of air
whether you inspire me
or drive me away
any meeting could be our last.
our disruptionroaring Muse,
you have so much to say to me
you deliver disastrous calamities
and I'm swept out to sea
and there's no one but me
you strain to reach me
and i can hear your plea
wishing to be set free
i hear your awful sound
as your nails dig into the ground
you channel the grief you've found
king of the mourned, I'm crowned
i can't hear you
reminders i carry in my hand:dear me,
you do not have a terrible heart. you do not
have sad eyes and love is not a war you need
to win. sometimes i feel like disappearing, but
we are never really alone.
every now and then, you can close your eyes
and still find your way. remember to breathe
because you did not sink a paper boat and you
are not floating underwater. you already know
the answer to the question you are looking for.
remember the small things, like the writing in
the borders of pages. see the things that
everyone else misses. listen to your thoughts
and then lose yourself.
laugh until it makes you cry. see things you've
never seen in people before. stop worrying about
your hair and call him just to say i miss you.
do something different and you will be surprised.
let yourself enjoy the sunrise. try and say toy-
boats ten times in a row without tangling it up.
have silly conversations about cows eating grass
off your bed in your room.
you are never r
LesbianMy thoughts wandered back into my fourth grade mind frame.
She had beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes,
And a perfectly white smile that reflected the sunlight like a mirror.
She was a good teacher, mmmhmmm, good to look at,
And I even knew it back then,
Before I knew I was a lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Ranbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of Sam, my first girlfriend.
She was shorter than I was, with wavy black curls,
And with hazel eyes that seemed so enchanting,
And she had beautiful pale white skin, mmmhmmm, lovely girl,
And I knew it then,
I was a pre-teen lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Rainbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of "coming out".
She came out on accident, and 'she' was me,
Brave enough to accept the fact that people were noticing,
But smart enough not to get myself into trouble, mmmhmmm, that's me,
Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do
because being okay is expected,
if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,
what can we do to be okay?
we can scribble illegible words
on a canvas made for by painters
masquerading as notebook paper,
and hope that we can sell the burn
of stinging emotions for some paper.
but the funny thing about that thought?
is that american money isn’t paper,
it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.
so even the money you'd earn from your misery,
isn't anything you can write on
when you realize your money isn't
made to heal. even if it does talk.
but it never really ever says enough, does it?
But that's okay...
being okay is the hardest thing we do
because sticks and stones do break bones,
but you can hide the scars
with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.
or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.
words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.
and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,
the way your
dragonsA creature of myth,
Or so many believe-
They fill fairytales,
And haunts the past.
It's fierce eyes,
Gazing upon you,
staring into your being-
It's fiery breath,
The stench of lost souls-
Dried blood upon its talons,
A victim of the past-
The dragon's burning heart,
Driving his wings-
To spread his will-
To soar through the sky,
claiming it as his own-
The creatures driven,
By they're own being.
It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"
handle with carethere are 206 bones in the
human body. it only takes one good
squeeze and your neck can snap as
easily as a twig.
once, when i was at the grocery
store, i came across a crate of
peaches. they were on sale because
every single one was bruised and it
made me think, "we're all just pieces of fruit
left to rot. as soon as we've been dropped on the
floor, no one wants to help us back up."
i've forgotten how to think in poetics.
three months ago i would have
compared people to roses. pretty little petals
that can be crushed with just
one little pinch and thorny stems that
whisper "don't touch me."
i think we're more like
together like suffocating sardines in tiny
wooden boxes decorated with red
paint announcing across the sides
"danger: this side up."
Yesterday.You used to show me your
skeleton, the secrets inside
of you, your marrow. You
run, you shut your eyes, now.
You shut your eyes at the color
of the flowers, the leaves, everything
is orange. I am gathering
acorns. I am wearing your mask.
to get out of
of their parents-
I'm here trying
to get out of
It Was A DayIt was a day a little bit like today
the way the clouds threw shadows over the hill
the day you realized that you weren’t going to find your future.
You were never going to go to Mars
You were never going to open the door that led, inexorably, to Narnia
(or even Telmar, you weren’t picky, and you were confident of your ability
to lead the revolution.)
Inigo Montoya was not going to slap you on the back
and invite you to take up the mantle of the Dread Pirate Roberts.
There would be no sardonic Vulcans or Andorians;
you would never be handed an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.
That was a strange day.
It ranked up there with the day that you realized that everybody else saw the you in the mirror, not the you inside your head. Not the you that was lean and tough and clever, not the you with perfect hair and a resonant voice that never said “Um….?”
Not that you.
No, they got the one that was fat and wobbly and stiff inside with