You and I
with so much history
no

hyperbole

that hangs on us
like bad-fitting clothes
and it's all so

complicated

So many downsides to knowing him
Being his daughter
But one thing I can say
It's that it's never boring
Because it's always something
A complication of sorts
Never nothing

Was a colour.
It would be a hue of mosaic,
Tapered with a constellation of emotions.
4/12/2024

On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.

It's 3:43am and I'm wondering if the spider in the corner of my bathroom is dreaming
I wonder if she knows about the sun and if she ever dreams of weaving a web in the moonlight
I wonder if she knows what I'm saying when I tell her "don't worry, i'll keep you safe" and I wonder if she believes me

a cigarette tastes good after this drink, but I know at some point through the night I’m going to look at myself as tears fall in the bathroom sink.