There's a difference in these woods,
drifting between grey, scabby bark,
sifting into the moist, wormy soil,
beckoning for purpose,
breaking into the sound of a
becoming yet battered nature.

The footprints can be light, thorough --
almost a trait granted by the torture of eternity.
With head-weaves buoyant above tree-leaves,
a hyper-vigilance stemmed from the abuse
of a darkly philosophy weaponized;
an extension of the elbows, forearms, wrists
of huntsmen seeking inferno.

A hollow is an ideal resting place,
beyond the greased veins of trees,
fingertips delving into clustered black,
grasping an illusory livelihood,
only to imprison itself,
hoping for only a thoroughness
granted by the torture of eternity.

When love enters the picture,
it's best to fade into the skyline,
becoming a blue phantom,
hiding behind q-tip clouds,
balanced feebly, anxiously,
unable to realize
how easy you can be seen.
How easy it is to underestimate
your own significance.

You can drag a razor horizontally,
thinking the ink of space
will pour through, staining yourself,
watching yourself disappear,
hoping for only a thoroughness
granted by the torture of eternity.

-

I dance with her, a light caramel mutt,
in a purgatory of racial tension,
between black and white,
living in the grey area of society,
not knowing that it's okay --
and she is like me,
I've just realized.

we're smiling, pouting,
**** knows where to
mind a sourcing of interpretation...
in terms of honesty this reinvention
of Narcissism is bewildering...
i want to know who the smile
is intended for...
or where it's going...
with original intent it's hardly
"original"; there are specifics in
the medium,
there's a sender,
an address, and a recipient...
but you're working out calculations
in caricatures of where there is
blatant intention like Columbus
and the West Indies alignment
                                 very well hidden
to postpone precursor Mandarin
tip toeing on the Californian beaches
for a historical patent
that's all the more necessary
in currency of globalisation, en-grouping,
loss of ethnicity, capital 1 million Chinks
tailoring my underwear.

I remember jumping into the water without knowing how to swim
I remember pressing my hand against the kettle to check if it was hot, watching it blister red for hours
I remember pinching myself even if I knew I was awake
I remember running until my feet burned and my lungs collapsed

I remember crying so hard until my eyes were swollen shut
I remember not remembering the answer to a math question and everyone called me stupid
I remember gripping my own wrists so tight until it turned into a kaleidoscope of blues and purples
I remember letting myself get tangled in your hair and drown in your eyes

I remember destroying myself

the best and worst days--
the cold air that steals october away
the leaves on the ground
getting swallowed up by the earth.
spring's first song. that old bluebird
that never left for winter.
the mountains we have crossed
and built.
my mind, filled with dark things,
things that spill out and cover my words.
years before you.
when love was a war that you don't come back from--
i still carry the stones that were placed on my eyes.
washed up on the riverbed,
i pushed the water from my lungs,
and pulled myself up onto brittle bones.

a warrior,
right as rain, the sun rising on the first day of summer.
my eyes formed of light, what no one can steal.
the world has worn against me,
some days i forget the sharp edges, and
so i love.
i cry, and i speak, and i show you
every part. until it hurts.
i search for bricks and stones and
anything
to keep me safe. locked away,
where light cannot even reach me--
where the black night grows so big,
so heavy,
that your eyes, the sun, are nowhere to be seen.