Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.

Spring time is snapping
the lamp dragon flowers twirl on the ground
as a flush of air tries to drive them to the sky.

It's the season to be living
the lovely aromas of life and heat
are sipping beneath the beating wings of humming birds.

They tease and taught
all of those whom can only reside inside
to me the bees outside
are .20mm bullets in disguise.

The luminescent strings of light
that attempt to tarnish my fair skin
are the enemies atomic bombs
trying to make me fade away.

While all else can thrive and bloom this season
I am a Dragon Fruit and to see me blossom
is to bring back my nightly blue skies
and the heavily shaded afternoons.

When you fell in love with me
it was the most exhilarating life-style.
We're fabulous and none could tell us
that we were just two ordinary people swooning.

People spoke of remembering the beginning of their own--
comparing their moments to ours
the same places the same people,
but to be honest I never believed a syllable
they whispered our way.

Anyone can recreate a master piece
and say it is identical in every single way.
Though the painter will always look quite different
and their detailed feelings for each stroke
will be the same as a grain of sand
compared to a humpback whale.

These people see love as an comparison story
where they can take notes and read books:
how to deal with happiness or depression
what this means for her and him,
it's the exact same thing for their own relationship.

I simply smile at these folks
they will always wander the grounds behind us
seeking out thoughts
about how to deal with each other.
To them I give a full smile,
where my eyes crinkle at the corners
giving them some peace.

As I take your hand
and tell you about the beach
where we watched whales jump out of the water
and land all over the sand.

Do my clothes bother you--
as I wear black leggings
with small high school shorts above them
or is it my pastel blue hair
with an assortment of illustrious flowers
in a shape of a crown on my head.

Maybe it's the collection of tattoos
that I have spiraling around my arms;
little pictures of despicable me minions
and clusters of anime that you
never  thought worth while to know the name of.

Is it the rotation of shoes ranging from
sky spotted flats to glamorous Toms
that show the expansion of the galaxy on our horizon,
which reminds yourself of how ignorant you may really be in comparison.

Does the reflection of the sun
bouncing off of my 3/8ths of an inch earrings
cause you to become confused, just like my cat does
when I am at home near some window,
or is it too difficult to comprehend that this is me not you.

Are we estranged conjoined twins
that I never knew about some how,
and what I like prevents you from living
because then I would understand why
compromising is even an option.

As a man or woman of youth or elderly--
I choose equality over self-replication
I choose not to be defined by the singularity
I choose to exist in freedom
and I choose to be myself with all of its complexities.

Life energy radiates within--
literally the energy of beings
exist within your veins;
hungry animals thirst within those capillaries.

The lungs that heave
are the muscular tissues of  little chickens--
tendons that tore to make you strong,
elongated strands of fat from each bite
made the skin around your lips.

Though the calcium of bones
was not used in this current cuisine--
blood was made into pudding
dessert maybe used to make hemoglobin.

We feast on flesh to create our own
same goes for the creatures that we eat
they mangle the essence of life
to satisfy their own longevity.

All must eat to survive,
remember with each bite
comes the sacrifice from the sky
it begins with the Sun,
and ends with the Earth.

The middle class idea of theft--
where we eat at semi-fancy restaurants
seated at faux leather interior
deep seated dimly lit coves
dine in a sarcophagus of tasty mildew.

A youth lends their smile
teeth faintly shine through,
but roughly cut short of sincere;
on their lapel in fine print the label says Sandy.

Flexing water spotted plastic
black brim borders
and articulated names of food
that would put all of Italy to shame.

Porcelain plates hold lofty portions
of what is purely compensation
as texture and flavor remind me of my adolescence
this is when Playdoh and Crayons are used for flavoring.

A slate for my signature is provided
and the upside to this all
was the perfection of a pen they lent me
it was ball tip and bright pink--
finally something I'd be glad to take home with me.

The only way I can see
is by touching the world around me;
the faint scent and crunch to images
that linger around my fingers.

They are my hounds
who sniff and howl--
at the other animals around them
each crackle and groove
sends each dog into a frenzy.

Diving right into the riverbeds,
underwater is supposed to be where all is unknown
but right before the tips of my eyes are only questions:
is this the right land of water
where I can open the blinds to let sunlight flood in.

Reminds me of Rome
where pillars do not only stand in front of buildings,
they float into the sides of my body
ricocheting and piercing me at the same time--
the only reminder that this is a sidewalk
is the large crack that starts at my front door
and ends some where near an Oak tree.

Someone's daughter has gone missing
yet these hands yonder the forest to find her
seeking the essence of philanthropy;
but how can they expect me,
to find someone,
when I can't even see myself
as I'm mislead through the shadows of these trees.