A 17 year old girl
How she believes the smile was fading
Into faith of drama
The prayer was doomed with time
The same she says as she worked
But she's tired of running
Running and picturing a funeral
Of her rarely worn dress
Now she's sad
Wondering what would you judge her for?
Is it the words or her dress?
Now picture this
The lullaby of an old man
The king once asked his men
"What's the tastiest meal my tongue could bear?"
Some said something with sweetness
Some slightly depressed said sour
Some were confused as they were empty
Some were carcasses of a bleeding ship
Too little to say anything
One man stood up in agony
Said nothing said is anything right

It's hunger

Hunger is the might
The fire of Prometheus and his light
Was the hunger or desire to blind Zeus
To hold him in prison for his art
And then show him what he does with this light

Hunger is the soul
The soul of everything and everyone bold
And when the wolves move in hunger
They howl
The carnivore's urge to rip the soul into a place
Where she waits, the prey of the prey

Hunger is love
Ask someone
Eden moves to the beat of the body
Grooves in addiction to rocking flash
Like a wave meeting the rock, she dreamt

Hunger is crime
Crime against the best poets and writers
For them, it's just words and ink to dry
But it drives them to mountains of desire
And rob words from the loosely held cry

Hunger is icy
Colder than empathy and sharper than pain
When a monster looks for his next prey
He wishes to find the company of blood-red
Innocence she murdered in vain

Hunger is human
For it is human it must be beautiful
The mother feeds her baby by her breast
And when the babe falls asleep to rest
She gently runs her hand through her chest

picture that
**** the king, **** the words
it's only your hunger in might

When we run, far from ourselves
Could we just stand still for seconds
Freight in our stories are those moments
That we shred, to run faster than days left
Paranoid, you run in your clothes, made of
Different skin, different texture, we can't stand
Our Past, our Pain, our Place.

Standing on a starting line without anyone left to explain this
This cypher written from top to bottom in a tongue I don't speak
Or feel compulsion to study, still written well in meaning
I heard this quote, it stuck me under my sleep
Like honey dripping over a bee's dead body
"I know how to be perfect but there's comfort in my panic"
I felt it slipping under my skin, a touch
To tell me it's okay to be not okay
To just run from coast to coast
Looking for yourself in everything

Wish you'd stick around
Wish the end of all that ends
Wish this start of spring implodes in love
Wish the prices of groceries go down
Wish you'd like me now
Wish the past doesn't have a bomb on its neck
Wish I'd stop worrying and daydreaming
Wish the world could see me
Wish I could not unsee destiny
Wish I could marginalize fantasy from reality
Wish I could control condensing droplets under my eyelids
Wish the happy sorrow and laughing about it
Wish the definition of tensor was simple
Wish the matrix was not so difficult and it had symmetry
Wish you'd stick around
Wish the end of all that ends

a trousseau, vailed bride
the summer sunshine, friends
butterscotch ice cream, expensive wine,
a friendly dog inches apart, a creepy aunt
a chocolate fountain. Some childish jokes
a heartfelt speech, heart-bound love,
pulled aside by the groom, for hugs and laughs
being very sweet, softly they hold my hand
recharging the social battery, enjoying the back
socializing with fearless child, in way better clothes
at the end, kisses to all who could take
left with nothing but the sweet envy
for a wedding day