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UntitledMy pen is not silent. It burns in the night, keeping me awake until it is satisfied.
I am listening, and my heart is full of fire pumping through my veins to light my eyes.
I am not gagged by contentment any longer.
I am full of light and of dark and of peace and of war and I will bleed flames out through my fingertips until the world knows me by the scorch marks I leave on the pages that their hearts are printed on.
I will write, and they will feel my fire.
I will write, and they too will burn.
Writer's CurseYou find me in the night, when sleep refuses to take me
When my eyes are heavy and my mind wanders paths it used to know
Reckless, daring the dark to reach out and grab hold
Come and get me, old friend; come and fight me, old foe.
I will meet you gladly where the streetlights no longer reach
Use my hand and write the things that I'm afraid to speak.
Happiness is lovely and I am grateful for all I hold
But I forget to appreciate the warmth, I find, when I do not feel the cold.
Show me what you've got back there in the corners of my mind
I refuse to shy away from whatever you may find
Broken memories are just fuel to add to my burning fire
Bring it on, do your worst, make me a god damned pyre
Do not let me fall complacent, my old friend, my old foe
See I don't intend this life to end in a mere faint glow
Come closer still, I welcome you, with eager, open arms
Cut deep and draw me open, bare my bones and do me harm
Remind me of exactly what I am capable of
Remind me why I fight, why I wri
Cigarette SmokeCigarette smoke reminds me of brick walls
Cool to the touch and rough on my back
It makes me think of stairwells and sidewalks
Forgotten butts and gum in the cracks.
When my nostrils burn I remember people
People I loved and people I miss
People who gave me good advice, bad advice, whatever
Life stories in 10 minute increments.
Cigarette smoke brings me back to secrets
Things only admitted outside the back door
Crazy theories, ideas and plans
Painted with lips and dirty fingers and ashes.
When I wrinkle my nose and cough a little
I remember glowing embers in the dark
I think of the bonds I have made and broken
Silently leaning shoulder to shoulder.
Cigarette smoke doesn't seem to bother me
Though I've never smoked one for myself
I sit on upturned milk crates empty handed
And yet my heart is calm and full.
Cold SweatSweat runs across my skin on tiny little feet
Finding curves I had forgotten
Hiding from the heat
I am once again suspended
Between cotton sheets and sleep
Will morning never come
Will I never find relief?
Nail PolishYou seemed like a good idea at the time
A pick me up, a new leaf, a challenge
Though there was the matter of convincing myself that you'd suit me.
There you sat, in all your glory
Shimmering colours that I normally would have shied away from
But hey! Change is good, we all need a little change.
I tried so hard to stay in the lines, I really did
And I tried so hard not to upset you
I thought I might faint from your noxious emissions but I held on with a smile
Surely, we'd turn out fine.
Just a bit more to smooth things here, a little clean up there
A bit of flailing and all is set--now then, that wasn't so bad.
And now to protect you, from myself
From my clawing and my cleaning and my cooking
From my picking and my prodding and my poking
From my scratching and scraping and such.
Keeping you pristine is my utmost concern, I'm sure I'll get used to you
As long as I don't fuck this up.
But the first chip flaked off this morning
And I'm a little nervous, I admit
I am having second thoughts
WishI wish to be a boat
Floating on the sea
I wish to be a mountain
I wish to be a flea
I wish to be a dancer
Or a gymnast on a beam
I wish to be a memory
I wish to be a dream
I wish to be an anchor
Something solid, something stable
I wish to be a dandelion
Or a pair of jumper cables
I wish to be a goat
So smelly and so nimble
I wish to be an autumn leaf
Or perhaps a silver thimble
I wish to be a river
Cutting paths where I choose
I wish to be a raging fire
Or a pair of dainty shoes
I wish to be a lover
With a pair of healing hands
I wish to be a fingerprint
Or ever shifting sands
I wish to be orange zest
Or lemon, maybe lime
I wish to be a typewriter
A brief wrinkle in time
I wish to be a bandage
On an elbow, or a knee
I wish to be a poet...
But I am only me.
KintsukuroiI have never been more okay than now
In the knowledge that I am broken
I am tattered and bruised and there is blood from every time
That I tripped and my knees bit the ashphalt.
My bones have cracked under the weight of poorly thought out decisions
And my skin has stretched to contain my weight
Silver lines, on my hips, under arms
They do not fade.
There is proof, at my throat, of the surgery
Of the staples, of the fear, going under
Of the hysterical tears that streamed down my cheeks
for seven hours straight when I woke
And I am glad of it.
