Autumn leaves are butterflies falling from nature's grace:
This morning, I watched a butterfly disappear into a pile
of auburn leaves. As I stopped to watch, it frightened its black
speckled wings into the clouds and I smiled because
even something as beautiful as a butterfly has a will to disappear.

now you know my name-
what'll do with me

he cut the tongue from between my lips as I tried to gasp, veins pulsing from the noose of your grip tied tight around my throat, I travel with my ability to lack, I tie knots 'round my new lovers' finger and I light them up from the string of my bow, I holler and jump 'round them, chest separating from my shoulders as my feet dangle above the crimson earth, my knees hobble and bobble as my elbows ash from the haggard wind rapping against my sand-made skin, I blow away like dunes, shaped and reshaped by the Sahara, I scream violet threats as you press me further into cellophane walls, you say, "destruction is sin." and then you remolded me into your paper girl, locked me up in a room for years and wrote me ****** until my mind filled with **** and then you found my eyes and started darkening them, they've slowly started to mirror your night's sky, a reflection of your skin, my sin.

He breathes
so loud that I can
hear him even
when I'm outside
of him.

Apart from
him, he swallows
all of it. The air.

He doesn't
suffocate me. He
inhales so deeply
that he forgets to
leave me a shred.

he asks me,
you're a
*******
Gemini
aren't you?
That explains
why you're so
******* crazy.
You're like two
people.
Get a grip."
Laughing,
I asked him,
"Of what?"

the whole point of love is the heart break of it all. what a concept.

Above his head a golden halo
fleshed around his tight curls

A moon. One singular, lone moon
          -danced.

I'm not completely sane
but then neither are you.

I watch

video clips of rollercoasters

so that I can feel my heart race. Sometimes

I can't remember what it feels like.



And I never want to forget again.



Not for one second.

I kept on telling him
that his hands felt like
clouds until he found
my lips and told me
they felt like pillows
and tasted of sugar
cubes scrambled
into grapplings of salt.
He held my face
with his hands and
I was sure for minutes
at a time, that I could
read through him, the
forecast from his wet hands.

because I am the kind of person
that forgives and forgets
all of my own sins
and never enough of your:
I swear to God nothing happened babe.
the chick's crazy.
excuses and so you went ahead and
left me though it should have been me
leaving and you staying,
I suppose we were both
just afraid of the same thing.
and so I forgot you though I
never really forgave you-
until I saw you with that crazy chick
at the market picking out orangish plums
and all you did was pretend not to see me
watching you and that crazy chick
pick out the same plums I had had for desert
just last night,
I suppose in that moment I forgave you,
if not just for my pitiful heart's sake.

You used to
pay attention
to things like
my absence.
Where I've
been and
where I'm
going
as if I
ever knew
the latter.
I used to
hate your
questions
saying,
******* my
dust, I'm not
your star ***.
Before
hanging up the
phone or
shutting the door.
I can't believe
I actually
miss you
now.
And the way
you used to
kiss my lips
in my greatest
moments of
panic, holding
my chin up to
your face and
saying, *you
are my star.

there is just.
So much.
To ******* say

my skin can bare the bruises of you,
but my mind and soul are the ones I worry for.

It's been perpetuated. Archeologically timed, primed and adjusted. I am organically, a tartly steamed wallflower, hair wined from the petals of a dragon's breath, queen of ten sheets all blue and green like the nips of the Chesapeake Bay, tongue heavily cheeked, I am the bulb beneath the shrines of your muck, I am your weak-behind-the-knees, wallflower. The hue you pasted against the fours of your walls and only remember when your eyes trace your skies from the ceiling to your bedroom floor.

everyone's talking about
believing in things and the
disbelief of things and
I'm just wondering if Lucifer
has time to play music in his home,
or if he even wants to remember how
to play and all of the things that
goad out of it.

i spilled black coffee down the barebones of your thighs and watched as the paleness of you blush into ruddy-ness. below, i watch the tarred remains of me that couldn't stick to you spread and sink into the earth.

you don't need me anymore

If the moon had a pocket
he would not slide me in it.

I love the sight of him
the slight of him.

His consistencies
and insecurities,
only ever coming out
in the dead of the night,
is he anxious to see his lover
for fear that she may not be as
beautiful as the sun that replaces him
but rather as ugly as the
beaked birds that
pester and nag him.

