henry’s lamprocapnos lip
eyes like april come
touch a now his countenance
fire flew from brush
stumbling his barefoot mud
hogg a tongue withdrawn
biting dust on ever hill
blacker bodies run
and a set fate the rope to yours
lynch to tug the scum
god had caught a naked soul
crawling on a rock
Blood and Flowers
Why is it that
Pain and suffering grace the screens without cringe
While tender kisses leave people off the hinge?
Why is it that people prefer blood and tears
And stuff out of their wildest fears
Over an intimate embrace?
Why is it that gore is PG-13
And one display of the human body is obscene?
Why is it that we are so uncomfortable with love
And view violence as a grade above?
Why are we ashamed of ourselves?
Why, why, why, O Society?
they say my body’s a temple
but it feels like a prison
they say god doesn’t make mistakes
well i must be an exception
because i am so sick of being told to love myself
in a world that teaches me to focus on every single flaw,
in a world where i have to see a reflection
of someone that isn’t me.
some sort of foreign creature
skin and bones staring back at me
missing the parts of myself that I’ve lost along the way
in a world where i don’t feel at home anywhere
because I’ve never felt at home with myself
in a world where i feel a disconnect
so strong that i feel like this is some sort of test
to see if i can survive long enough
to one day end up happy
sentences / a metaphor
you are a run on sentence that i wish never ended.
you ran through my life like i was an empty void you’ve been trying to fill
but when people bring up my name at a dinner table
your lips tremble and your hands shake and suddenly it was like
it was like my arms never domesticated you into a home you’ve never had
it was like i never loved you like there was no tomorrow
i ripped my heart open just so you could throw it into the same river we used to watch sunsets in
i told you you were beautiful and i meant it
you told me you wanted me to be yours
and you told the same thing to an empty void who had blue eyes and red stained lips
why did you hurt me why does everyone hurt me
ive been destroying myself for a home that wanted no residency
for someone to talk about me like i actually meant something
when people bring up my name at a dinner table
your lips still trembled and your hands still shook
but this time it was different.
this time the run on sentence spoke
and she finally ended.
you left my life and i guess i will meet more run on sentences that will eventually make up this unsettled story i call my life.
4:00 am symphony
teardrops embedded into blankets,
stained by lonely nights and spinning ceilings,
the faint sounds of cars twirling,
and the feeling of hands shaking
tells me the night is a scary time.
we are haunted by our mistakes
with no one awake to forgive us.
every turning firefly
that never speaks back
and when yellow is to touch
will desire when ?
golden spurts that flicker proud
and amber, glows again
if a color not to be
then say this evening done
telling little…torch absolved
hang from sleep’s delusion
what a dream it is to reach
and disappoint to hold
Detach and breathe. It’s funny how a day can change everything.
Trip and stumble. The concrete seems warmer than your arms anyways.
Collapse and scream. Vocal chords were meant to shout- you were given them for a reason.
But as you’re screaming no sounds come out and the once open screen doors let in snow from the winter and take the warmth from a home. The walls shake around you and you wonder if it’ll ever stop- you wonder if your home can just be a home.
A place to love, a place to stay, a place to get away from thoughts.
Thoughts that get stuck round and round in your head, trapped in an 8 by 11 foot room with painted white walls and a bed tucked into a corner. You crawl into the blankets to get away from things- stress, life, love, pain,- but it all just seems to sink into your skin with the warm. You see the essay you need to write for school, see your mother in a hospital bed saying over and over she’ll be okay, see your lover crawling into bed with another and see your father wasting away into a fragment of what he used to be.
You see your whole life flashing before your eyes- just the bad moments at two am when you think you’re the only one awake, but really you’re just too scared to ask if you’re alone. You’re afraid the answer will be yes, but you’re also afraid of no- you can’t be hurt by others if you’re alone. The only first slamming into your gut is your own, the only fingers squeezing your heart is your own, the only one doing damage is you and that’s who you’d blame anyways.
You detach from people who hurt you, but you’re the one being distant and cold.
You trip over the concrete and suddenly you’re clumsy, instead of the pavement being uneven and slanted to one side.
You complain and suddenly you’re whining about every little thing- the thoughts in your mind not counting for anything.
Because how could it be anyone else’s fault but me?
In the waters below.
Water returns to sky,
Moment by moment…
And falls back as rain.
We stand in silence
And observe the scene
As future ghosts
That time will soon forget.
All we are
Is all we were
And will become again.
The Wilted Heart
Your turpentine kisses
Slither up my arm.
Each battered rose
Counts down my days
Across the marble floor,
Painting ripples of stained glass.
Veins upon the ground,
Veins upon my skin.
You would never
Do me any harm.
Does responsibility morph around you,
Clinging like a swim suit?
Can you learn to be seamless,
As seamless as a cloak?
Maturity is a tricky balance:
Too many burdens and the threads rip,
Or else fabric pools around you,
Pooling at childish ankles.
Adulthood seems as ill-fitting
As my grandmother’s sweater.
Maybe it’s meant for me to grow into,
But only time can tell.