The other marks you cannot see
Though my eyes, they may betray me
or my arms, when they wrap around someone
and they are not quite sure that I will let go.
See when you fuck a person up from the inside out
Some things take a little longer to show.
I hear you there; I know. I am a whore, a harlot, of course
But the words you tried to paper mache me with
Are starting to sound a little hollow
And I am beginning to lose their meaning.
I am not quite wh
Castles and cavesI have built many homes in castles and in caves
I have crafted oriental rugs of moss and turrets of oil drums
I have stacked my walls with itchy hay bales and reinforced them with 2X4s.
From the treasure-filled garbage heap have I foraged
I have harvested doors and tables and chairs with three legs
From the ground itself I have sculpted my bed
And found rocks to be the most satisfying pillows.
In the trees I have done battle, real battle, I swear
In the meadows I have healed my wounds
I have walked trails known to no other
And in creeks I have cooled my fevered skin.
In the sunlight, I have played freely
I have danced to my own little beat
I have breathed deep and felt joy
From the top of my head
to the toes of my dirty bare feet
And in the darkness, I have been still
In my castle, in my cave; staring at nothing
I have sang quiet songs that refused to lie dormant
And mine have been the only ears to hear them.
ArizonaArizona from the back of a truck
Late night melting ashphalt
Sunburned thighs and tired eyes
Gravel at the small of my back
A can of warm tea tucked by the tirewell
Smell of oil, gasoline
Searing metal, scorching wind
Hair lashing at my cheeks with no rest
Tracing rust pattern pictures with my dirty fingers
A jacket bunched under my head
Sore neck, sore shoulders, sore ass
I did not think to empty my pockets
Elbows familiar with sharp contact
Dreading potholes, cursing sand and dust
Away from the world, I am alone
Playing guessing games with myself
Playing with sounds and smells, the sky
Bits of streetlights and road signs at the edge of my vision
Where are we now
Where am I
Just drive, who needs a destination
I will doze off while we roam
Let me lie, arm covering eyes
Let me stay here, this is home.
Path of lifeLife is a dangerous path
Full of twists and traps
A path we're forced to walk
Without turning back
We may regret the past
We may regret the mistakes
But we must learn from them
And keep moving on
We may predict the future
And even fear it
But we never know
What happens next
The only thing we have
Is the present, here and now
So let's live it
And forget about the rest
The mistakes of the past
The mysteries of the future
All part of life
This path we all walk
We Have No TimeAll we have
Is a sliver
Everything we will
Do in life
We all die before we know it
Its a fact of life
And I am already dying
A slow painful death
One year at a time
One month at a time
One week at a time
One day at a time
Then we flatline
On a metal sheet
Buried in the dirt
To think we were born yesterday
Only to die tomorrow
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
Winter's GirlI was winter's girl,
frozen under a thick layer of ice.
People tried to break it with their ice picks, but to no avail.
They eventually left me cold and in pieces in my frozen abyss.
You're thawing me out, slowly but surely.
"Summer girls aren't for me, "you say.
"Too full of sick strawberry sweetness."
That was just said to comfort me, but it oddly worked.
Maybe time with you will make me a summer girl,
no more need for thawing,skating with you above my ice.
WonderlandWhen I was little, I knew Wonderland.
Logic was faulty and rules were no more.
Up was down; down was up.
That was how it constantly was.
Fish swam in the air and drowned in water.
Worries were small and dreams were big.
One fell up until they reached the clouds,
Which were then used for soft beds and pillows.
Gender was an unnoticed trait.
Everyone was blind.
Everyone could see.
There were no expectations to uphold.
I was happy.
Then I woke up-or fell asleep-
Into a world with war and prejudice and plague.
I wondered then, and I do now…
Was Wonderland not the real world?
The Answer is Noneplease excuse the crushing
of this conversation
and i'll forgive the wheeze
as my mind's
pinch your windpipe
all but shut
watch my fading blur
as i step like god
and your heels drag
now you're the one
whose able is unned
dissed and nonned
your ghostlungs, my balloon
floating and bumping
and the whether
of pressure differentials
feels true, against
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
CoffeeI love you like I love coffee
A comforting aroma, bringing discomforting memories
See, I can't take you straight
I sugarcoat you and whitewash you until you suit my tastes
You are fantastic over ice and with so much caramel and whipped cream
that I can no longer taste your bitterness
Or when you are full of Bailey's
When you are mocha
I love you like I love coffee, darling--
That is to say,
Keep in Touch!