Is that why he only sees her
in the wake of a hazy and lazy
dusk in newness of a short evening nap?

he gave me that:
put on an old coat
and slip a hand in
it's pockets
and pull out a
wadded up
bill. had me
feelin'
all kinds of
sunny.
that
old-new
kinda
money

Dear Dad,
When I was younger and I wrote you that letter explaining to you how much I hated myself sometimes.

When I wrote you that letter explaining to you how much I hated my skin

How much I hated my thoughts

How I lost all of my friends in the span of a month because I stopped trying to care

How much I just wanted to disappear

How much you'd be better off without me

How much it hurt all the time

When I showed you all of my poems

And you called my black tears on those ******* white papers 'talent' and ignored my cries

When you insisted that I was okay when I tried to explain to you that I wasn't

Did you really believe that I would be okay or did you just need me to be?

I'm not mad anymore. I just want you hug me and tell me you love me and just stop ******* hating me

Reggie just gets a little
too excited for my taste
and so on most days
when he sees that I've
responded cordially
to his invites to
come on over at
two a.m. because
no, no he's not
just a little bit wasted
he just wants to,
idk watch a movie
at two a.m. probably
in his bed so that we can
be chill. and to all this
when I say no, he just
keeps on asking
night after night after
night, I finally grow a pair
and tell him that I admire
his persistence but not
at two a.m. because all
he sounds like at this hour is
sloppy and I like to know
that whoever I choose to ****
will remember me and how I
got there by morning come.
But I do admire his persistence.

he choses all of the soft ones for me,
because he knows I can't handle
anything thicker than the
consistency of pudding. Repeats short
sentences 1, 2, 3 times over and
slows his words down to the pegs
of my breath. He won't go faster
than I can handle.

"If I turn down the music,
that doesn't mean that
I want to hear you
talktalk and talk."
I used to say to him
after he'd tell me to
low down the music
after hours of hearing
nothing but my music
blast the woes of other
human's souls.
I am convinced that we
as humans don't always
need to hear that voice
that constantly chirps
in our head, we don't
always need that.

and so I bled like a wasted pen blemishes, down to the front seat of his pants. The stress of him rests in the nook of my shoulder blades and vibrates through to my chest. Blue dream and acidically-tinged hazes ripple against my reptilian skin and sheds me time and time again. I cannot grow old with you or young with you. We are alone an together, unmoving and polarizing. A few cool blue specks of light that never change but appear to mean to. We are in lust and stagnantly so, we will never grow. I climb on a sea of green and wade into the late night streamings, the abyss of you.

I will be with you for as long as you will have me

my heart bleeds muddy water.

we only ever call God's name in vain.
everyone's just killing themselves
around here, and I'm just cursing
his name and the choir's just singing hymns
of his blessing in intermission and I'm
just waiting for them to take a break
so that I can put on a show, we only ever
call His name when we've returned back
to the show. everyone's just killing themselves
around here and I'm just waiting *waiting.

On a night like today, in a sea of shadows and whites, we ride thick on a camel toed carousel, tainted and unlocked, unkempt and hollow, we shake to the cores of your features, deep pallets of staining whites, we lay afraid and assuming, ready for something to roll deep beneath these  peppercorn brownie sheets. We dive shallow beneath assuming depths. Angled, silver octopus, arms stretched below your sea urchin ways. I wait infantile, an ever aging fetus floating through your chromosomes, very full and very hungry. This could be a stifling kind of like , but here I roam, free abd unnerving lushing down your spine

in the cracks of my mind
rests, bunnies fibered by
dust and flecks of gold.

never
trust
the wind
to be
straight
forward
with you.

it is as
fickle
as a
premature
heart.

She's the kind of perky that asks
if she can have his autograph
instead of his signature,
and he calls her now.
Instead of me.

I liked Liam
because he
never smiled.

And if there was
ever one thing
that I wanted to
be it was the reason for
why he felt
so much of one thing
that it'd make him
change from such a
stoic disposition.

i watch green turn to ash as spit bubbles pop images in my mind, the green buds beneath my bare feet and as i walk in memory of you, my trail turns each step i hover between to ash.

*i don't write about much these days. all i have are foggied visions and memories of you. color me foolish and pin and tail on my-

Kissing the canvas of my body,
his lips turned blue as he said,
"I can make you warm everywhere
but here." and he traced a shape
above my left breast.

Pooling beneath his hands,
I told him, "You can warm anything
up with a heart like yours."

If a woman tells you she feels ignored
                    drop your things and
          run to her.
If a man tells you he feels ignored
                  drop your everything
          and run away

I understand.
I am an island.
You come to me
to escape.