transform a thought anyway you want
because you a nymph and life
would be dreadful as a goddess
because you're already beautiful
and when your cuts turn to scabs
and scabs to scars
don't think of your skin
as a battle land
because it is a canvas
a mosaic
made of broken things
when your brain
has remembered to water
its flowers
you will cry
tears of joy
because you finally took a shower
without throwing up
and you finally did the dishes
without taking the steak knife
to your room.
you finally did life tasks
without the nagging cloud
global warming is not just
effecting the earth

Threads of cotton
corkscrewing
through blankets,
blending flesh
with fabric.
Flicking rain
drops off the
surface
of window
panes,
penciling my
name over
your skin with
my teeth.
Tremoring fingers
tracing your
silhouette,
sensing your
rapture wrapped
in
apprehensive
heart beats,
hanging on the
fibers folding
over our
unstitched
bodies

Sometimes, I feel like
the days are drip-dropping away
like a broken faucet
(is sixteen too young
to be nostalgic)
and it scares me quite a bit
how everyone is always trying
to catch the drizzle in their
Wrinkled hands and
raisin-fingertips
but every time, it manages to
slip through

Gods that
fall on
the
laps of
men.
Minds
that
incarserate
thoughts
and the
resemblance
of the
two.

I've sat and I've thought. I've found
purpose and I've lost it. The cigarette,
I sip it slowly and strongly, surely it
fills what is empty inside me. Ember
that sears, smolder, singe, a hope that
in the life of a cigarette, we burn out
but are absorbed by the air that
surrounds us, lifts us. If I close my eyes
I can dream and if I close my hands I
can grasp; two realities collide and the
nothing becomes something. We have
the memories, the stains, that politely
remind us of moments since.
Remembering what each breath felt
like, what each breath was for.