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she...you're painting pretty lies, alabaster
secrets, forgotten covenants saved for
bad luck days and sinking-ship smiles,
and there are fireflies in your veins,
impassioned promises in your eyes.
i am tired of the monosyllabic angry words
emanating from the room downstairs, crystalline
lungs exhaling choleric clouds of some long
extinct virus, contaminating this empty house,
slipping under closed doors and poisoning
the last ray of sunshine we had left.
she said: looking and seeing are two
very different things
we created a universe between sunset
irises and milkweed butterfly queens,
turning rainy days into a cathartic fix
and i am afraid of heights but i still sit
on the garden shed roof because there is
magic ten feet off the ground,
and i am learning to find beauty in flickering
streetlights and abandoned skyscraper ruins
but you are running off with dreams of
nuclear warfare and exploding suns,
you set fire to the ozone and forgot
all about our rebellious cry.
she said: i a
Circles.My life is running in
circles, and that scares me
I've noticed that
if I try walking in the light, my
shadow will grow and scare
but if I try going into the
dark, I am scared that no one
will notice me.
I'm not sure which I prefer.
I don't know if I like things
like dream catchers or cameras
because dream catchers only
bring good dreams, and sometimes
I want the wrong person
to love me in my dreams
only hold memories, there's no
future or present, only
Rainbows used to be
beautiful, but now they only
hurt my eyes because
I know they're illusions, but I still
get the urge to run after it, to
find a pot of gold, so I'll
settle for the thunder and lightning
because those are real
and why would I chase
Sometimes, I lock myself
into my room and scream into my head
because if I don't force it, I never
think about things because
you've ruined my mind and
it only sees bad things now
and I naturally avoid it.
I've tried to freeze myself
insomnia...she knows a girl who killed herself simply
because she was alive and a thousand
more who wished they had the courage to
stop her but has never met anyone else
who smiles in their sleep or dances with
blood sucking angels but has never once
been bitten by their parasitic beauty.
and today she whispered to the dandelions
and wore a lost rosary to remind herself
that at least she used to believe in something.
today she kissed another girl's fingertips and
promised the world that the sun would always
stay warm. today she hid from the sunset
among thorns and tangled tree limbs and
decided that maybe it was time to
learn to breathe again.
the clause of human nature.Outwards from lungs burst the girl, a gasp of a breath, a giggle and an imperfection. She felt foolish; her fingernails were trimmed and painted, her hair combed and her clothes pressed. Childhood was forcing onwards into the future but she grew with it, longer limbs and a pretty smile. Lightly toned locks; she clicked her tongue and found someone special.
Once in her past someone murmured against the shell of her ear and she sighed, she realized then that the romance between two dueled with the intimacy shared by adults needed closure that children didnt have. Under the guise of comfort, she could swim deeper until there was a ghost of a man. That someone who loved her was an innocent soul, trying helplessly for her happiness. A simple action as a brush of a shoulder or maybe even the fact that her hair was long made a difference. Concave inside her chest and her stomach the boy was just that, a boy. Manhood stood at the edge of the universe while he was str
this is the sound of stars
screaming like fireworks, and
mangled promises spilling
through trainwreck teeth. this
is the sound of lungs filling
with air and girls with brown
eyes and the whisperwhisper
of sheets on skin.
i have never heard a more eloquent silence.
this is not me, this is
the purple-blue of midwest
sunsets and the hope found
between quintessential smiles
and blinding neon lights. this
is the amount of air between
worlds and words and the freckles
on your left shoulder. this is not me.
but i promise you, someday i will be incredible.
you are filled with delicate bones
and inchoate dreams, and maybe
someday you will turn your suppressed
screams into more then just an escape
route. maybe someday you will finally
see your elegant imperfections and
enchanting eyes and you will realize that
you are beautiful.
maelstromThere was a time when he woke up to skies that smelled of burning wood and fraying threads. Those mornings were sewn together from shadows so long that she never had to ask him what he was doing when she found him on the floor, tongue pressed to the glass. She swallowed her words and settled her kneecaps next to his, matching his compressed mouth, haphazard breath staining their view. He never had to explain to her that this was as close as he got to tasting precipitation before the first fall.
Back then, their fingertips always found each other.
One afternoon the sky darkened and the clouds stumbled in on swing rhythm feet. Thunder resonated throughout his bones and he pressed his ear tight to the hardwood floors. The whorls and spirals of aged pine were so much clearer to understand than her downpour messages and drizzle words; they slipped from her tongue almost as if by accident.
What are you doing?
There was the boom snap clap of disappointment snapping his ribc
This is For YouThis is for the boy with the cracks on his hands and a splintering face,
the lovely girl feeling not-so-lovely anymore-
the boy with his hands locked high over his head,
unlock them. Unlock doubt and inhibitions-
For the girl who said THIS IS MY FIRST SCAR.
like she wanted more to come-
For the man who knew that if there ever was a time to seize the day,
that time was here and now and never. That time was her
snow-white blouse against her snow-white skin and her fingers
trickling down his spine-
I see the world through your hands, your fingertips, your pores.
I saw you dancing on the spouting gravel,
entwined in roots and feet and H2O.
You were a defiant stare and an intervention,
you had a silken voice: purling, purging,
stealing lines from famous songs. On tip-toes
and backbone, you stretched and reached and
cried like you had no remorse
-or too much of it.
Call her drunk, she likes thatYou could call her drunk, call her sober or three hundred doves,
dying, bird flu intoxicated and drowning in the deep end of the pool,
chlorinated. You could call her drunk, but she wouldnt understand your words,
and youd be slurring again. Shes talking fine. Shes twenty rubber bands,
snapping all at once.
You could call her drunk, but you cant remember her number.
You could call her drunk but shes just a little tipsy at this hour, too wild
to be wasting away. You can see her wasting away, but now there are three
of her and you dont remember if she chugged the bottle
or if it was you.
It doesnt really make a difference.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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