a bouquet of jasmine
held with a bushel of pecks
to satiate a peckish heart

a longing way to go
we push past mirages,
running while chaste
to a tangible start

prey of the spiritual wolf
praying to the Lamb of God

crying out at His bleating
rushing forth to drown out our sins

My hollow regret fluttered to the ground,
bound by gravity
to fall as swiftly and ignorantly as my gaze.

cure my faith astigmatism.
corruptible corporeal
fumbling in the darkness,
straining to focus on the Light.

plaintive passion
nimble nimbus
reign on us from high

cast me down
and raise my gaze
with reverence I cry

When you're falling,
the wind is like an accomplice
that will tell onlookers that you're only crying
because it's battering your eyes.

Wake me up
I don't care how you do it
Or how dire the consequences

Kiss me
Shake me
Stab me

I promise I don't mind
Just please
Wake me up

forgiveness foretold seventy times seven
hopes outstretched and reaching towards heaven

when I dwell in You, I shall not want
pen my life story in a baptismal font

Triune of light,
three beams coalesce as One
shine down radiant understanding
and make light work of heavy burdens

holy suspension of disbelievers
remembered dust found in the spotlight of Your grace

pierced by striations of divinity,
penitent droplets cast refractory remnants into eternity
crowned with prismatic halos of mercy and compassion

mere moths swarming at The Source of Light--
fettered and fattened,
hatchlings born battened
to bonds of sin--
our ancestral birthright.

a patina conception
just budding in stride
initial unfurling
of petals inside

whether a storm,
still yet to decide
a striking horizon
softly stirs the tide

wayward child stumbling on brush underfoot,
through rocky understanding dash against stones

The Word I can't see for the forest or trees
despite preventative measures,
burning through time

nous welling with cataracts,
cloudy waterfalls of smoke

Hands outstretch towards me--
my own held fast to decaying matter

They say that it's in the journey
and not the destination,

but what's the difference
between gliding
or plummeting

when the end goal is the pavement just the same?

ascend to kiss the clouds
we dare to fly on high

seven pilgrims on a mission
to venerate the sky

No one told me that the taste of defeat
isn't bitter
or sour
or acidic,
but embarrassingly cloying.

the clocks are striking infinity
and
melting
towards eternity
like a Salvador Dalian conspiracy

kaleidoscope of witnesses
chromatic starbursts of grace

inexhaustible spring of mercy
rain down upon my face

You caught me by the shoelace
and tethered me to your side
but I was born to float away
and be destroyed by the sun.

It's way too soon
to write you a love poem,
but I think I may be in the socially acceptable time frame
to write you a like poem.

Yesterday, my doctor told me to cut cheese out of my diet,
so I'll try to keep the sentiment as vegan as possible.

burn faith into my eyes
an inverse eclipse to light the way
a passionless passion ever burning
a longing for an everlasting flame

I'm the crumpled soda can you used to kick around when you were a kid;

I'm the shot glass you emptied into the pit of your teen angst;

I'm the wine bottle that's going to shatter over your skull and **** us both.

I rest my head on the palm of Your hand,
warming myself in its merciful folds

where promising promises of promised lands
nostalgically echo a Love foretold.

This week I need to start writing that novel I've been putting off,
and finish reading that book that I got last week,

and not try too hard at drawing,
and draw an effortlessly abstract social satire,

and spend more time with people who make me laugh,
and spend more time alone, so I don't depend on others too much,

and start running again because it's getting balmy outside and I've been putting on weight,
and stop worrying about my waistline because it's shallow,

and spend more time sleeping, so I can get to know myself through my dreams,
and spend more time awake because I've been wasting my life,

and straighten my hair because I haven't bothered with it in a few days and it's starting to get frizzy,
and leave my hair ***** because it's empowering to my racial identity,

and stop wasting time thinking about the past because it's making me crazy,
and start thinking more about the future because it's practical,

and,

and...

I think maybe I'll just get started on that sleeping bit first.

now dawns the mourning of choice:
to be smitten or smote,
but a whisper of smoke--

incensed by yourself.

It's not the warmth of your touch that makes me cringe
It's the underlying intimacy of it all
The dormant passion that lies beneath your fingertips
And it's not loving you that gives my bones goosebumps
It's the silkiness of your voice when you first utter sentimentality
And the flash of disappointment that dawns upon your face when I don't immediately regurgitate your emotions
But everyone I've ever known had to learn to crawl before they could walk
So would you mind terribly if I just held your hand for now?

my words a time capsule,
my longing a cipher.
my sorrow an ocean,
pay tears just to tithe her.

my breath ephemeral,
my feelings akin.
leave letters,
spell out my beginning and end.

incremental suspension
steeped in attitudinal altitudes
feelings electric,
static clings, draws closer,
draws near

kinetic swatches shine
burning brighter, bolder, better
held back, holding tight
to what I hold dear

quickened and fastened
by taking things slowly
trying to be better,
better yet,
better still

I found myself dancing in the whitespace
between yourself
and how you see the world,
traipsing around the floaters and stars in your eyes
like an animated recreation
of our universe expanding,
drawn out to eternity with you.

an umbrage de gloria
blankets el cielo

en Dios, yo encuantro
felicidad bellows

a flammable affinity,
emblazoned for The Trinity.

we pray our perishable parish
won't expire 'til infinity.

What do I do when the only person I care about
Doesn't know I exist
And is almost three times my age, anyway

And what am I to do when I'm only sixteen
And I'm not pregnant
So I couldn't possibly have any "real" problems

What am I supposed to do when I've run out of words
To say or write
And the ones I used to say and write were never really all that good in the first place

And what's next when I don't really feel like being alive
But then again
I don't want necessarily to be dead either

un poquito de mantequilla
para la salud tu alma

las coquis y mariposas
ellos vivas mas calmas

I wish that I had gotten an extended warranty on my body.

Who will I turn to now
when it falls apart at the seams?

Maybe if I hadn't tossed out the how-to manual...

...though I have a sneaking suspicion that it was blank,
and wasn't worth the paper it wasn't printed on, anyway.

shackles of shame broken asunder
abreast of the ***** of forgiveness
transgressions lost at the sea of repentance

the tidings roar,
drowning out my plaintive, prodigal cries

the leprous sores of my soul
lapped and encircled by cerulean tempests

I boldly offer myself to be swallowed whole

foretold forecast of prodigal sunshine
cast shining arrays through clouds of witnesses

stashed wellspring of partial teardrops
scattered upon thunderous horizons

God's striking presence,
lightning in my veins
plasma begets sacrificial blood

I feel like my entire life has been about falling
(falling in love, falling to pieces, falling down stairs, etc.).

When you're teetering on something precarious, like air,
people tell you not to look down,
not to open your eyes.

But I've gone a step beyond just shutting my eyes.
I keep my hands fastened over them,
as an extra layer of protection,
because I'm afraid if my contrary nature gets the best of me
and the screws holding my hands in place loosen,
I'll give in and take a peek,
peering up instead of down,

But I won't see a suspect looming over the edge of the cliff that last saw me grounded.
And the only culprit for my plunge...
...will be me.